The Invisible Gorilla
You would think that if a gorilla wandered across your field of vision, you would notice, right? About twenty years ago, a couple of psychologists ran an experiment. They asked participants to watch a video. In the video, two teams are passing around two basketballs, one team in white shirts, the other in black. The psychologists instructed the participants to count the number of times that the players in white passed the ball. At the end of the experiment, they asked the participants, “Did you see the gorilla?” Because, sure enough, in the middle of the video, a person in a gorilla costume wanders into the middle of the screen, beats his chest, and then wanders off screen. Incredibly, only half of the participants noticed the gorilla. The rest were too focused on the basketball.
The creators of the experiment, Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons, explain that the exercise illustrates the phenomenon of selective attention. The idea is simple and apparently true. We tend to see only what we are looking for. We might think that we would notice something new and unusual—surely we would notice a gorilla!—but in fact we’re liable to miss it because our attention is focused elsewhere. About a century before this gorilla experiment, American philosopher William James made a similar observation. He explained that at any point in time, we are surrounded by infinitely more external stimuli and internal thoughts than we can pay attention to. To prevent us from becoming overwhelmed, our mind chooses to attend to whichever objects we deem relevant, and it disregards the rest.
At the risk of oversimplifying the point, we could summarize it this way. We only pay attention to one thing, when in reality there are many things. We only pay attention to one thing, when in reality there are many things.
From Fear to Joy
When the angel Gabriel visits Mary and says, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you,” Luke tells us that “she [is] much perplexed by his words” (1:28-29). She likely has many thoughts and feels many things, all at once. I am favored? The Lord is with me? I’m just a girl, not even out of her father’s house. Fear is perhaps the predominant feeling, the one she pays the most attention to, because upon seeing her reaction, Gabriel rushes to reassure her, “Do not be afraid, Mary” (1:30). He then promises that her child will be called the Son of God and will inherit the throne of David. Israel has been without a true king now for centuries. It lives under Roman occupation and oppression. A king is a big deal. A king is the promise of freedom and new life.
If Mary’s first response to the news is fear, her later response is the opposite: joy. In today’s scripture, which takes place while Mary visits her cousin Elizabeth, she erupts into jubilant song. Her song has since become a beloved prayer in the church, known as the Magnificat. Some communities of faith recite it on a daily basis. Mary’s song rejoices in the special attention that God pays to the lowly and left out. Remember how Gabriel’s greeting declared to Mary that she was a favored one and God was with her (1:28)? Now she perceives that the child in her womb will declare this same good news to others, that they are beloved by God, and God is with them. Her song celebrates how God “lift[s] up the lowly” and “fill[s] the hungry with good things” and “help[s] his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy” (1:52-54).
Sometimes I take Mary’s joy for granted. It’s such a familiar part of the Advent story that I just assume anyone would be joyful in her circumstances. But I wonder if that is true. Because Mary’s situation is filled with complications and uncertainties that she could do without. When her pregnancy starts to show, there will be mean stares and sneers and whispers of judgment. Never mind all the responsibilities that will come with having to raise a child before she was prepared to do so. And what if Joseph leaves her? Make no mistake, life is not going according to plan for Mary. Life is being thrown at her.
Yet that initial feeling of fear, human and understandable as it is, fades when Mary focuses on God’s favor toward her, God’s presence with her. When she pays attention to God’s love, she rejoices.
Making a Big Deal out
of God’s Love
“My soul magnifies the Lord,” Mary sings. The Greek for “magnify,” megaluno, simply means “make big.” I would compare it to the English expression “to make a big deal out of something.” The reality of our lives is that there are always many things going on, but we selectively pay attention to one thing. We all make a big deal about something.
Some people make a big deal about their boss and how unreasonable they are. Some people make a big deal about money and how they need more of it. Some people make a big deal about their spouse and all their grudges toward them. Some people make a big deal about their misfortunes and how everything seems to be going against them. In my experience, making a big deal out of my resentments has a snowball effect; I see more and more problems all around me, and I am left feeling worried and anxious.
Mary makes a big deal out of God’s love for her. She makes a big deal out of God’s love for everyone, and especially for the people who have been told (or silently shown) that their lives don’t really matter, the poor, the hungry, the homeless. Mary’s song actually echoes much of Hannah’s song from the Old Testament (Hannah was the mother of another miracle child, Samuel), which suggests that Mary has practice in singing this sort of song. She has already made a habit of looking for God’s love in the world. Which explains her joy. Mary could have made a big deal out of the humiliation she would soon experience among her pious neighbors. She could have made a big deal out of not being prepared for a child and all the responsibilities motherhood would entail. She had a lot of possible resentments and anxieties that she could have magnified. But instead she magnifies God’s love for her. And her joy eclipses her fear.
Unlearning and
Relearning
Mary’s song invites me this Advent to ask, “What am I making a big deal out of?” What am I magnifying?
The news teaches me to make a big deal out of power. Social media teaches me to make a big deal out of fame and image. The holiday advertisements teach me to make a big deal out of comfort and convenience. All of this can leave me feeling anxious and fearful. Do I have enough? How do other people see me? Is the world falling apart?
I have been taught by the world to magnify power, prestige, and possessions, and to magnify all the problems that result when I don’t have these things. It is not natural for me to magnify God. I have learned from the world a language of control and complaint, but not the language of praise and prayer. All the more reason this Advent to study Mary’s example, to unlearn old habits and to learn instead a new habit of magnifying God. One practice that helps me to learn this new habit is gratitude. I know some people who like to begin their day by making a list of five things they are grateful for. I know others who practice gratitude in a more contemplative manner; they sit patiently and simply wait to see what gratitude arises, if any. In either case, the idea is not to burden oneself with a spiritual duty or a box to check off. The idea, rather, is to exercise one’s attention on God’s love.
In my experience, God’s love is often quiet. (Is it a coincidence, I wonder, that the angels in the Christmas story frequently appear at night, when the day’s work is done, and the world has quieted?) Every week now, I get Christmas cards in the mail with short, hand-written notes. And I am comforted to remember I have friends who care for me. God loves me. Last week, I was at a nursing care center, and a group of children were wandering the halls. I saw how their smiles were infectious, invisibly passing through doorways and lighting up the faces of residents. God loves others, especially the lowly and left out. God makes his face to shine upon them.
Mary’s story teaches me that the joy of Advent (and the joy of our faith) is not the simple high of a good feeling. It is a practiced song. It is an exercise of attention. It is learning and speaking the language of praise and prayer. And, amid the many things of this world, it attunes me to what matters most: God’s love.
Prayer
Tender God,Whose love lifts up the lowly and left out,
Whose love topples the high and mighty,
Not with force but with a disarming embrace
That invites the surrender of control—
Turn our attention away from the grudges and complaints
That keep us mired in fear
…
And attune our hearts
To your love,
To joyfully sing its praise.
In Christ, whose eternal approach is good news of great joy: Amen.
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