Mothering Sunday

I hardly need to tell you, today is Mothering Sunday. You might have noticed it was coming because of all the advertisements on the television inviting you to buy flowers, cards, special meals etc. Mothering Sunday is not a religious festival in the way that Christmas and Easter are. But it is a really beautiful Festival that the Church has adopted for us to celebrate together and one that goes way back into antiquity. It was originally a pagan festival, held in honour of the Roman mother goddess, Cybele.

After Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity, the Roman Empire began to celebrate it as a Christian Festival honouring the Blessed Virgin Mary and Mother Church. During the 16th-century, domestic servants were given the day off so that they could go home and see their own mothers – often the only day of the year when families could come together. But by the 20th-century, Mothering Sunday had sort of died out in the UK until it was revived by American soldiers who came to Europe to fight during World War II. The US troops celebrated it on the 2nd Sunday in Lent. But when it became part of our nation culture again, we revived it for the 4th Sunday in Lent, which is where it was originally placed throughout history.

So, it’s not a commercial event. It is a beautiful and thought-provoking Sunday in the midst of our Lent austerities.

And coming as it does during Lent, it is appropriate this morning to link Mothering Sunday with the crucifixion of Christ through our Gospel reading. Because here, in John 19:25-27, the two events are brought together: the creative pain of motherhood and the creative pain of the crucifixion when Christ died for us that we might live.

As we turn to this Gospel reading, we are first confronted by the sheer pain of this moment. A dying son. An appalled disciple. A mother whose heart is breaking.

Mary knew what it was to suffer. Mary suffered when she became pregnant before she was married, with all the stigma that that would have entailed in her community. She suffered when she gave birth in a stable, far from home. Mary suffered when she was forced to become a refugee in Egypt. Mary suffered at a point in Jesus’ ministry where she with her children, thought Jesus was mentally ill and came to get him. Mary suffered as she watched a whole nation misunderstand and taunt her son. And here, at the foot of the cross, Mary suffered again as she watched her beautiful son being crucified. We can’t even begin to imagine the pain in her heart, the horror of it all.

A few weeks ago, at Candlemas, we read as we always do, the story of Mary and Joseph taking Jesus, their firstborn son, to the temple in Jerusalem, to be dedicated to the Lord. There they met the old man, Simeon. In Luke 2:33, we read that Simeon said to Mary: “This child is chosen by God for the destruction and the salvation of many in Israel. He will be a sign from God, which many people will speak against and so reveal their secret thoughts. And sorrow, like a sharp sword, will pierce your own heart, too.” And now, at the foot of the cross, Mary was seeing this prophecy come true.

As parents, we experience anguish over our children many times throughout our lives. For some who have lost their own children, Mary can be an important figure of compassion and solidarity as one who identifies with that deep pain.

And, as Mary thinks about her son, so Jesus, despite the awfulness of his suffering, thinks about his mother and the torment she is going through. By the time of Jesus’ crucifixion, Mary was almost certainly a widow. There is no mention of Joseph after the episode at the Temple, when Jesus was 12 years old. Now there was no husband to stand beside her.

Jesus knew her agony and he was aware that, after his own death, there would be no one to care for his mother. As an oldest son, that concerned him. And so, Jesus speaks to his mother, verse 26: Jesus saw his mother and the disciple he loved standing there; so, he said to his mother, ‘He is your son’. Then he said to the disciple, ‘She is your mother’.

Even in his dying moments, Jesus’ concern was for the future well-being of his mother.

But all that being said, I think there might be something deeper still going on in this passage…

Jesus entrusted Mary to the disciple John. Why didn’t he entrust her to his brothers and sisters, who were still alive? We know that he had four brothers – James, Joseph, Simon and Judas – and some sisters who are not named. That seems a little strange. Surely one of them could have looked after their mother?

But Jesus doesn’t pursue that option. Why? What else is going on here?

Well, perhaps we should first note that none of the brothers or sisters came with their mother to stand with her at the foot of the cross where their brother was dying. In John 7:5, we are told quite starkly, “Not even his brothers believed in him.” The person who was being family at this point, was the disciple, John, at great cost to himself. Someone once said, “Family are the people God gives you to care for.” John obviously felt that it was his duty to care for Mary at this terrible moment.

But there is something even more profound about what Mary and the disciple John represent to us here. Because here are two people who are there with Jesus at the foot of the cross because they believe in his mission. Two people who believe in his claim to be the Son of God, the Lord and Saviour of the world.

It seems that what is happening here, between Jesus the Saviour and the two people at the foot of the Cross who believe in him, is that a new family is being created. Verse 26 again: “Jesus saw his mother and the disciple he loved standing there; so, he said to his mother, ‘He is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘She is your mother.’ From that time the disciple took her to live in his home.” A new family is created in the shadow of the cross. Through the blood of Christ shed for us, a new home, a new community comes to life. A new family is born.

It is here, at the foot of the cross, as Jesus sheds his blood and a woman embraces a boy and a boy embraces a woman – it is here that the church is formed!

And as we celebrate the Eucharist this morning, kneeling together at the foot of the cross, sharing the body and blood of Christ – so we are continuing the work that Jesus started that day: the formation and deepening of the church family. As we take bread and wine this morning, we are proclaiming the same truth that was acted out that first Good Friday.

Here, on Harrow on the Hill, is a community, family, fellowship.

We are blood relatives – not through our blood but through his, shed on the cross for us all.

Mary and John formed the church in their relationship with each other. They offered one another comfort. They strengthened each other. They encouraged one another and shared hospitality together.

These, surely, must be the hallmarks of our church today, what we work for: Love, Comfort, Support and Hospitality. This is what Jesus had in mind when he formed the church from the Cross that first Good Friday.

So, in the final analysis, we see that Mothering Sunday is so much deeper than we might at first imagine. It is a time to celebrate the love of our mothers, yes. It is a time to celebrate the love of our carers throughout the years. But it is also a time to give thanks for Mother Church, formed in the blood of Christ at the foot of the cross. Mother Church: where we find comfort, support, encouragement, love and hospitality.

Today, we are grateful for our blood relatives – our blood relatives who share the same DNA and our blood relatives who share faith in Jesus Christ. Let us be thankful for the people God gives us to care for. Amen.