Christmas comes with a clatter of shopping carts—and a constant onslaught of Michael Buble’s jazzy tunes.

Oh, I’m not against it. I’m the one that puts on “Jazz in the Background” (a legendary Spotify playlist) during late afternoons in my classroom—in the middle of the year.

So I’m not against Christmas music. Well, I do rant against winter-themed lyrics being the exclusive type of Christmas music. I grew up in Hawaii. The only white Christmas I’m dreaming about is the one I’ve never had. Seriously, how many billion people haven’t even seen snow, let alone at Christmas time?! 

But I digress.  

I’m not against Christmas music. I’m not even against Santa (though I may be against convincing kids he exists so they “be good”, oh, I digress again).  

But I do get caught up in the banter (and She & Him Christmas albums)—and forget the first Christmas song. 

 No, not on the hills in Bethlehem.  

Not the unrecorded songs the angels sung to shepherds at night.  

I mean the song a young woman sung in “a town in Judah”, in the midst of social stigma and religious law that overlooked angel visitation and instead saw “unmarried” and “pregnant”.  

The song a young woman sang to her “too-old and yet pregnant” cousin, who knew  the wild, ridiculous way promises are sometimes answered. 

She sings. 

For He who is mighty 
has done great things for me. 

Mary sings what is described in Luke 1 as “The Magnificat”. It’s eight verses of wild proclamations about the kindness of God. It’s eight verses of hope. It’s eight verses of joy. It’s eight verses of the first Christmas song.  

I never want to forget that song.  

Because no matter what December—or the New Year—throws at us, there’s always a song to sing.  

A song that tells of the things God has done for us in the last 12 months, or even 12 years.  

A song that tells of the way we’ve got closer to Him. 

I want to sing that song.   

For He has done great things for me.