Patrick Comerford
Next Sunday, 31 March 2019, is the Fourth Sunday in Lent, and is also Mothering Sunday.
The readings in the Revised Common Lectionary, as adapted for use in the Church of Ireland, for the Fourth Sunday in Lent in Year C are:
The Readings: Joshua 5: 9-12; Psalm 32; II Corinthians 5: 16-21; Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32.
There is a link to the readings HERE.
There is an optional, second set of readings for next Sunday [31 March 2019] as Mothering Sunday are:
The Readings: Exodus 2: 1-10 or I Samuel 1: 20-28; Psalm 34: 11-20 or Psalm 127: 1-4; II Corinthians 1: 3-7 or Colossians 3: 12-17; Luke 2: 33-35 or John 19: 25-27.
There is a link to these readings HERE.
The Fourth Sunday in Lent, Mothering Sunday:
The Fourth Sunday in Lent is also known as Laetare Sunday because of the incipit of the traditional Introit: Laetare Jerusalem, ‘O be joyful, Jerusalem’ (Isaiah 66: 10, Masoretic text).
The full Introit reads:
Laetare Jerusalem: et conventum facite omnes qui diligitis eam: gaudete cum laetitia, qui in tristitia fuistis: ut exsultetis, et satiemini ab uberibus consolationis vestrae.
Psalm: Laetatus sum in his quae dicta sunt mihi: in domum Domini ibimus.
Rejoice, O Jerusalem: and come together all you that love her: rejoice with joy, you that have been in sorrow: that you may exult, and be filled from the breasts of your consolation.
Psalm: I rejoiced when they said to me: ‘we shall go into God’s House!’
This Sunday is also known as Refreshment Sunday, Mid-Lent Sunday (in French mi-carême), and Rose Sunday. On this Sunday, mediaeval Popes blessed a golden rose to send to sovereigns. In many parts of the Anglican Communion and the Roman Catholic Church, rose-coloured vestments are worn on this Sunday instead of the violet or purple colour of Lent.
The first part of these notes looks at the Lectionary readings for the Fourth Sunday in Lent.
The second part of the these notes looks at the two alternative Gospel readings provided for Mothering Sunday.
PART 1, The Fourth Sunday in Lent:
Introducing the Readings:
Joshua 5: 9-12:
The people who left Egypt as slaves many years ago have now entered the Promised Land as free people, no longer seen as a disgraced people. They were slaves, but now their rescue is complete.
In thanksgiving, they celebrate their redemption and freedom with the feast of the Passover (verses 10-11). In the wilderness they only ate manna (verse 12), and so this is the first celebration of the Passover since leaving Egypt. From now on, instead of being fed manna as slaves on the run, they can live off the produce of the land and the crops of the land (verse 12).
The Passover marks the end of slavery and the guarantee of freedom, the move from dependence to independence. One way of life ends and another begins.
Psalm 32:
The psalmist tells us what he has learned in life: happiness is having one’s sin forgiven and taken away by God, and enjoying a clear conscience.
The writer was seriously ill and felt alienated from God. He acknowledged his sin and did not seek to hide from God. He confessed and God forgave him. He urges others to follow what he has done. He now feels guided and protected by God, and is happy to rejoice in the Lord.
One way of life ends and another begins.
II Corinthians 5: 16-21:
Saint Paul writes that he no longer sees anyone according to the normal, human, judgmental standards of the world. Instead, there is a new beginning, a new creation in the Risen Christ. Everything has changed, everything has become new. We are now reconciled with God, and we have been given a ministry of reconciliation, we have been appointed ambassadors of Christ.
Through Christ we have been reconciled with God. Now our task is to be reconciled with others. One way of life ends and another begins.
Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32:
The outsiders of the day, the tax collectors and sinners, are coming to hear Jesus. This upsets the religious people of the day, the Pharisees and the scribes, who grumble, like the people grumbled for manna in the wilderness, and complain that Jesus is welcoming sinners and eating with them.
Instead of upbraiding the critics he has overheard, Jesus tells three parables: the Parable of the Lost Sheep (Luke 15: 4-7), the Parable of the Lost Coin (Luke 15: 8-10); and, in this reading, the Parable of the Lost Son, which we know popularly as the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15: 11-32). In all three parables, the recovery of what was lost is a cause for rejoicing, and we learn that there are no limits to God’s mercy.
There are many parts of this parable that challenge the conventions of the day. For a son to ask his father for his share of the inheritance would be like wishing for his father’s death. The Lost Son when he is hungry begins living in Gentile ways, feeding pigs. His initial decision is not to repent of his ways, but to say he has repented in the home that he will be welcomed home (see verse 18).
No older self-respecting man of the day would run to his son (verse 20). But when the son is welcomed home, and realises his father’s love for him is unconditional, he truly confesses, and his father celebrates his return.
The listeners who heard a story that begins with a man who had two sons would have thought immediately of Cain and Abel, Ishmael and Isaac, Esau and Jacob. But they would also have thought of Joseph and his brothers.
This Parable has many parallels with the story of the people going down into Egypt, finding themselves in slavery, living an unclean lifestyle, and then, on finding their freedom, setting off on the journey home, to the Promised Land, where the new-found freedom will be marked with a special meal and celebrations.
The task of reconciliation now begins. One way of life ends and another begins.
A reflection on Mothering Sunday:
I grew up on a solid diet of English boys’ comics, graduating from the Beano and the Dandy in the 1950s to the Victor, the Valiant and the Hotspur in the early 1960s, and books and films set in places like Stalag Luft III, such as The Wooden Horse and The Great Escape.
There were limited storylines, and the characters never had any great depth to them.
In those decades immediately after World War II, Germans were caricatures rather characters, portrayed as Huns who had a limited vocabulary.
And I remember how they always referred to the Vaterland. Somehow, seeing your country as the Father-land made you harsh, unforgiving, demanding and violent. While those who saw their country as a mother, whether it was Britannia or Marianne, or perhaps even Hibernia, were supposed to be more caring, empathetic and ethical, endowed with justice and mercy.
These images somehow played on, pandered to, the images a previous generation had of the different roles of a father and a mother.
So, culturally it may come as a surprise, perhaps even a cultural challenge, to many this morning, that the Gospel reading on Mothering Sunday is a Parable that tells us what it is to be a good father.
Culturally we are predisposed to thinking of this parable as the story of the Prodigal Son. But this is not a story telling us to be wayward children. The emphasis is three-way: the wayward son, the unforgiving or begrudging son, and the loving Father.
Who is missing from this story? … the Mother of these two sons.
The people who first heard this parable – eager tax collectors and sinners, grumbling Pharisees and Scribes – may well have been mindful of the Old Testament saying: ‘A wise son makes a glad father, but a foolish son is a mother’s grief’ (Proverbs 10:1).
Or inwardly they may have been critical of the father, recalling another saying in the Book of Proverbs: ‘Train children in the right way, and when old, they will not stray’ (Proverbs 22: 6).
We all know what bad parenting is like. I know myself. I know what it is to have two sets of parents, and four sets of grandparents, who came with different gifts and different deficiencies. But I am also aware of my own many failings as a parent too, and hope on this Mothering Sunday that where I have failed as a father, a loving mother has been more than compensation.
But in this Gospel reading, Christ rejects all the dysfunctional models of parenting we have inherited and received.
Those first listeners to this parable may well have had wayward sons and jealous sons, and the story, initially, would have been no surprise, would have been one they knew only too well.
But they no longer need to be challenged as adult children. The challenge they need is about their own parenting skills. And they may well have been distressed as they hear a story about a man who behaves not like a father would be expected to behave but like a mother.
Where was the mother of the prodigal son? Did she have a role in this family drama?
Had she been praying ever since her wayward son left home, asking God to keep him safe, to bring him home? Perhaps it was her prayers that reached him in some way and reminded her son of home?
I think, for example, of Saint Monica, the mother of Saint Augustine, who was anything but a saint in his youth. Although he gave Monica much grief, she persisted with her prayers and prayed her son into sainthood. She was looking out for him in oh so many ways.
But the Father in this parable is both Father and Mother to the Son.
He behaves just like a mother would in these circumstances.
He is constantly looking and waiting and watching for him until the day he sees him.
And when he sees him, instead of being the perfectly behaved gentleman he is filled up with emotions, he runs, he hugs, he kisses. He finds him clean clothes, he finds clean shoes, he feeds him. And like a good mother, he probably also tells him his room is made up, it has always been there for him.
The father in this parable bucks all the images of parenting we have inherited, he is both mother and father to his children.
The sufferings and compassion of three images in recent times illustrate for me how loving parents can be reflections of divine majesty and grace.
I think of the pregnant mother, a qualified solicitor who had been homeless, told Valerie Cox on RTÉ radio some years ago how she is forced to walk the streets of Dublin because the hostel where she stays does not allow her in until 7.30 in the evening.
Like the Prodigal Son, no one gives her anything and she has no proper bed at night. She is 6½ months pregnant, has an eight-year-old daughter, and Mother Ireland has betrayed her.
Or I think of Syrian mothers who are refugees crossing the Aegean Sea between Turkey and the Greek islands. Our media have largely forgotten this story today.
We see it as our problem rather than seeing it as a problem for the people fleeing war and savage violence. But there are harrowing stories in Greek newspapers each and every day of Syrian mothers who are separated from their children: mothers who make the journey only to find their children have been turned back, or mothers who see their children drown just as they reach the shores of Greece.
Or I think of Nuala Creane who spoke movingly ten years ago at the funeral of her son Sebastian who was murdered in Bray in August 2009. At his funeral, she told her story, telling all present that ‘my story, my God is the God of Small Things. I see God’s presence in the little details.’
It was a beautiful and well-sculpted eulogy, carved with all the beauty, precision, delicacy and impact of a Pieta being sculpted by a Michelangelo. She spoke of how the God of Small Things had blessed her with a sunny child, ‘was saying, is saying, let the child inside each of us come to the surface and play.’
She understood generously and graciously, and with majesty, the grief of those who loved the young man who had killed her son and then killed himself, believing these young men ‘both played their parts in the unfolding of God’s divine plan.’
She spoke of the heartbreak and the choice that faces everyone confronted with the deepest personal tragedies, asking herself: ‘Do we continue to live in darkness, seeing only fear, anger, bitterness, resentment; blaming, bemoaning our loss, always looking backwards, blaming, blaming, blaming, or are we ready to transmute this negativity? We can rise to the challenge with unconditional love, knowing that we were born on to this earth to grow … Our hearts are broken but maybe our hearts needed to be broken so that they could expand.’
Broken hearts, expanding hearts, rising to the challenge with unconditional love … this is how I hope I understand the majesty and the glory of Christ, at the best of times and at the worst of times.
How as a society – whether it is our local community, this island, or in Europe – are we mothers to mothers in need?
How, as a Church, so often spoken of lovingly as ‘Mother Church,’ do we speak up for God’s children in their time of need and despair?
I suppose, on Mothering Sunday each year, that Christ had good experiences of mothering as he was growing up. Just a few verses before this parable, he uses a most maternal image as he laments over Jerusalem and declares: ‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem … How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings …’
The Christ Child, when he was born, was cradled in the lap of a loving mother who at the time could never know that when he died and was taken down from the cross she would cradle him once again in her lap.
But the experience of a mother’s loss and grief that come to mind in Lent is given new hope at Easter.
On Mothering Sunday, we move through Lent towards Good Friday and Easter Day, How do we, like Christ, and like so many suffering mothers, grow to understand those who suffer, those who grieve, those who forgive?
Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32 (NRSVA):
1 Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. 2 And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’
3 So he told them this parable:
11 … ‘There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” So he divided his property between them. 13 A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. 14 When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16 He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. 17 But when he came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands’.” 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21 Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” 22 But the father said to his slaves, “Quickly, bring out a robe – the best one – and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; 24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And they began to celebrate.
25 ‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27 He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” 28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29 But he answered his father, “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” 31 Then the father said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found”.’
Liturgical Resources:
Liturgical Colour: Violet
The canticle Gloria is usually omitted in Lent. Traditionally in Anglicanism, the doxology or Gloria at the end of Canticles and Psalms is also omitted during Lent.
Penitential Kyries:
In the wilderness we find your grace:
you love us with an everlasting love.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
There is none but you to uphold our cause;
our sin cries out and our guilt is great.
Christ, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed;
Restore us and we shall know your joy.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
The Collect:
Lord God
whose blessed Son our Saviour
gave his back to the smiters
and did not hide his face from shame:
Give us grace to endure the sufferings of this present time
with sure confidence in the glory that shall be revealed;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
The Lenten Collect:
Almighty and everlasting God,
you hate nothing that you have made
and forgive the sins of all those who are penitent:
Create and make in us new and contrite hearts
that we, worthily lamenting our sins
and acknowledging our wretchedness,
may receive from you, the God of all mercy,
perfect remission and forgiveness;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
The Lenten Collect should be said after the Collect of the day until Easter Eve.
Introduction to the Peace:
Being justified by faith,
we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. (Romans 5: 1, 2)
Preface:
Through Jesus Christ our Lord,
who was in every way tempted as we are yet did not sin;
by whose grace we are able to overcome all our temptations:
The Post Communion Prayer:
Father,
through your goodness
we are refreshed through your Son
in word and sacrament.
May our faith be so strengthened and guarded
that we may witness to your eternal love
by our words and in our lives.
Grant this for Jesus’ sake, our Lord.
Blessing:
Christ give you grace to grow in holiness,
to deny yourselves,
and to take up your cross and follow him:
Suggested Hymns:
The hymns suggested for the Fourth Sunday in Lent (Year C) in Sing to the Word (2000) edited by Bishop Edward Darling include:
Joshua 5: 9-12:
No suggested hymns
Psalm 32:
562, Blessèd assurance, Jesus is mine
92, How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
II Corinthians 5: 16-21:
550, ‘Forgive our sins as we forgive’
268, Hail, thou once–despisèd Jesus
417, He gave his life in selfless love
299, Holy Spirit, come, confirm us
522, In Christ there is no east or west
634, Love divine, all loves excelling
231, My song is love unknown
59, New every morning is the love
306, O Spirit of the living God
528, The Church’s one foundation
Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32:
642, Amazing grace (how sweet the sound!)
328, Come on and celebrate
329, Father, again in Jesus’ name we meet
319, Father, of heaven, whose love profound
570, Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning (omit verse 1)
(Give me joy in my heart, keep me praising)
268, Hail, thou once–despisèd Jesus
419, I am not worthy, holy Lord
130, Jesus came, the heavens adoring
587, Just as I am, without one plea
594, O Lord of creation, to you be all praise!
622, O the love of my Lord is the essence
366, Praise, my soul, the King of heaven
448, The trumpets sound, the angels sing
PART 2, Mothering Sunday:
The optional, second set of readings for next Sunday [31 March 2019] as Mothering Sunday are:
The Readings: Exodus 2: 1-10 or I Samuel 1: 20-28; Psalm 34: 11-20 or Psalm 127: 1-4; II Corinthians 1: 3-7 or Colossians 3: 12-17; Luke 2: 33-35 or John 19: 25-27.
There is a link to these readings HERE.
Luke 2: 33-35:
This short Gospel reading is part of a longer reading normally linked with the Feast of the Presentation or Candlemas [2 February].
Nevertheless, the prophetic words of Simeon, which speak of the falling and rising of many and the sword that will piece Mary’s heart, are appropriate in Lent too, leading us on to the Passion and Easter.
TS Eliot’s poem A Song for Simeon is put in the mouth of an old man, the prophet Simeon in the Temple in Jerusalem. Here Eliot draws on a Christmas sermon by the great 17th century theologian and bishop, Launcelot Andrewes (1555-1626), one of the early Caroline divines and one of the translators of the King James Version of the Bible.
In this poem, Eliot uses significant images to explore the Christian faith, images that are also prophetic, telling of things to happen to the Christ Child in the future. He focuses on an event that brings about the end of an old order and the beginning of a new one.
A Song for Simeon (TS Eliot)
Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls and
The winter sun creeps by the snow hills;
The stubborn season had made stand.
My life is light, waiting for the death wind,
Like a feather on the back of my hand.
Dust in sunlight and memory in corners
Wait for the wind that chills towards the dead land.
Grant us thy peace.
I have walked many years in this city,
Kept faith and fast, provided for the poor,
Have given and taken honour and ease.
There went never any rejected from my door.
Who shall remember my house, where shall live my children’s children
When the time of sorrow is come?
They will take to the goat’s path, and the fox’s home,
Fleeing from the foreign faces and the foreign swords.
Before the time of cords and scourges and lamentation
Grant us thy peace.
Before the stations of the mountain of desolation,
Before the certain hour of maternal sorrow,
Now at this birth season of decease,
Let the Infant, the still unspeaking and unspoken Word,
Grant Israel’s consolation
To one who has eighty years and no to-morrow.
According to thy word.
They shall praise Thee and suffer in every generation
With glory and derision,
Light upon light, mounting the saints’ stair.
Not for me the martyrdom, the ecstasy of thought and prayer,
Not for me the ultimate vision.
Grant me thy peace.
(And a sword shall pierce thy heart,
Thine also).
I am tired with my own life and the lives of those after me,
I am dying in my own death and the deaths of those after me.
Let thy servant depart,
Having seen thy salvation.
Luke 2: 33-35:
33 And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. 34 Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, ‘This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed 35 so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul too.’
John 19: 25-27:
‘Woman, here is your son … here is your mother.’ These words from the dying Christ on the cross are the third set of words in the traditional way we count the Seven Last Words, often used to shape Good Friday commemorations.
This phrase is traditionally called ‘The Word of Relationship.’
In these tender words, the dying Christ entrusts his weeping mother Mary to the care of the Beloved Disciple. But Christ is not creating a one-way relationship. He immediately follows this by creating a new relationship for the Beloved Disciple: ‘Here is your mother.’
He entrusts her to him – and him to her. Relationships always have at least two dimensions. But the best of relationships are three dimensional – one to another, and each other to God.
And that central truth about relationships is at the heart of the events of the Cross. As Saint Paul says, on the cross Christ was reconciling us to God and to one another (see Ephesians 2: 15-22).
There are some relationships we cannot create, there are others we cannot control, and others still that we have no choice about.
We cannot create our family. Our families are already given, even before we are born or adopted.
And those relationships survive though all adversities. They are fixed. They are given.
Even though my father and mother are dead, they remain my parents.
Even though a couple may divorce, each one in the old relationship remains a sister-in-law or a daughter-in-law, a brother-in-law or a son-in-law – albeit qualified by the word ‘former.’ In time, they may find they have new relationships: when their children have children, they share grandchildren they never expected. They may want to forget their past relationship, but it remains on the family tree for some future genealogist to tell everyone about.
I like to imagine that one of the untold stories in the aftermath of the Wedding at Cana is the new network or web of family relationships that have been created. After the wedding feast, the first of the Seven Signs in Saint John’s Gospel, Christ ‘went down to Capernaum with his mother, his brothers, and his disciples; and they remained there for a few days’ (John 2: 12).
On the way, or back in Capernaum, one finds he is now a brother-in-law, another that she is a sister-in-law, some, perhaps, realise they have a new aunt or uncle, or perhaps a new niece or nephew by marriage.
We cannot create family, yet family often creates us, shapes us, gives us identity and allows others to decide where we fit socially.
There are relationships we cannot control.
Most of us cannot control who we work with. That is the choice of our employers, and even for employers that is legislation to make sure they are not discriminating. Clergy cannot, and should not try to, control who are their parishioners.
If we try to control who is and who is not a member of the Church, depending on the relationships we like to have and the relationships we do not like to have, we will find we have a church that has an ever-decreasing number of members, so that eventually we become a dwindling sect, wanting to make God in our own image and likeness, rather than accepting that we are all made in God’s image and likeness. And that eventually becomes a sect of one, where there is no place for the One who matters.
There are relationships we have no choice about. I cannot choose my friends and I cannot choose my neighbours.
Have you ever noticed that when a house is on the market, both the vendors and the estate agents tell you the neighbours are wonderful? It is only after you move in that you are likely to find out if you have, as the recent ITV television documentary series describes them, ‘the neighbours from hell.’
I cannot choose my friends. No matter how much I want to be friends with someone, if they do not want to be my friend, that’s it. I cannot force friendship. When I have a friendship, I can work on it, nurture it, help it to grow and blossom. But I cannot force a friendship. If you don’t want to be my friend, that is your choice, and if you do, and I don’t nurture that friendship, then you are going to change your mind.
Christ knows all about relationships, and he shows that on the Cross.
Relationships define us as human. Without relating to others, how can I possibly know what it is to be human? From the very beginning, God, who creates us in God’s own image and likeness, knows that it is not good for us to be alone. And in the Trinity, we find that God is relationship.
Relationship is at the heart of the cross. And there, on the cross, even as he is hanging in agony, the dying Jesus is compassionately thinking of others and of relationships.
His mother Mary is the only person throughout the Gospel narratives who has been with Christ from the beginning to the end, from his birth to his death. She has been with Christ throughout his whole life.
Saint John, the Beloved Disciple, is the disciple whom Jesus loved. We are blessed if we have a very best friend, a person to whom I am closer than any other. John is such a best friend for Jesus throughout the Gospel narrative. In the Fourth Gospel, we hear that John was ‘the beloved.’ John was the person to whom Christ was the closest. John was the best friend of Jesus.
In the midst of his dying, pain-filled moments before his death, Christ is heard thinking of the needs of the two people who love him most during his life: his mother and his best friend.
As the soldiers are gambling over his clothes and casting lots to divide them among themselves, Jesus sees three women – his mother Mary, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene, standing near the cross, and his mother is standing with the Beloved Disciple.
He turns to his mother and he says to her: ‘Woman, here is your son.’
He then turns to the Beloved Disciple and says: ‘Here is your mother.’
It is not a command, it is not a directive, it is not an instruction. It is a giving in love, just as his own death on the cross is self-giving. And in giving there is love and there is life.
And from that hour, we are told, the disciple took her into his own home.
Later, we find Mary and John together in the Upper Room when the Holy Spirit is given to the Church (see Acts 1: 14).
Tradition says the Virgin Mary and Saint John later travelled to Ephesus, and that she lived in his house to her dying days.
Jerome, in his commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (Jerome, Comm. in ep. ad. Gal., 6, 10), tells the well-loved story that John the Evangelist continued preaching in Ephesus even when he was in his 90s. He was so enfeebled with old age that the people had to carry him into the Church in Ephesus on a stretcher.
And when he was no longer able to preach or deliver a long discourse, his custom was to lean up on one elbow on and say simply: ‘Little children, love one another.’
This continued on, even when the ageing John was on his death-bed. Then he would lie back down and his friends would carry him back out.
Every week, the same thing happened, again and again. And every week it was the same short sermon, exactly the same message: ‘Little children, love one another.’
One day, the story goes, someone asked him about it: ‘John, why is it that every week you say exactly the same thing, ‘little children, love one another’?’ And John replied: ‘Because it is enough.’ If you want to know the basics of living as a Christian, there it is in a nutshell. All you need to know is. ‘Little children, love one another.’
If you want to know the rules, there they are. And there’s only one. ‘Little children, love one another.’
As far as John is concerned, if you have put your trust in Jesus, then there is only one other thing you need to know. So, week after week, he would remind them, over and over again: ‘Little children, love one another.’ That is all he preached in Ephesus, week after week, and that is precisely the message he keeps on repeating in his first letter (I John), over and over again: ‘Little children, love one another.’
Christ teaches us to love, even when he is dying, even when we are dying. That is what relationships are about, and that is what the Cross is all about.
The cross broadens the concept of family - the family of God. Jesus changes the basis of relationships. No longer are relationships to be formed on the basis of natural descent, on shared ethic identity, on agreeing that others are “like us.”
Our shared place beneath the cross is the only foundational space for relationships from now on.
Mary gained another son. And the Beloved Disciple gained a new mother.
Beneath the cross of Christ, Christian fellowship is born not just for Mary and John, but also for you and me, and for everyone else who believes, for all who believe.
Beneath the cross of Christ, we become a new family.
Beneath the cross of Christ, we become brothers and sisters in Christ.
Beneath the cross of Christ, we realise that we are now part of the family of God.
On the cross, Christ entrusts us as his children to one another, to love one another.
‘Little children, love another.’
John 19: 25-27:
25 Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 26 When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ 27 Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.
Liturgical resources, Mothering Sunday:
Additional liturgical resources and service ideas for Mothering Sunday are available HERE and HERE.
Liturgical Colour: Violet.
Apart from the Collect and Post-Communion Prayer, there are no other propers or liturgical provisions for Mothering Sunday. However, there may be circumstances when the provisions for the Annunciation, the Presentation, the Visitation and the Birth of the Blessed Virgin Mary might be adapted:
Penitential Kyries:
Lord God, mighty God,
you are the creator of the world.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord Jesus, Son of God and Son of Mary,
you are the Prince of Peace.
Christ, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Holy Spirit,
by your power the Word was made flesh
and came to dwell among us.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
The Collect:
God of compassion,
whose Son Jesus Christ, the child of Mary,
shared the life of a home in Nazareth,
and on the cross drew the whole human family to himself:
Strengthen us in our daily living
that in joy and in sorrow
we may know the power of your presence
to bind together and to heal;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
The Lenten Collect:
Almighty and everlasting God,
you hate nothing that you have made
and forgive the sins of all those who are penitent:
Create and make in us new and contrite hearts
that we, worthily lamenting our sins
and acknowledging our wretchedness,
may receive from you, the God of all mercy,
perfect remission and forgiveness;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
The Lenten Collect should be said after the Collect of the day until Easter Eve.
Introduction to the Peace:
Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given:
and his name is called the Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9: 7).
Preface:
You chose the Blessed Virgin Mary
to be the mother of your Son
and so exalted the humble and meek;
your angel hailed her as most highly favoured,
and with all generations we call her blessed:
The Post Communion Prayer:
Loving God,
as a mother feeds her children at the breast,
you feed us in this sacrament with spiritual food and drink.
Help us who have tasted your goodness
to grow in grace within the household of faith;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Blessing:
Christ the Son of God, born of Mary,
fill you with his grace
to trust his promises and obey his will:
Suggested hymns:
The hymns suggested for Mothering Sunday in Sing to the Word (2000), edited by Bishop Edward Darling, include:
Exodus 2: 1-10:
541, God of Eve and God of Mary
569, Hark, my soul, it is the Lord
I Samuel 1: 20-28:
391, Father, now behold us
651, Jesus, friend of little children
Psalm 34: 11-20:
657, O God of Bethel, by whose hand
507, Put peace into each other’s hands
372, Through all the changing scenes of life
Psalm 127: 1-4:
63, All praise to thee, my God, this night
481, God is working his purpose out as year succeeds to year
543, Lord of the home, your only Son
288, Thine be the glory, risen, conquering, Son
II Corinthians 1: 3-7:
361, Now thank we all our God
508, Peace to you
Colossians 3: 12-17:
346, Angel voices, ever singing
294, Come, down, O Love divine
550, ‘Forgive our sins as we forgive’
454, Forth in the name of Christ we go
300, Holy Spirit, truth divine
360, Let all the world in every corner sing
525, Let there be love shared among us
503, Make me a channel of your peace
361, Now thank we all our God
369, Songs of praise the angels sang
601, Teach me, my God and King
374, When all thy mercies, O my God
458, When, in our music, God is glorified
Luke 2: 33-35:
691, Faithful vigil ended
125, Hail to the Lord’s anointed
John 19: 25-27:
523, Help us to help each other, Lord
226, It is a thing most wonderful
495, Jesu, Jesu, fill us with your love
472, Sing we of the blessed mother (verses 1-2)
A concluding reflection:
Dr Samuel Johnson’s ‘Last Letter to his Aged Mother,’ written 250 years ago on 20 January 1769, reads:
Dear Honoured Mother:
Neither your condition nor your character make it fit for me to say much. You have been the best mother, and I believe the best woman, in the world. I thank you for your indulgence to me, and beg forgiveness of all that I have done ill, and all that I have omitted to do well. God grant you his Holy Spirit, and receive you to everlasting happiness, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen. Lord Jesus receive your spirit. Amen.
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org
Material from the Book of Common Prayer is copyright © 2004, Representative Body of the Church of Ireland.
