Mary Did You Know: Mansplaining, or Something More?

Over the last few years there has been a lot written about the song Mary Did You Know? (MDYK, for short). It has become a favorite on many Christmas albums, both secular and religious, but lately has been criticized as a flagrant example of mansplaining. Once this interpretation was presented to me, I could immediately see the validity of it, and tended to accept it without much thought, After all, I consider myself to be a feminist, and if other feminists, especially women, were articulating this concern, I felt their perspectives needed to be taken seriously and valued. Still, something niggled at the back of my mind, prompting me to think more deeply about MDYK. I have done my best to approach the song fairly, as I would any piece of art that has received criticism, although, I know I can not rid myself of my own gender biases, I hope I have been able to mitigate them successfully enough to offer as neutral a perspective as possible.

When I first heard the song I, like everyone else, had to contend with the unusual and incessant question that frames the entire song, did Mary know? My intuitive response was immediate. Of course she did, there was no question. I had grown up hearing the nativity stories straight from the Bible since before I could remember, and it struck me that anyone with even the smallest familiarity with the various nativity stories should know this. Perhaps I was mistaken. The preponderance of articles and meditations written about this song seem to suggest that many listeners today lack the basic biblical literacy to understand that Mary did indeed know. I would assume that anyone writing religious songs would absolutely know this. So the question in my mind shifted from did Mary know, to why would anyone use this obviously ridiculous and meaningless question as the centerpiece of their song? What is it’s purpose? Why is this question drilled into our heads throughout the song?

I can see a few reasons for this. The first and most superficial answer would be just to create a memorable framework. So many Christmas songs are so easily available that it is hard, as an artist working within this genre, to make your work stand out. Repetition is One way to do this, especially considering the origins of the song. First released in 1991. it was written by members of the Gaither Vocal Band, one of the groups largely responsible for the rise of so-called Praise music. This specific sub-genre of modern religious music is known for using repetition to induce a kind of euphoric emotional state that is often interpreted by the participants as a religious experience or an affirmation of their devotion. It is a genre that has been largely connected with more conservative or hip denominations which use projectors, drums and guitars rather than hymnals, organs, and choirs, but it has been making inroads into more traditional worship venues as well. (To be honest, once I discovered this origin I was tempted to abandon any kind of defense of the song because of the damage such shallow spirituality can and has caused, but I decided to carry on despite my distaste for it’s origins.) So one reason for the repeated use of a questionable question seems to be both contextual and structural. It reflects the sub-genre from which it sprang and offers a memorable hook.

A second reason for the central question requires us to look more deeply into the structure of the song. Repetition is a time honored tool of poets everywhere, offering a basic framework within which to place deeper meanings. Indeed, artists often use the simplest structures to convey the most complex ideas. By repeating the question over and over, the author was able to offer many ways of approaching what he seems to consider the meat of the song, the identity of Jesus as the incarnation of God.

Let’s be honest here, this song isn’t about Mary at all. Despite the constant repetition of her name, the song tells us nothing about her, and that should not be surprising, coming from a fundamentalist author. Growing up in a fundamentalist household, I was regularly reminded of their utter contempt for more traditional denominations, such as the Catholics, and what they hated most was their focus on Mary. It was seen as idol worship. So while I might expect fundamentalist authors to produce Christmas music which includes Mary, I would also expect such songs to be based in the nativity narrative, with Mary having no more importance than a shepherd or a wise man. (The one notable exception to this expectation is Amy Grant’s Breath of Heaven, which offers a more meditative perspective than most music from this genre.)

This song all about Jesus, even though he is never named. When you remove the structural framework of Mary, the song offers a list of Jesus’s miraculous works, a list of titles given to him by the prophets, and theological assertions of his divinity. It’s almost as if the author challenged himself to focus the entire song on Jesus without actually using his name. Specifically, the song is an invitation to meditate on the mystery of the incarnation. It builds from the humble beginnings of a “baby boy”, through examples of Jesus’s ministry and works with a growing understanding of his identity, until it reaches it’s climax by declaring him the “Great I Am”.

With this as the song’s focus, Mary becomes a kind of functionary element in the song. The criticism that the author is mansplaining makes sense, especially in our modern culture, but I do not see that as the worst offense of the patriarchy in this song. What I perceive is that the author has done what the patriarchy always does with women. It has redefined Mary as an extension of a man. She is no longer an autonomous and courageous individual capable of responding to a terrifying angel with a resounding yes. She is now nothing more than a mother of a boy child, and it is the boy that matters. Even the central question, which seems directed at her, isn’t. I believe it’s aimed at us.

The incarnation is considered by many to be the central mystery of Christianity and a concept as difficult to comprehend as the trinity. I believe that Mary functions as a kind of doorway or buffer in this song. As the human mother of Jesus, she stands in for us. She becomes our surrogate as we face the difficult questions that are ostensibly thrown at her. I think the goal of the song is for us to ask ourselves how we would have responded were we in her situation. To my perspective, the central question assumes that Mary knew and understood what she was told at the annunciation, and had the courage and faith to say yes. The real question behind it is, in the light of her example, would I do the same? I believe that this is a large part of why people find this song so meaningful. It is one of those rare pieces of art that invites us in as participants rather than as voyeurs.

I grew up in churches and have sung in choirs for most of my life. As such Christmas music is ingrained in my soul. From early music and Gregorian chant to classic hymns and more popular songs, I’ve sung them all. One of the things that has grown to annoy me about Christmas music is that it often focuses on the wrong things. Christmas songs are often overly sentimental, focusing on a romanticized view of childbirth and motherhood. Away in a Manger is a prime example. This song reduces the nativity from the moment when the creator of the universe becomes one with humanity, complete with terrifying angels and cosmic displays, to an almost maudlin image of a shushed household, gazing dreamily at a sleeping infant. While that image is not incorrect, it lacks depth. It reduces the Christ to, at most, a guardian angel.

MDYK does just the opposite. It uses a dreamy and romantic image, Mary gazing in wonder at the infant, to contemplate the deeper mysteries of the event, the potential for the miraculous, the in-breaking of God’s kindom, and the greatest mystery of all, the incarnation.

Is the song sexist? Yes, hardly surprising considering it’s origins. Does it denigrate Mary as an ignorant woman? I don’t think so. At worst, it seems to render her invisible and uses her as a prop in her son’s story, but I think the idea that it questions her mental abilities is a bit over the top. My childhood with the fundamentalists tells me that even they would have understood the central question as rhetorical, requiring deeper thought. Also, by the time the song was written some of the conservative denominations had begun ordaining women. So while they certainly would not be embracing feminism outright, they were responding to it on some levels and were at least making some progress on treating women with more respect than they had been. As such, I think it behooves us to keep in mind that this song is first and foremost a song about Jesus, and Mary’s presence in it can be understood as purely structural, a literary ploy to offer us access to a difficult set of questions.

The song is clearly flawed, but so are the arguments that dismiss it as a blatant case of mansplaining. Most of what I have read has simply accused it of mansplaining without ever making any effort to delve deeper into the song, its context, or its intended meaning. The people who write these articles seem to be mostly focused on social justice issues, a laudable goal, but they seem to lack the subtlety or background to be able to dissect and analyze a work of art. And make no mistake, MDYK is a work of art, requiring an understanding of the artistic process and semiotics to be able to make any kind of valid evaluation beyond personal opinion. Shallow criticism is easy, and when coupled with a passion for social justice, I think we need to be careful that we aren’t just stroking our own egos and setting ourselves up as being more sensitive than the previous generation, an easy trap to fall in to.

Yes, MDYK does include mansplaining if you take the central question literally. If you can get beyond that superficial approach and recognize it as an invitation to contemplate the incarnation for yourself, then the song holds deeper meanings, and Mary is doubly honored, not only as the means of the divine entering humanity, but also as the means for all of us to engage with that mystery.