Beyond Exaltation and Neglect: Recovering the Biblical Mary

J. Neil Daniels

Introduction

Among the figures who inhabit the pages of Scripture, few have inspired as much devotion, speculation, and controversy as Mary, the mother of Jesus. From the earliest centuries of the church, her name—Miryam in Hebrew, Maria or Mariam in Greek—has evoked reverence and reflection. Yet the New Testament’s portrait of her is remarkably restrained. Mary’s story unfolds quietly, almost unassumingly, within the larger drama of redemption. She is present at decisive moments—the annunciation, the birth, the first miracle, the cross, and the birth of the church—yet never as the focus of attention. Her greatness lies not in exalted titles or metaphysical prerogatives but in faith: a willing, intelligent, and courageous submission to the Word of God.

This essay seeks to construct a biblically faithful portrait of Mary by examining the principal texts in which she appears and considering their theological import. The discussion proceeds not by polemic but by exegesis. Each passage will be treated within its literary and historical context, allowing Scripture to speak with its own voice. The goal is to recover the balance of the biblical witness, honoring Mary’s unique vocation without displacing the Christocentric center of revelation.

Prophecy and Promise: Isaiah 7:14

The first glimmer of Mary’s role in salvation history appears prophetically. Isaiah 7:14 announces, “Behold, the virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call His name Immanuel.” The Hebrew noun ʿalmāh denotes a young woman of marriageable age and has occasioned debate regarding its precise force.¹ Yet the Septuagint translators rendered it parthenos, “virgin,” and it is this Greek form that Matthew cites in his nativity narrative.² The focus of Isaiah’s oracle is the child—“God with us”—not the woman herself. Nevertheless, when read in the light of the Incarnation, Mary becomes the chosen vessel through whom the promise is realized. The miracle lies not in her intrinsic worthiness but in the sovereign initiative of God who grants conception by the Holy Spirit.

Isaiah’s prophecy thus establishes two essential principles for a biblical Mariology: first, that the Incarnation is entirely the work of divine grace, and second, that Mary’s significance is derivative and instrumental. She receives; she does not generate, merit, or mediate the grace bestowed.

The Annunciation and the Grace of God (Luke 1:26–38)

Luke’s narrative of the Annunciation reveals Mary’s calling with unmatched theological precision. Gabriel’s salutation—Chaíre, kecharitōménē, “Greetings, O favored one”³—invites careful analysis. The perfect passive participle kecharitōménē denotes one who has been and remains endowed with grace.⁴ The form itself implies that the initiative belongs wholly to God: Mary is the object, not the source, of divine favor. As John Nolland observes, Luke interprets the participle through the angel’s explanation in verse 30: “You have found grace with God.”⁵

Luke situates this event within his broader motif of divine reversal. God exalts the lowly and fills the hungry with good things (Luke 1:52–53). The choice of a young woman from Nazareth rather than a princess of Judah dramatizes the gratuity of election. Gabriel’s message identifies the child to be conceived as “the Son of the Most High” and declares that “the power of the Most High will overshadow you” (v. 35). The verb episkiazō recalls the cloud of divine glory that filled the tabernacle (Exod 40:35 LXX). As the Shekinah once indwelt the tent of meeting, so now the Holy Spirit sanctifies Mary’s womb for the conception of the incarnate Son.

Mary’s question—“How will this be, since I do not know a man?” (v. 34)—is not disbelief but faith seeking understanding.⁶ The optative phrase of verse 38, genoito moi kata to rhēma sou, “Let it be to me according to your word,” expresses not resignation but joyful consent. Her self-designation as doulē Kyriou, “the slave of the Lord,” conveys the humility of one who recognizes absolute divine authority. In that moment, Mary embodies Israel’s long expectation and models the posture of obedient faith that the gospel will demand of all disciples.

The Magnificat and the Theology of Reversal (Luke 1:46–55)

Mary’s hymn, traditionally known as the Magnificat, expands her initial act of faith into doxology. “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” The song’s structure, rich with Old Testament allusions, parallels Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel 2:1–10. Both celebrate the God who “brings down the mighty from their thrones and exalts those of humble estate.” Mary speaks as the representative of the faithful remnant, proclaiming that the messianic age will invert human hierarchies. Her language is saturated with covenantal memory: God “has helped His servant Israel, in remembrance of His mercy.” Yet the Magnificat remains resolutely theocentric. The subject of every verb is God; Mary’s blessedness consists precisely in being the recipient of divine action.⁷

The hymn therefore excludes any notion of autonomous merit. Mary magnifies the Lord because “He who is mighty has done great things for me.” The form of her praise guards the heart of biblical theology: salvation is sola gratia. The pattern of humiliation and exaltation that she celebrates will find its ultimate realization in her Son, who “emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant” (Phil 2:7).

The Nativity Narratives: Fulfillment and Faith

Matthew’s Gospel, though briefer in its treatment of Mary, provides indispensable theological context. By tracing Jesus’ genealogy through four unlikely women—Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba—Matthew reveals a redemptive pattern culminating in Mary.⁸ Each woman’s story bears the marks of divine grace operating amid moral ambiguity and social marginalization. Mary, too, stands within this lineage of surprising mercy.

The evangelist emphasizes fulfillment: “All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet” (Matt 1:22). The repeated formula, hina plērōthē, frames the birth narrative as an exposition of God’s faithfulness to promise. The virgin conception—“of the Holy Spirit” (ek pneumatos hagiou, 1:18, 20)—maintains both the deity and humanity of Christ. Joseph’s obedience in naming the child “Jesus” (1:25) confirms the messianic identity proclaimed by the angel: “He will save His people from their sins.” Matthew’s narrative, therefore, honors Mary’s role while directing all theological focus toward the child she bears.

Luke’s account complements Matthew’s by placing Mary’s contemplative faith at the center. Twice the evangelist remarks that she “pondered these things in her heart” (Luke 2:19, 51). The verbs synetērei and symballousa depict active meditation. Her response to revelation is not ecstatic speech but reflective faith. She treasures the mystery even as she cannot yet comprehend its full meaning. In this sense, Mary becomes the prototype of Christian meditation: she listens, remembers, and waits for the interpretation that only resurrection will bring.

Simeon’s Prophecy and the Sword of Suffering (Luke 2:25–35)

When Mary and Joseph present the infant Jesus in the temple, Simeon proclaims Him “a light for revelation to the Gentiles.” Yet his blessing turns to ominous warning: “Behold, this Child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel … and a sword will pierce your own soul also.” The image of the rhomphaia, the broad sword, conveys more than maternal sorrow; it prefigures the cost of discipleship. Mary will stand beneath the cross, sharing in the pain that attends fidelity to God’s purpose. Her suffering, however, has exemplary rather than redemptive meaning. It mirrors the paradox that runs through Luke–Acts: glory is attained through obedience that endures affliction. Mary thus participates in the drama of the kingdom not as co-redeemer but as the first disciple who bears the cost of faith.

The Wedding at Cana: Faith and the “Hour” (John 2:1–11)

John’s Gospel introduces Mary in a scene that signals both continuity and transformation. When the wine runs out, she informs Jesus; His reply, “Woman, what to me and to you? My hour has not yet come,” sounds brusque in English but is theologically charged. The form of address, gynai, respectful yet formal, indicates that the relationship between Jesus and His mother must now be understood in light of His messianic mission. The idiom ti emoi kai soi marks a difference in perspective: divine timing, not maternal concern, will determine His actions.⁹

Mary’s response, “Do whatever He tells you,” encapsulates her mature faith. She neither argues nor pleads; she directs others to Christ. The miracle that follows—the transformation of water into wine—occurs at His initiative, not hers. John calls it the first of Jesus’ sēmeia, “signs,” by which He manifested His glory. The evangelist thereby situates Mary as witness, not mediator. Her last recorded words in Scripture form an enduring exhortation to the church: obedience to Christ is the path of faith.

The Redefinition of Family (Matt 12:46–50; Mark 3:31–35; Luke 8:19–21)

In the synoptic Gospels, a striking episode redefines kinship. When told that His mother and brothers are outside seeking Him, Jesus replies, “Who is My mother, and who are My brothers? … Whoever does the will of My Father in heaven is My brother and sister and mother.” The statement relativizes natural ties and establishes a new criterion for belonging: obedience to God’s word. In Mark’s version, the physical separation of Mary and Jesus—she standing outside, He surrounded by disciples inside—visualizes the transition from familial to spiritual community. Luke reinforces the point: “My mother and My brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.”

This redefinition does not demean Mary but universalizes her blessedness. The same faith and obedience that characterized her at the Annunciation are now the marks of all true disciples. Mary’s greatness lies precisely in her inclusion within, not exemption from, this community of faith.

Mary at the Cross (John 19:25–27)

The climax of Mary’s story occurs at Golgotha. “Standing by the cross of Jesus were His mother and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.” The verb heistēkeisan underscores the steadfastness of their presence. Where others have fled, she remains. Simeon’s prophecy is fulfilled: the sword pierces her soul.

Jesus’ words from the cross—“Woman, behold your son … Behold, your mother”—have sometimes been read symbolically, as if instituting Mary as mother of the church. Yet the immediate context suggests a concrete act of filial care. The chiastic parallelism of address and command (ide ho huios sou … ide hē mētēr sou) enacts the creation of a new household of faith centered on obedience to the crucified Lord. John’s note that the disciple “took her to his own” (eis ta idia) connects this moment with the Prologue’s theme: those who receive the Word become children of God (John 1:12). The cross thus becomes the locus where natural and spiritual families converge. Mary is neither abandoned nor exalted to cosmic motherhood; she is integrated into the community of believers formed at the foot of the cross.

Mary Among the Disciples (Acts 1:14)

After the resurrection and ascension, Mary appears one final time. In the upper room the disciples “with one accord devoted themselves to prayer, together with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and His brothers.” The participial construction ēsan proskarterountes portrays persistent, unified prayer. Luke includes Mary not as an object of veneration but as part of the praying community awaiting the Spirit. No leadership role or special prerogative is assigned to her. She has become what she confessed herself to be—the servant of the Lord—standing with the church that will proclaim her Son to the nations. After Pentecost she disappears from the narrative, her mission complete.

Paul’s Testimony: Galatians 4:4

Outside the Gospels and Acts, Mary is mentioned only once by name implication. “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of woman, born under the Law.” Paul’s terse phrase genomenon ek gynaikos underscores the reality of Christ’s humanity but attaches no special theological weight to the woman herself. The emphasis rests entirely on divine initiative—“God sent forth His Son.” The apostle’s silence is eloquent: had Mary occupied a doctrinal position within apostolic teaching, it would have surfaced here or elsewhere. Instead, she is subsumed within the economy of redemption as the means by which the Son entered human history.¹⁰

Theological Synthesis: Mary within Christology and Ecclesiology

A comprehensive biblical theology of Mary must therefore be framed within two broader loci: Christology and Ecclesiology. Within Christology, she belongs to the doctrine of the Incarnation. The mystery of the Word made flesh presupposes her motherhood but does not depend upon her merit. Her virgin conception safeguards the truth that salvation is ex Deo, not ex homine. Within Ecclesiology, Mary stands as the archetype of discipleship. She hears the Word, believes, and obeys. In her, the church learns what it means to receive the Word by faith and to bear witness to His coming.

To isolate Mariology as an independent theological discipline risks distorting this balance. The New Testament never treats Mary as an object of faith, prayer, or mediation. Every reference to her directs attention to Christ. As D. A. Carson aptly notes, “Everywhere Mary appears during the course of Jesus’ ministry, Jesus is at pains to establish distance between them.”¹¹ That distance is not rejection but theological clarity: the center of revelation is the Son, not His mother. Yet the very act of maintaining that Christocentric focus elevates Mary’s example, for she herself magnified the Lord and rejoiced in “God my Savior.”

Conclusion: Blessed Among Women

From Isaiah’s prophecy to the prayer meeting in Jerusalem, Scripture traces a consistent trajectory. Mary is blessed among women because she believed that the word spoken to her by the Lord would be fulfilled. She is the hinge between the old covenant’s promise and the new covenant’s realization, the first to experience the mystery of the Word made flesh. Her faith anticipates that of all who will later believe without seeing.

The biblical portrait, then, is neither reductionist nor extravagant. It honors Mary’s unique vocation while safeguarding the singular glory of Christ. She is mother, disciple, and witness—never mediatrix or redeemer. In her humble acceptance of God’s will, the church perceives its own calling: to receive the grace of God, to treasure His word, and to magnify His name. Thus, a genuinely biblical Mariology is nothing other than a renewed Christology viewed through the lens of obedient faith.

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Notes

1. For lexical discussion see H. G. M. Williamson, Isaiah 1–27 (ICC; London: T&T Clark, 2006), pp. 229–31.

2. Matt 1:23 LXX citation; cf. Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39 (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), p. 243.

3. Luke 1:28. Greek text per NA28.

4. BDAG 1079 s.v. χαριτόω.

5. John Nolland, Luke 1–9:20 (WBC 35A; Dallas: Word, 1989), p. 57.

6. Anselm of Canterbury, Proslogion 1.

7. Cf. Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), pp. 97–100.

8. See R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), pp. 27–31.

9. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John I–XII (AB 29; New York: Doubleday, 1966), pp. 99–102.

10. Kenneth J. Collins and Jerry L. Walls, Roman but Not Catholic (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2017), p. 146.

11. D. A. Carson, The Gospel according to John (PNTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), p. 171.