The Virgin Mary’s heart was a soft tablet of flesh upon which the Holy Spirit inscribed her ponderings with His supernatural Writer’s-script. Unlike the young Shepherd King of Israel, David the Psalmist, who wrote his poems for us, Mary’s love poems were written on her abundantly teachable mother’s heart. And often, as sweet rhythms of contentment, she must have devised what we could call her Lullabies of Zion. They were so needful for her little Son who cried from His bed of hay as He was placed in the animal’s feeding trough on a cold and friendless night.

She would have thought about these lullabies while she was on the donkey with Joseph, headed to Bethlehem to be registered. The road was so rough, and the little donkey could not soften the bumps that the young pregnant Mary had to absorb on the very night that she would give birth to her baby. The lullabies would calm both her and the divine infant in her womb as the little burro stumbled in the deep holes on the road and as the swirling winds whipped around them.

The songs would soothe her little one for His unusual birth. They would keep her heart pondering on the promises of the angel, and not upon the darkness of the night and the fact that no other mother had conceived in just the way that she had. Joseph was such a caring and protective husband, unlike the family in Bethlehem who were unwilling to receive them into the Inn for a clean and warm place for their Son’s birth. Mary’s songs unfurled throughout the common stable making it sacred until early the next morning with her baby’s first cry that must have come like the most ethereal note among all of her holy lullabies.

In sheltering and raising a little Boy, who seemed in many ways a normal son, with muscles to grow, sustenance to be given, cleanings to be administered, and speech to be taught, she was happily busy, as were all the mothers she knew. Mary didn’t have the time to write her treasured reflections, but the Holy Spirit kept them safe in her submitted Magnificat-heart, as she sang in her Holy Spirit tongue.

And still, even after her little Son was a toddler, He would surely remember His mother quietly singing the peaceful songs that had always accompanied Him. They were like a prayer set to music that contained all the incense of the temple, and the promises of the Israel’s prophets within them. They would have been rare, unlike any of the songs Jesus had ever heard in the homes of His little friends, or even in the Synagogue. He certainly must have loved these songs as they surrounded Him with heaven’s love and courage as He grew in wisdom and strength. They made Him desire a day when He would be old enough to serve only His Father in heaven.

I imagine Mary always singing as she thought about the powerful prophesies and mysteries that surrounded the birth of Jesus—the hopes of Israel for the Immanuel, who indeed is be God With Us. These hopes were almost more than the dear wife of Joseph could carry as she helped clean the carpenter’s shop, as she brought her family their meals, as she went to the market, and so her songs would often help her hold on to the mysterious messages that were far beyond her understanding.

In my heart, I can hear her sing especially when she remembered Simeon’s statement in the temple on the very day of Jesus’ circumcision. Simeon was so joyous to finally see, in his extreme old age, the baby Jesus. He also predicted such wonderful things: That he had now seen the Lord’s salvation; that her Son was a light of revelation for the Gentiles, and the glory of the Lord’s people, Israel. But she would also harken back to the words that her Child was appointed for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and for a sign to be opposed. And then came the part about a sword that would pierce her own soul—to the end that thoughts from many hearts would be revealed. It sounded so very ominous. What could it mean? And all of this would keep her singing the rocking and surrounding Lullabies of Zion.

Mary’s comforting songs must have been so loud during the three days when Jesus was lost in His twelfth year, after their trip to Jerusalem. Her songs, a veritable shout to keep her and Joseph focused on finding their son, who was now, by Jewish Law, a young man. Where could He be? How could He have strayed? He was always so aware and obedient to their discipline of Him. And then they found Him among the greatest sages of their faith, and it was Jesus teaching them about His Everlasting Heavenly Father. What about His earthly father and mother’s fears? Oh! The songs had to become louder upon her heart as she started to see the beginnings of the sword that would pierce her soul.

Years later, beneath the Cross of her son, and now Savior, Mary would whisper her songs—the only ones that could give her any measure of comfort. And she left a message for all of us with parents’ hearts to sing with our Lord, even when the sword looms, and the Cross stands before us, because by His sacrifice, we who love the Savior, will know the Resurrection of the Lord, if we believe His message--that by His death, we live eternally.

Down through the many ages since the little mother would have started her lullabies to Jesus from the back of a donkey, we have been given the unction to sing to Him. All the praises that we lift up to the Lord have their tradition in the submitted heart of the earthly mother of Heaven’s King.

Hallelujah! Sing! Dear Mothers! Sing! And Sing! Dear Fathers! Sing! The darkness is pushed back by our hymns, and heaven hears a song that, in turn, instills courage for the impossible within us and among us—a Virgin giving birth to the Father’s Son, our virgin hearts facing impossible new territories to glorify the King who now is no longer a baby, but seating us, always with Him, at the right hand of God—a lullaby to calm any fitful heart, even in the darkest night!

Thank you for the grand legacy, dear Mary— you are the lullaby-maker to Jesus, and our hearts are brightened by those brave and tender hymns to keep singing!