The God Who Stoops

        This is the time of year when we think about Mary’s Magnificat, which leads us naturally to a consideration of Hannah’s song in 1 Samuel, on which Mary’s song is modeled. But these are only two of the many examples in both testaments of the Bible of what could be called “merciful reversals.” Jesus’s signature concept of the last becoming the first and the first becoming the last is characteristic not only of his ministry in the first century CE but also of God’s approach throughout all of salvation history.

        A perfect example is Psalm 113. It starts out as a straight-ahead, garden-variety praise song: “Praise the name of the Lord / both now and forevermore. / From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, / the name of the Lord is to be praised. / The Lord is exalted over all the nations, / his glory above the heavens” (vv. 2–4). But having established this picture of God as one who “sits enthroned on high, / who stoops down to look / on the heavens and the earth” (vv. 5–6), the psalmist takes a turn. This high and exalted deity doesn’t stay put. The next verse finds this God down in the dust, raising up the poor, and in the ash heap, lifting out the needy.

        This idea of stooping has always struck me with particular force. At first it reads like an indication of the distance between God and us: God must “stoop down” just to see humankind. One imagines God musing, “Hmm, they really do look like ants from this high up.”

        But verse 7 changes the definition. Stooping is no longer an indicator of distance but rather of its opposite. The reason God stoops is to draw near to humankind. And not just a generic version of humankind, but some very specific representatives of the species. Just as in the Christmas story the angels appear to the most unlikely people—a poor teenage girl and a group of scraggly shepherds—so does the God of Psalm 113 descend not to hobnob with kings but rather to give aid to the dregs of society: the poor, the needy, and the childless woman.

        It’s not a matter of mere charity, either. God is not bringing sandwiches to the homeless shelter to alleviate hunger for a few hours; God is bringing about merciful reversals. God is lifting these poor ones from the ash heap “to make them sit with princes” (v. 8); God “settles the childless woman in her home / as a happy mother of children” (v. 9).

        The psalm concludes by reiterating its opening line: “Praise the Lord” (v. 9). There are a lot of reasons to praise the Lord: the majesty of the universe, the wonder of life, the fearful symmetry of creation. The most profound reason of all, in my opinion, is that this God who in traditional understanding is so “high and lifted up” that God must stoop down to see God’s handiwork is in reality as close as our own breath. God draws near to us not to judge or punish but to lift up, to heal, to lavish grace, to initiate merciful reversals.

        Praise the Lord indeed.