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Before dawn on June 29, 2001, I found myself in a delivery room at Central DuPage Hospital—again. My wife Senja was about to have our third child, and unfortunately, I was about to faint.

"I'm losing it!" I shouted out to no one in particular as everything began fading to black. The anesthesiologist was setting up my wife's epidural for pain relief, and I was holding on to her shoulders. Most of that night, I had been up timing contractions, giving back massages, and (unwisely) skipping breakfast. An RN quickly stepped up to take my place while I staggered into the hallway.

Another nurse rushed over and shouted, "Sit down and put your head between your knees!" I collapsed into a waiting wheelchair and sucked down three cups of apple juice.

About 15 minutes later, I rejoined the main event, and a lilting chorus of laughter and snickers greeted me. "I hope you're ok," my wife's OB said.

Yes, Doc, no damage done, except perhaps for my bruised ego on realizing that this father-to-be's role in labor and delivery is comic relief. Minutes later, our daughter Jaffrey Emilyn was born. Then I had breakfast.

Even God incarnate in Jesus Christ, born of Mary, has a birth story of sorts—and a wedding story, and a death story. Through the birth of Jesus, the wedding feast at Cana, and Christ's crucifixion, Mary's purpose and function are revealed. Timothy George, author of our lead article this issue, told me that Martin Luther once invoked a powerful image by referring to Mary as the "workshop" in which the Incarnation happened. But how can we embrace Mary and her proper place in Scripture—not just as someone who fulfilled a function, but a person who loved and followed God? It has something to do with the birth story we tell in church.

When my wife and I relocated to the Chicago area in 1992, we joined the oldest church in Geneva, Illinois. One of their biggest events each year is the Christmas pageant. As the date for the pageant drew near that year, my wife was eager with anticipation. I was desperate to find a scheduling conflict (but failed). When we arrived the evening of the pageant, we took our place in a standing-room-only crowd. The lights went down and a pint-sized phalanx of Roman soldiers marched down the nave followed by a stern-faced, 11-year-old Herod the Great.

As the drama unfolded, Mary suddenly became the point of focus, and a lone teenage voice plaintively sang the entire Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55). That moment—during a retelling in pageant form—was a breakthrough for me in realizing afresh Mary's unique role and person.

When I talked with Timothy George, he shared with me a couple of related insights: "Mary is our sister in a unique sense: She is the only human being chosen by God to be the flesh-and-blood bearer of his Son.

"Her two utterances from the gospel summarize the essence of the Christian life as well as anything I know: 'Let it be unto me according to your will!' expresses humility, wonder, and surrender to the heavenly Father," George says. "And, her, 'Do whatever he tells you' instruction at the wedding in Cana is a marching order for every disciple of Jesus."

Next month: Medicine meets the final—and smallest—frontier (nanotechnology), Tim Stafford profiles Joni Eareckson Tada, and the problem of individualism on Christian campuses.

Copyright © 2003 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Also posted today, The Blessed Evangelical Mary.

Other CT articles on Mary include:

The Serene Contradiction of the Mother of Jesus | Why I reclaimed the virgin mother as a significant figure in my faith (Dec. 23, 2002)

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December 2003, Vol. 47, No. 12