Woman, Behold Thy Son; Behold Thy Mother
Sermon
The Seven Last Words Of Jesus Christ
Messages for Good Friday
Ask most sons and they will tell you their mothers do not understand them. How many mothers have their sons share deeply their thoughts and fears, dreams and aspirations? Sons, in their childhood, may talk to their mothers. But in their adolescence, youth and young manhood, they often seek out the company of other older women in whom they confide, and with whom they share their questions, their hopes, and dreams.
But ask most mothers if they understand their sons and they will claim they do. They will tell you their physical characteristics and personality traits from earliest infancy. They remember the first steps, the first word, the first time they slept through the night. Mothers can recall the excitement of a son over his first bicycle and the first day he really combed his hair and worried about how he looked to the girls.
Do mothers understand their sons? Ask them and they will recall a son's first date, his struggle with Latin and trigonometry, and his ego swelling after a series of victorious touchdowns. They will tell you how messy his room is, how unfortunate it is the son has inherited some of the personality flaws of his father. And when the son brings home some beautiful, young thing from college, the mother still holds herself superior in understanding. That young girl who claims to love him and to understand him really does not know him as does Mother. She could tell the girl a thing or two about her boy, good and bad. She knows her son better than anyone.
But does she really? Did Thomas Edison's mother understand him? Or Albert Einstein's mother? Did they really fathom what was going on inside them? Could Thomas Jefferson's mother say she really knew Tom better than he knew himself? Or Abraham Lincoln -- could his mother claim to know what was going on in his mind and soul?
Mothers often are bound by the old way of seeing, the customary way of thinking. They tend to define reality by what they have experienced rather than by the visions of their sons. They are likely to place their faith in what they have known to be true rather than in what their sons hope will become true.
Traditionally, mothers have clung to the old, producing and craving security, avoiding family-destroying risks. If mothers would have had their way, we probably would have had fewer martyrs, but we also would surely have had less progress. There comes a time when sons move beyond the understanding of mothers, attempting to make real a new idea, a new age, a new way the mothers might only have glimpsed dimly.
Thus Jesus the visionary, the prophet, the preacher-teacher and healer; Jesus the would-be revolutionary leader, the longed-for Khomeni-type Jewish Messiah who would set up a Jewish theocratic state like that of King David -- this Jesus advanced beyond the understanding of his mother. Early in his public ministry, she and Jesus' brothers tried to get him to come home to the quiet carpentry business. Jesus' brothers mocked him and thought he was a little out of his mind. And maybe he was. For now, like other would-be Messiahs the Romans had executed, Jesus was himself being put to death for his visions and dreams.
Had it been worth it? Had it been a mistake to forsake his role as elder brother of a family of seven children, the role of chief provider after Joseph's death, to take up his mission for the Kingdom of God? Earlier in his ministry when his family came to take him home, he asked, "Who is my mother? Who are my brothers and sisters? They are those who share with me the vision of the Kingdom of God and have risked their lives in its behalf." Thus he identified himself with his cause, his new order, his new community more than with his genetic family.
II.
Many men and women have forsaken father, mother, and family for far less than the kingdom of God. Some pursue success around the world and only think of Mother at Christmas and birthday. Some tuck Mother away in a nursing home and neglect her completely as they pursue their pleasure. Others strive in behalf of career, notoriety, and materialistic reward to the neglect of honoring their parents.
Jesus had pursued the Kingdom of God despite the misgivings and misunderstanding of his mother. His brothers had not believed him. They had ridiculed and scorned him. Thus Jesus could not, in his hour of death, commend his mother to the security of his genetic brothers, who, after all, were not at the cross. They had not yet caught the new vision of the new order, the new day, the new age for which Jesus and his disciples labored and prayed.
Instead, he commended his mother to the care of John, his first cousin and beloved disciple, who was at the cross. John had left his fishing business with his father Zebedee for the sake of the Cause. Unlike Jesus' brothers, John had caught the vision of the new age and had risked his life for it and was the only disciple who was at the cross in the bitter end.
III.
Thus Mary's true security, her revered memory, was not kept so much by her genetic family, as it was by the church, the family of the faithful, the community of the new age. By entrusting Mary to John, the disciple, Jesus caused Mary to be remembered and revered beyond her wildest dreams and dearest imaginings.
Did Mary understand her son? Not really, not at the time of the cross. She thought this was the end. But understand him or not, she did understand this much: She loved him and in his hour of death, she knew he needed her, and she knew she needed to be with him. Despite misunderstandings, despite any feeling of recrimination she might have had about his foolish hopes, she was there, at the foot of the cross saying, "I love you; I stand beside you in your hour of deepest loneliness." And it is noteworthy that, according to John's Gospel, there were four women at the cross, but only one man. Thus Saint Chrysostom observed centuries ago, "The weaker sex then appeared the more manly, so entirely henceforth were all things transformed."
And in his final moments, despite his disappointment in his mother's failure to understand, despite his identification more with the women who shared his vision of the new age than with Mary, despite his anguish at having a mother who did not really grasp what he was attempting to do in the world -- despite all that, he loved her, and commended her to the care of John and thus of the church.
Regardless of the tragedy of this day, this black Friday of 29 or 30 A.D., love had its triumph. The evil which for a moment held the upper hand, now itself has been given the death blow, so much so that we call this Good Friday. And with new confidence mothers can give their sons to the cause of the new age, and sons can commend their mothers to fellow disciples, to the love and care of the church.
"Woman, behold thy son! Behold thy mother!"
But ask most mothers if they understand their sons and they will claim they do. They will tell you their physical characteristics and personality traits from earliest infancy. They remember the first steps, the first word, the first time they slept through the night. Mothers can recall the excitement of a son over his first bicycle and the first day he really combed his hair and worried about how he looked to the girls.
Do mothers understand their sons? Ask them and they will recall a son's first date, his struggle with Latin and trigonometry, and his ego swelling after a series of victorious touchdowns. They will tell you how messy his room is, how unfortunate it is the son has inherited some of the personality flaws of his father. And when the son brings home some beautiful, young thing from college, the mother still holds herself superior in understanding. That young girl who claims to love him and to understand him really does not know him as does Mother. She could tell the girl a thing or two about her boy, good and bad. She knows her son better than anyone.
But does she really? Did Thomas Edison's mother understand him? Or Albert Einstein's mother? Did they really fathom what was going on inside them? Could Thomas Jefferson's mother say she really knew Tom better than he knew himself? Or Abraham Lincoln -- could his mother claim to know what was going on in his mind and soul?
Mothers often are bound by the old way of seeing, the customary way of thinking. They tend to define reality by what they have experienced rather than by the visions of their sons. They are likely to place their faith in what they have known to be true rather than in what their sons hope will become true.
Traditionally, mothers have clung to the old, producing and craving security, avoiding family-destroying risks. If mothers would have had their way, we probably would have had fewer martyrs, but we also would surely have had less progress. There comes a time when sons move beyond the understanding of mothers, attempting to make real a new idea, a new age, a new way the mothers might only have glimpsed dimly.
Thus Jesus the visionary, the prophet, the preacher-teacher and healer; Jesus the would-be revolutionary leader, the longed-for Khomeni-type Jewish Messiah who would set up a Jewish theocratic state like that of King David -- this Jesus advanced beyond the understanding of his mother. Early in his public ministry, she and Jesus' brothers tried to get him to come home to the quiet carpentry business. Jesus' brothers mocked him and thought he was a little out of his mind. And maybe he was. For now, like other would-be Messiahs the Romans had executed, Jesus was himself being put to death for his visions and dreams.
Had it been worth it? Had it been a mistake to forsake his role as elder brother of a family of seven children, the role of chief provider after Joseph's death, to take up his mission for the Kingdom of God? Earlier in his ministry when his family came to take him home, he asked, "Who is my mother? Who are my brothers and sisters? They are those who share with me the vision of the Kingdom of God and have risked their lives in its behalf." Thus he identified himself with his cause, his new order, his new community more than with his genetic family.
II.
Many men and women have forsaken father, mother, and family for far less than the kingdom of God. Some pursue success around the world and only think of Mother at Christmas and birthday. Some tuck Mother away in a nursing home and neglect her completely as they pursue their pleasure. Others strive in behalf of career, notoriety, and materialistic reward to the neglect of honoring their parents.
Jesus had pursued the Kingdom of God despite the misgivings and misunderstanding of his mother. His brothers had not believed him. They had ridiculed and scorned him. Thus Jesus could not, in his hour of death, commend his mother to the security of his genetic brothers, who, after all, were not at the cross. They had not yet caught the new vision of the new order, the new day, the new age for which Jesus and his disciples labored and prayed.
Instead, he commended his mother to the care of John, his first cousin and beloved disciple, who was at the cross. John had left his fishing business with his father Zebedee for the sake of the Cause. Unlike Jesus' brothers, John had caught the vision of the new age and had risked his life for it and was the only disciple who was at the cross in the bitter end.
III.
Thus Mary's true security, her revered memory, was not kept so much by her genetic family, as it was by the church, the family of the faithful, the community of the new age. By entrusting Mary to John, the disciple, Jesus caused Mary to be remembered and revered beyond her wildest dreams and dearest imaginings.
Did Mary understand her son? Not really, not at the time of the cross. She thought this was the end. But understand him or not, she did understand this much: She loved him and in his hour of death, she knew he needed her, and she knew she needed to be with him. Despite misunderstandings, despite any feeling of recrimination she might have had about his foolish hopes, she was there, at the foot of the cross saying, "I love you; I stand beside you in your hour of deepest loneliness." And it is noteworthy that, according to John's Gospel, there were four women at the cross, but only one man. Thus Saint Chrysostom observed centuries ago, "The weaker sex then appeared the more manly, so entirely henceforth were all things transformed."
And in his final moments, despite his disappointment in his mother's failure to understand, despite his identification more with the women who shared his vision of the new age than with Mary, despite his anguish at having a mother who did not really grasp what he was attempting to do in the world -- despite all that, he loved her, and commended her to the care of John and thus of the church.
Regardless of the tragedy of this day, this black Friday of 29 or 30 A.D., love had its triumph. The evil which for a moment held the upper hand, now itself has been given the death blow, so much so that we call this Good Friday. And with new confidence mothers can give their sons to the cause of the new age, and sons can commend their mothers to fellow disciples, to the love and care of the church.
"Woman, behold thy son! Behold thy mother!"
