Today is as we know, Mothering Sunday.
It was traditionally the Sunday were folk would return to their Mother Church,
which was usually the church in which they had been baptised. Servants were given
the day off and allowed to return home. There they attended Church and spent
the day with their actual mothers and other family members.
These days the tradition has changed
somewhat to one were we celebrate mothers and compare the way that God and
God’s church care for people.
I think that this is a particularly
poignant message given that at the moment so many of us are separated from both
our mother’s and our home churches.
We are not however, separated from God,
nor can we be.
In this reflection on Mother’s in the
Bible I’ll be using a couple of pieces of creative writing which I might have
used in a previous podcast. However, I like them and they fit the theme and
everyone likes to hear a story even if it’s one we’ve heard before.
The first story that I want to share
is based on a mother who isn’t even in the Bible. It is from a story which
Jesus told about two sons and their father.
It is sometimes known as the parable
of the prodigal son and can be found in Luke’s gospel in the Bible, chapter 15
beginning at verse 11.
The youngest of the two sons decides
that he wants his share of his father’s wealth now, rather than wait for his
dad to die. The father gives in and presents the youngest son with his money
and off the son goes to another country to live it up. A famine strikes the new
country, his money runs out and his new friends run out soon after and he is
left with nothing.
Faced with the choice between feeding
pigs and stealing their leftovers and the option of going home to ask his dad
for a job, the son sets out for home, rehearsing his script on the way.
He’ll admit to what he’s done wrong,
come to his father not as a son but as a hired hand and hope to get a job.
Dad sees him coming a mile off and welcomes
him home with a feast. The big brother is annoyed by this as he thinks his
brother has gotten off scot-free and goes off in a huff. The father finds him
and explains that everything he has belongs to the older son but his brother
was dead and has come back to life and that is something which needs
celebrating!
In the parable of the prodigal son why
is the mother missing from the story?
The mother may seem to be missing but
the actions of the father are more like those of a mother.
In many ways it is really the father
that is missing or at least it is by the actions of the father that are
missing.
If we say that the father in the story
is representative of God then what we are saying is that in some ways God’s
natural way of acting towards humanity is as much like that of a mother as that
of a father.
Dearest Miriam,
If
only you were still with us. You would have known what to do, what to say, how
to handle this situation.
When
he asked for his inheritance, thereabouts wishing me dead in doing so. I
thought he was just blowing off steam. Railing against his old man the way the
young do. Only this time he stuck to his guns. So angry, so sure of himself but
most of all so desperate to be his own man. He did not want to live in his
father’s shadow, always compared to his brother.
After
you died I did not know how to fill the gap you left in their lives. Malachi
was older and just got on with it, but young Yousef was just so angry. He
blamed me for you not being there, he was angry for me not being you.
So
when he asked I did not know what else to do, how else to show him that I loved
him. So I let him go. He took his money and left, never to be seen again.
Every
day after he left I imagined every terrible thing that could have happened to
him after he left our care. Saw him dead from robbers, dead from famine or dead
from a simple accident I had the power to prevent. I felt how you must have
felt every time either of them had gone off alone as they grew up. When they
went off to play with the other children and you waited and worked near the
doorway so that you could hear them and go running if needed. I thought you
foolish then, they couldn’t have come to much harm and they needed to learn.
You agreed but said “It would never stop you worrying.”
After
Yousef left, I knew how you felt. Imagine my joy then on that day. When, after
what had seemed like an eternity of waiting by the doorway for a son I now
thought dead. I saw walking slowly down the road not the boy who had run away
from home but the man who had walked back to it.
As
soon as I saw him my legs were already carrying me forward. How had you
restrained yourself all those years when they had come in late or come home
hurt? How did you calmly walk over to them and wrap your arms around them?
Overcome by the love and joy and relief that you must have felt every day I was
running, robes flapping in the wind, sandals flip-flopping on the dusty track.
I must have looked a sight!
I
didn’t even let him get a word out! How did you manage to listen through their
excuses and reasons for their mistakes without bursting out laughing from the
joy I knew you had to have them home?
You
would have been proud of me Miriam. I was not stern, I did not judge, I didn’t
even ask where the money had gone. Our boy, now a grown man was home and he was
alive. He had died a thousand times in my nightmares but now he was here
resurrected and alive!
We
threw a party the likes of which the region has never seen. The fatted calf was
killed, for what occasion could be more important to give thanks to God than
for a son brought back from death?
Of
course Malachi was not happy with all this. I had always been so hard on them
both but I always expected the most out of him as the eldest. He is so
steadfast, I assured him that his inheritance was secure, the remaining 2/3 of
the estate were all his. But how could we not celebrate our family being
brought back together.
I
realise now that what they needed from me was not just to be the father who
commands and instructs and expects great things of them. I also need to be
mother, teaching them love, mercy and acceptance. If you had still been here, I
don’t think Yousef would have taken so long to come home.
With
his mother, mercy was assured. With his father as he saw me, he was afraid to
come as anything more than a man in search of work.
So
Miriam, my lovely Miriam. Our family is whole once more, our sons home and
safe, and the space you left in our lives filled…..by you in me, a complete
parent, father and mother, as God is too, for all humankind.
The actions of God or the Father in
the story are those of a father at the beginning but a mother at the end. The
story reveals the completeness of God’s person and care for humanity.
There are some amazing mothers in the
Bible, such as the Mother of Moses. In the book of Exodus, we find out that the
Hebrew slaves of Egypt had grown in number so much that Pharaoh and the rest of
the Egyptians were afraid of an uprising so Pharaoh gave the order to have all
of the baby boys killed so they could not grow up to oppose him.
Moses mother risked everything to
ensure the safety of her son, she put her faith in God and gave Moses up so
that he could live.
When Mary was a young woman engaged to
marry Joseph, the angle Gabriel came to her and told her that she would give
birth to Gods son.
Even though doing so would endanger
her life, endanger her future marriage and ultimately break her heart as Jesus
went to the cross.
These are a couple of story like
reflections which I wrote while at college, reflecting on looking after a baby.
I wondered how it might have been for Mary as a young woman looking after Jesus
as a baby as she dealt with all the things young mothers have to deal with.
How can one tiny baby produce this
much poo? On solids for only two days now and his mother is regretting it. It
is a curious fact that when you become a parent you become obsessed with poo.
Colour. Consistency. Smell. But it is not surprising when they need changing at
least ten times a day, this task becomes the skeleton on which the meat of your
day hangs.
“At least.” She thinks, “At least, it is bath time.” No need to worry about wiping, let him sit and splash in the warm water.
These are the moments she loves, her and her son, beginning to play. He responds so much more these days and he smiles, most of the time.
He is splashing and laughing happily, so she turns to the bread warming in the oven. The splashing suddenly gets louder and the laughter turns to tears.
“Oh no!” She thinks, turning quickly back to the large slightly cracked bowl where the baby was sitting. Her fears are relieved, he'd only splashed himself in the face and taken him by surprise.
Mary gently lifts Jesus from the bath, cuddling him up in a large warm cloth. She sings soothingly to him and he begins to calm down.
Mary lets out a relieved sigh and returns to her daily routine, punctuated with feeding mashed vegetables and wiping the bottom of the Son of God.
“At least.” She thinks, “At least, it is bath time.” No need to worry about wiping, let him sit and splash in the warm water.
These are the moments she loves, her and her son, beginning to play. He responds so much more these days and he smiles, most of the time.
He is splashing and laughing happily, so she turns to the bread warming in the oven. The splashing suddenly gets louder and the laughter turns to tears.
“Oh no!” She thinks, turning quickly back to the large slightly cracked bowl where the baby was sitting. Her fears are relieved, he'd only splashed himself in the face and taken him by surprise.
Mary gently lifts Jesus from the bath, cuddling him up in a large warm cloth. She sings soothingly to him and he begins to calm down.
Mary lets out a relieved sigh and returns to her daily routine, punctuated with feeding mashed vegetables and wiping the bottom of the Son of God.
Colic
Jesus is screaming, baby Jesus, purple in the face barely breathing in.......screaming. It is probably 2 in the morning, but the state Mary is in she cannot tell. Jesus has been screaming for what seems to Mary like 4 hours, inconsolable unless moving, bouncing, jiggling. So Mary walks. So Mary walks the miles that parents walk, round in circles, back and forth. Her legs are burning and her arm is numb, Jesus gurgles contentedly by her ear.
Dare she stop? Has he finally settled? Can she, should she sit, lay him down, chance going back to sleep...........Exhaustion makes the decision for her and her knees buckle and Mary sits back into the cushions of the lower room of the house. Silence.....Mary looks into the face of her son, her holy gift, God as man in her care. Jesus eyes are clenched shut, a tear bubbling into the corner of each and his face screwed into a incandescent mask of anguish, his mouth wide and sucking the air from the room....silence and then.....the world ends, with a sound that makes teeth ache and the hearing crackle. It is all Mary can do in the face of this barrage of noise to struggle to her feet and once again begin her slow plod on to infinity.
As Jesus begins to calm and quiet again, Mary hears a different sound from the upper room where Joseph lies sleeping. The sound is long and drawn coming from the lips of Joseph, a sound reminiscent of him sawing wood in his workshop. The sound cuts through Mary and she hates him. “how can he sleep through this?”, “how can he sleep leaving me to do all the work?”
Again she feels the dead weight on her arm, the numbing needles prickling into her fingers and hears the pathetic whimper in her ear.
She has had enough, all she wants to do is sleep, rest, collapse. It would be so much easier if Jesus wasn't here. She remembers that she was once told that his future would be hard for her, and it's this hard now? The thought keeps creeping as the burning creeps through her bones. The thought hisses in her mind, “Would it not be easier if Jesus wasn't here? You could take him outside and just leave him? You could put him by the window and maybe the wild dogs might solve the problem for you?”
Mary begins to move without thinking, limping towards the window. Lifting Jesus down from her shoulder she lays this screaming bundle of rags down and turns to walk away. As she turns, the cloth falls away from Jesus face a little and Mary looks into the face of her son. And a feeling surfaces, louder and stronger than the thoughts, louder than the burning and louder than the screaming. It is love.
With tears of pain, tears of love and tears of frustration stinging her eyes, Mary stoops and picks up her son.
She straightens up, clutches Jesus tight to her breast and resumes her slow stumbling march into the dawn.
Jesus is screaming, baby Jesus, purple in the face barely breathing in.......screaming. It is probably 2 in the morning, but the state Mary is in she cannot tell. Jesus has been screaming for what seems to Mary like 4 hours, inconsolable unless moving, bouncing, jiggling. So Mary walks. So Mary walks the miles that parents walk, round in circles, back and forth. Her legs are burning and her arm is numb, Jesus gurgles contentedly by her ear.
Dare she stop? Has he finally settled? Can she, should she sit, lay him down, chance going back to sleep...........Exhaustion makes the decision for her and her knees buckle and Mary sits back into the cushions of the lower room of the house. Silence.....Mary looks into the face of her son, her holy gift, God as man in her care. Jesus eyes are clenched shut, a tear bubbling into the corner of each and his face screwed into a incandescent mask of anguish, his mouth wide and sucking the air from the room....silence and then.....the world ends, with a sound that makes teeth ache and the hearing crackle. It is all Mary can do in the face of this barrage of noise to struggle to her feet and once again begin her slow plod on to infinity.
As Jesus begins to calm and quiet again, Mary hears a different sound from the upper room where Joseph lies sleeping. The sound is long and drawn coming from the lips of Joseph, a sound reminiscent of him sawing wood in his workshop. The sound cuts through Mary and she hates him. “how can he sleep through this?”, “how can he sleep leaving me to do all the work?”
Again she feels the dead weight on her arm, the numbing needles prickling into her fingers and hears the pathetic whimper in her ear.
She has had enough, all she wants to do is sleep, rest, collapse. It would be so much easier if Jesus wasn't here. She remembers that she was once told that his future would be hard for her, and it's this hard now? The thought keeps creeping as the burning creeps through her bones. The thought hisses in her mind, “Would it not be easier if Jesus wasn't here? You could take him outside and just leave him? You could put him by the window and maybe the wild dogs might solve the problem for you?”
Mary begins to move without thinking, limping towards the window. Lifting Jesus down from her shoulder she lays this screaming bundle of rags down and turns to walk away. As she turns, the cloth falls away from Jesus face a little and Mary looks into the face of her son. And a feeling surfaces, louder and stronger than the thoughts, louder than the burning and louder than the screaming. It is love.
With tears of pain, tears of love and tears of frustration stinging her eyes, Mary stoops and picks up her son.
She straightens up, clutches Jesus tight to her breast and resumes her slow stumbling march into the dawn.
---pause---
Jesus mother gives us a model of how
we should relate to God.
From the very outset Mary accepts her
role, she is given a ministry by GOD and even knowing it will be hard she
accepts. We often forget Mary in the reformed tradition but I believe we do so
at our peril. She was the first disciple in many ways and she was there until
the very end with Jesus.
It would have been Mary who would have
taught Jesus the stories of the Hebrew Scriptures. It would have been Mary who
would have sat Jesus on her knee and told and retold the stories of GODs
relationship with GODs people. She would have been the one who taught him to
pray and give thanks.
Although not mentioned in the lost son
parable the mothers influence is seen in the actions of the son.
When the Son came to his senses, he
remembered what he had been taught. “I have sinned against you and against God”
this was not something which a young man learns in Synagogue or in temple. They
learn it in the primary place of Jewish worship, their home. They would have
learned it not on the temple steps from some Rabbi but from their Mother on her
knee.
A number of years ago when the new
Methodist Worship book was released there was a big who-ha about it because of
one simple word. Individual Churches and even some circuits decided that they
would not adopt it simply because of this one word. Clearly it was a very
dangerous word which could have caused all manner of problems if it were to be
said in Church.
Any idea what that word was?
Mother.
One prayer in the new book had these
words.
God our Father and our Mother,
we give you thanks and praise
for all that you have made,
for the stars in their splendour
and the world in its wonder
and for the glorious gift of human life.
With the saints and angels in heaven
we praise your holy name.
I think this was due
to the language that has been used by the Bible in describing God and I think
people get mixed up between God the Father and God the completeness of the
Trinity. Because while Jesus prays to God the father and talks very much about
his Father in male terms, GOD as the whole has no gender. The language used to
describe the Holy Spirit in the Bibles native languages is either female or
gender neutral. In GOD there is then aspects of Father and Mother, GOD is the complete and perfect parent and the model
for us to follow in that.
Every man who has
been a true Father to someone has shown that someone, something of the nature
of GOD. Every woman who has been true Mother to someone has shown them the
nature of GOD as well.
Because it is in
parenting, whether to children born to us or children that GOD brings into our
lives that we show the true unconditional love which we find as a description
of GOD in 1 Corinthians 13.
Love is patient, love is kind. It
does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It
does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily
angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love
does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It
always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love
never fails.
God as father, lets us leave and God
the mother rejoices as we come home again.
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