Mother's Day
Rebecca Clancy
Luke 11:26-28
On my last trip to our family farm, I was out for a morning run on the beautiful and nearly untraveled country roads that surround it. Suddenly a preternatural howl pierced the air. I stopped dead in my tracks. My blood ran cold. I looked around me and saw nothing. I had no idea whatsoever what to do. As far as I know, there is no manual for what to do when you’re out in the middle of nowhere and a preternatural howl pierces the air. Come to think of it, the only manuals for what to do are for things you can pretty much figure out by yourself. My first response was irrational – “Demonic forces are abroad.” My second response was more in the direction of rationality – “It must have been the scream of a bird high overhead.”
I was about to continue my run when I heard it again. It was just as blood curdling as before, but it sounded slightly less preternatural. It was coming from a declivity to the side of the road. I grabbed a stick to arm myself and peered down. The howl was coming from a cat. It looked like the feline version of the Hound of the Baskervilles. It was scrawny and scraggly and mangy, its face grotesquely contorted as it let out another howl.
Then I saw what it was howling at. A huge raccoon was squared off against it; about a foot separated their faces. As far as I know, there is no manual for what to do when you’re out in the middle of nowhere and you encounter a huge raccoon squared off against a cat. One thing was certain. I couldn’t let nature take its course. The cat didn’t stand a chance. So I thrust my stick in the direction of the raccoon, trusting that it wouldn’t attack me, that my mere human presence would scare it away. But neither the cat nor the raccoon even noticed me, so intent they were with one another. I grabbed some stones and began to pelt the raccoon. After a few good shots, it ran off.
It was then I saw what was really going on. Under the cat there was a litter of three kittens, and a litter newly born. They were in a wet knot, their eyes shut tight. The cat had been driven, no sooner than having given birth, to protect her young. Suddenly, I felt kinship with the cat as a fellow mother. I felt grateful that I had never been driven to protect my young, but noted that if the day should ever come, the preternatural howl is an effective means.
I ran back to the farm for all that I was worth. My mom saw me barreling down the driveway and said, “Nice pace,” she said. “How was your run?” “Oh, unremarkable,” I replied. I didn’t want her to contravene my intentions. I procured a big box, some old towels, and heavy gloves, and jumped in my van. I returned to the fateful spot. There were by this time six kittens. The cat put up no fight as I lifted the new family into the box and relocated it to a safe corner in the barn. That cat and I have become soul mates. I swear she understands that what I did was from one mother to another.
And it’s true enough, really. My instinct as a human mother may be more developed and complex than hers, but our common instinct to protect our children is indeed a biological response that all mothers share. This is not to be reductive about the mystery and miracle of motherhood. It is, rather, to celebrate the mystery and miracle of motherhood as something that inheres in our biological beings.
Oddly enough, Scripture dwells very little on these matters. By deduction one could argue that the Old Testament at least jibes with what I have said about motherhood. The prologue to the book of Genesis declares that God created all that here is; that his creation bears his purposeful wisdom and order; and that it is good. Ergo, this biological mother love, you could call it, is created by God. It bears his purposeful wisdom and order and is good. It is something to acknowledge him for, and to thank and praise him for.
When we turn to the New Testament for its teaching on motherhood, again there is not much to go one. But what’s there is something of a mood wrecker. Recall for instance this morning’s gospel lesson. Jesus was out among the people – teaching, challenging the religious leadership of his day, as he was want to do. A woman in the crowd, called out to him with unbridled enthusiasm, “Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that nursed you.”
But Jesus, in what can only be construed as a rebuff, rejoined, “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.” And it is not only here that Jesus had distressingly forceful and seemingly hostile things to say about motherhood. How about these words from the very next chapter of Luke’s gospel, “Do you suppose I came to grant peace on this earth? I tell you no, but rather division. They will be divided – father against son, mother against daughter….”
The New Testament teaching on motherhood may constitute one of the few times that Christians, who in my experience, and to my dismay, seem eager to bypass the Old Testament to get to the New, given the choice would probably opt for the teaching of the Old Testament. But of course, this is Jesus speaking and so we must, as he always put it, have the ears to hear him. So what does Jesus mean by these difficult teachings?
Jesus, rest assured, does not speak as one hostile to motherhood. Jesus in his ministry showed great compassion to mothers. When a widow had lost her only son and his body was being carried from the house, Jesus, deeply moved, comforted her and raised her son from the dead. When a Gentile woman, a woman of a people traditionally hostile to the Jews, begged Jesus to cure her daughter, he did so.
And Jesus clearly loved his own mother. In one of the most poignant passages of the whole New Testament, Jesus, nailed to his cross and seeing his anguished mother at his feet called to his beloved disciple, “Behold your mother.” Jesus, dying, wanted to ensure that his mother would be cared for, and so entrusted her to his beloved disciple. Jesus affirmed motherhood, and he loved his mother.
But there is something that Jesus valued more than any familial tie, and that is the kingdom of God; the kingdom to which he has called us to become citizens. That kingdom first. That kingdom foremost. That kingdom with no prior or higher allegiances. Indeed, that kingdom as the interpreter of all other allegiances. One must not put his hand to the plow and look back. One must not even stop to bury his dead, so urgent and utmost was Jesus’ call to the kingdom of God. And that kingdom is founded upon God’s love – a love that transcends familial ties, a love that shows no preference or partiality; a love that is all encompassing and all embracing – a love that is universal.
Jesus knew the human heart so well. He knew that love such as a mother’s could easily tend toward interest in her own children to the exclusion or at the expense of others. In the zeal of her love, she could make her family the thing in itself -- clannish, self-contained, and closed off – a proud bulwark over against others, rather than the place where her children learn the love of the kingdom of God. It is here that Jesus spoke a cautionary word to mothers.
The Christian mother then will discipline the tendency of her love, the tendency rooted in her biological mother love, so that it is controlled by the love of the kingdom of God. This means that she will strive to raise children who will love not only within the family, but who will reflect the love they have received in the family out to others – out to those who are in such great need of love – the poor, the ailing, the heartbroken, the hopeless, the lonely, and even out to their enemies.
The love of the Christian mother has been created by God at the deepest level of her biological being, but as that love is recreated by the love of the kingdom of God, it is set free to be what love is meant to be and what true love is – that is boundless. As the Christian mother opens her heart to the boundless love of the kingdom of God, she might well be amazed by the depth, breadth, and height of love she finds there, and what can be accomplished for her children and for her world through it. Amen.
Romans 8:25 Waiting on the Lord Many years ago, almost too many to count, I had the opportunity to study the Old Testament at the University of Edinburgh. That means that I had the opportunity to live in Scotland for a time -- so I am here to tell you that there is more to Scottish culture than kilts and bagpipes. There is the Scottish national dish -- Haggis to be precise. In case you’re unfamiliar with Haggis, it is made from the liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep. They pack them into the sheep’s stomach, toss in a little oatmeal, and boil it. I only tried it once. Once was enough. Then there’s the Scottish national flower – the thistle. You see thistles everywhere -- on flags, coats of armor, dishware. They were once even featured on the currency. I would have thought that heather would have been a better contender for the Scottish national flower -- it is everywhere, and it’s much less prickly -- but no one consulted me. Then there’s the Scottish national poet, Bobby Burns. Burns wrote in Old Scottish. I actually picked up quite a bit of Old Scottish during my time in Edinburgh. I pride myself that I can recite much of his poetry by heart. Old Scottish is unintelligible to the modern ear, but the Scots still love him. I used to walk past the Scottish National Gallery of Art on the way to class. You could peer in the front door and see the famed portrait of him. If you’re unacquainted with his work, he wrote, To a Mouse. To a Louse. And, I kid you not, Address to a Haggis. And then, of course, there’s Greyfriars Bobby. I guess you could call Greyfriars Bobby the Scottish national dog. Grayfriers Bobby was a good Scottish breed -- the Skye Terrior. He and his master were inseparable, and after his master’s untimely death, Greyfriars Bobby remained at his master’s graveside -- day in and day out -- for 14 years, until he himself died. Greyfriars Bobby is a testament of devotion and loyalty not just to the Scottish, but to everyone. A statue of Greyfriars Bobby stands in the heart of town. At the funeral of his master, when the casket was being lowered into its final resting place, Greyfriars Bobby gave way to grief. He whined, whimpered and pawed at the grave. Beyond his grief, however, Greyfriars Bobby settled into a daily routine. Every day, when the 1:00 gun was fired, a man by the name of William Dow, who had befriended Grayfriers Bobby, picked him up at the cemetery. They strolled together to a local coffee shop, where Grayfriers Bobby ate his daily meal. After a bit of socializing, they strolled back to the cemetery. Greyfriars Bobby settled back onto his master’s gravesite and watched the sunset. There were attempts to lure Greyfriars Bobby away from his master’s graveside, especially in inclement weather, but they were fruitless. Greyfrirs Bobby refused to leave. Greyfriars Bobby is all the proof I need that dogs go to heaven. Do you really think that he when arrived at the Pearly Gates to be reunited with his master, Peter, who Jesus entrusted with the keys to bound and to loose, turned him away on the grounds that he was a dog? That makes no sense to me. And I’m sure it made no sense to Peter. There’s a lesson we can learn this morning from Greyfriars Bobby. And lest you register skepticism that there’s a lesson we can learn from dogs -- this is the whole point of the book of Ruth – that we can learn lessons in unexpected places. Ruth was a despised foreigner. She was feared. She was suspected. She was accused. Yet there were lessons that the people of Israel learned from her. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. At least that’s what the Bible proclaims. And it’s not just Ruth. It’s Ruth, yes. But it’s also the Good Samaritan; it’s the Magi, it's the Roman Centurion, it’s the Canaanite woman, it’s the Ninevites, it’s the Ethiopian eunich, it’s Cornelius. And if the Bible hits you over the head with something that many times, and you still refuse to accept it, you’re just being stubborn. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. And the more unexpected the place, the more important the lesson. Sure, there’s a lesson we can learn from Greyfriars Bobby about loyalty and devotion, but there’s also a lesson we can learn from him about waiting for someone. Because if you think about it, we are all waiting for someone. Every one of us. It could be someone who is angry with us – someone who holds a grudge against us, someone who dislikes us, someone from whom we are estranged. It could be someone who is stationed at a far-flung corner of the earth -- someone who is called to serve and sacrifice, someone who has placed himself in harm’s way, someone we may never see again. It could be someone who has fallen prey to an addiction – someone who is facing an uphill battle, someone who has made strides only to fall back, someone whose potential and possibility are under siege. And it could be, like with Greyfriars Bobby, someone that we lost – someone who is irreplaceable, someone who enriched and defined our lives, someone who spared us from loneliness and aimlessness. We are all waiting for someone. And so, we can learn a lesson from Greyfriars Bobby, and it is this. Yes, for a time we grieve their absence. We weep. We mourn. We despair, even. We do all these things…for a time. But then we must get back to the business of living. As Langston Hughes reminds us, Life is for the living. We must get back to the business of living – of caring for others, of speaking the truth, of practicing fairness, of sacrificing for others, of sharing our abundance, of striving for peace – of doing the best we can to prove, day by day, that we have heard the upward call of Jesus Christ. While all the while we are waiting for someone. But here’s the thing. We don’t wait in vain. Because we wait, ultimately, through Jesus Christ -- so we wait for our eternal home in heaven where those for whom we wait are waiting for us. And we will know that joyous reunion that Greyfriars Bobby and his master now know. Amen.
John 20:1-18 But why? Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? There is, of course, the easy answer. Mary stood weeping outside the tomb because, arriving at the tomb, she discovered that Jesus’ body had been stolen. But that’s the easy answer. Easy answers are, as often as not, simplifications; and simplifications are, as often as not, distortions. So, let us look beyond the easy answer and ask again, Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? Mary was one of those people whom nature had favored. And nature does play favorites -- that much is undeniable. Mary was tenacious, discerning, steadfast, spontaneous, courageous – not to mention brimming with natural affections. Yes, she was one of those people whom nature had favored, but sometimes that is not enough. Mary had a bad start in life, and that tends to temper even nature’s most generous gifts. When Jesus first encountered Mary, she was not of sound spirit. She was afflicted and tormented. But Jesus performed a miracle that recalled her to life. She became his passionate and devoted follower. It would seem that her past was behind her. Like with so many others Jesus encountered, Mary had been lost and now was found. But this only led her to the foot of his cross. She had endured the entire spectacle. Dark men – petty, jealous, and scheming -- closed in on him. They subjected him to a farce of a trial, and this only as a formality. They intended to see him executed from the very beginning. The disciples, for their part, panicked and scattered. What if they were next to be targeted? But not Mary. She abided with him those endless hours as he hung on the cross right through to his death agony. She watched from a distance as Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus deposed his body from the cross and laid it in a tomb. Mary was shattered. She was traumatized. She was devastated. She was forced to endure the unthinkable – the death of one deeply beloved, and to malicious violence. But Mary was not entirely bereft. She still had his body. She could cleanse and anoint it, bestow upon it what loving care she could. And going forward she could become that person – the one who visits the graveside, the one who keeps memories alive, the one whose tears are never exhausted. In time she would achieve a sort of notoriety for it, but it’s the kind of notoriety no one wants. But she arrived at his tomb only to discover that his body had been stolen. So why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? She stood weeping outside the tomb because she had hit rock bottom. I have never hit rock bottom. If dread keeps it at bay, dread has done that much for me. But I have seen others who have. It’s a terrible thing to witness, much less to experience. A kind of derangement takes hold. They aren’t recognizable. They aren’t themselves. This is why Mary couldn’t add up two and two. She peered into the tomb and saw two angels robed in white raiment. Why are you weeping? They asked. Now they didn’t ask because they wanted to hear her theory about the graverobbers. This was not the sense of their question. Woman, why are you weeping? They were asking to convey that there was nothing to weep about. And it was the same thing when the resurrected Jesus asked the same question. Woman, why are you weeping? There’s nothing to weep about. I am alive. I am here. I am with you. Dry your tears. But Mary had hit rock bottom, so it didn’t add up. But then Jesus said something. Something cataclysmic. Something earth shattering. Something beyond description and explanation. And something right under our noses. If there’s one trait we all share, one thing we are all good at, one thing we are all GREAT at, it’s not seeing what’s right under our noses. Jesus called her by name. Mary! he said. And suddenly the truth broke in on her. Dimly, but at the same time, and paradoxically, with crystal clarity. She knew. She knew how we know most deeply – in our bones, in our guts, in our hearts. This man so beloved by her – her teacher, healer, leader, friend….he was much more than that. He was the one that time could not bind, the one that darkness could not thwart. He was the one over whom death had no dominion. He was the one she declared him to be. He was the Lord. And he called her by name . Rock bottom? There was no rock bottom. There was only hope, consolation, meaning, purpose, direction, relief, and rejoicing. From his height to her depth, he called her by name. Rock bottom? She now had good news to proclaim, and she proclaimed it for all she was worth. Friends in Christ, her good news is our good news. No matter what you’ve done, what you are doing, or what you will do. No matter how low you fall. No matter how deep you sink. No matter how bad you’re stuck. His deliverance has your name on it. His triumph has your name on it. His love has your name on it. So let us call him by name – Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
I Samuel 16:4-5 Matthew 5:9 To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It was because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And let’s not pretend that it doesn’t. The hold outs among us might stick their chests out and assert that conflict has no effect on them -- that they are immune from conflict. But personally, I’m a bit skeptical. As I’ve mentioned before, in my various vocations and avocations, I have been subjected to psychological tests. And not just a few of them. And one of the areas that is tested is how you react to conflict – whether you are conflict tolerant or conflict intolerant. According to the tests, I am conflict tolerant, as conflict tolerant as one can be. According to the tests, there is nothing that makes me more comfortable, and more relaxed, and more at ease than conflict. Conflict? Bring it on. There’s nothing I relish more. At least according to the tests. But why is it that in the face of conflict, I become preoccupied. I can’t get it off my mind. I become sleepless. I toss and turn at night. And I feel an enormous sense of relief when the conflict is resolved. So, in my own experience at least, conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And that leads us back to our Old Testament Lesson. Talk about conflict! But to understand it, we must back up a bit. In fact, we must back up quite a bit. We all know that Moses received the Ten Commandments atop Mt. Sinai. We all know that with the Ten Commandments in hand, Moses wandered with the people in the wilderness for forty years toward the Promised Land. But we might not all know what happened next. What happened next is that Moses died. Moses was succeeded by Joshua, who conquered the Promised land. And after that? The people settled onto the Promised Land. Since the people were comprised of twelve tribes they settled into the Promised Land accordingly. Each tribe deployed itself on a parcel of land. And they all lived happily ever after. Or not. Problems emerged in short order. The tribes did not get along. Surprise, surprise, the strong tribes picked on the weak ones. Why is it that at all times, and in all places, the strong pick on the weak? But that’s another question. Bottom line, there was disunity among the tribes. Beyond that, they were twelve tribes who each deployed itself on a parcel of land. But they were surrounded by enemies, enemies that had not been wandering around in the wilderness for the past 40 years. Enemies who were trained to fight. So, the people were threatened from within and from without. The closest thing that they had to a leader was Samuel, so they demanded of Samuel a king, a king to unify them and protect them from their enemies. Samuel listened to their demand and anointed King Saul. King Saul was the man of the hour. He was a standout. He stood head and shoulders above all others, was strikingly handsome, and teamed with charisma. He was clearly meant to be. So once again, they all lived happily ever after. Or not. There was something wrong with Saul. Now sometimes when there is something wrong with someone it’s obvious, it’s easy to name – as in the case with addiction, or physically abuse, or mental illness. But sometimes it’s not obvious. Ask twelve scholars what was wrong with Saul, you’ll get twelve different answers. For whatever reason, he proved not to be the stuff of it. He had some fatal flaw. Was it his temper? Was it his jealousy? Was it his paranoia? Was it his anger? Was it his desperation? Because all those things can prove to be fatal flaws. In that last analysis, it doesn’t matter what was wrong with King Saul – simply that there was something wrong with him. Predictably, those closest to him saw it first. But no one else was inclined to believe them. They believed what they wanted to believe, what was easiest to believe. And this is how it goes. The ones closest see it first, and no one is inclined to believe them. Moveover, they didn’t want to face the fact that King Saul was one big false start. But King Saul had some fatal flaw. And fatal flaws are fatal. King Saul deteriorated. It became increasingly difficult to deny. Conflict was brewing. It was not yet open conflict. Soon it would be and in terms too horrific to describe. But rumors were circulating. The atmosphere became charged, and not in a good way. Not one knew just how the thing would play out, but everyone sensed that it would not end well. And that brings us to our Old Testament Lesson. Samuel arrived in Bethlehem, unannounced, unexpected -- in full vestment and with full retinue. What did he want? Why did he single them out? What had they done wrong? Was he there to exact vengeance? In a spark would they all be dead? To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It is because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And so, the people approached Samuel with a question. It was the right question. It was the key question. It was the decisive question. It was this question: Do you come in peace? If you remember one thing about this passage, if you remember one thing about the whole book of Samuel, remember this question. Do you come in peace? Because the people’s question to Samuel is the people’s question to us. Do we come in peace? In the face of conflict do we come in peace? Do we come in peace, or do we come bearing blame for things for which we know we are full well complicit? Do we come in peace, or do we come exacting retribution demanding an eye for an eye? Do we come in peace, or do we come rehearsing old grievances, resentments, jealousies, and grudges? Do we come in peace, or do we come pressing our advantage -- power up, poised to defeat? Because the people’s question to us is also Christ’s question to us? Do we come in peace? Have we gone that extra mile for the one who has burdened us? Have we turned the other cheek? Have we declined to let the sun set on our anger? Have we made peace with our accusers? Do we come in peace? For Christ declares that the peacemakers would be blest, and that through them, but only through them, would his kingdom grow. Amen.
