August 14, 2022 + Mary, Mother of Our Lord + Pr. Craig Mueller
A young, unwed teen-ager plucked from obscurity becomes the mother of the Christ. Certainly, Mary is certainly the most revered woman in history.
When you think of Mary, what first comes to mind?
For many, it is the Christmas story. Mary gives birth to Jesus and lays him in a manger. Sure, there are other stories around this one . . . with other characters. The angel Gabriel. Joseph. The aged Simeon and Anna. Let’s call all these stories, Mary, part one. The Christmas Mary, if you will. The ones people remember.
But can you name the stories from Mary, part two? Three decades later.
Mary is present in Cana—Jesus’ first miracle when he turns water into wine.
Then jump ahead to the scene in today’s gospel. Mary and the beloved disciple gather under the cross. Amid the anguish and trauma of that scene, Jesus gives them to each other, symbolically forming a new community. “Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your mother.” And finally, after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension, Mary is gathered with the disciples in the upper room. They are devoting themselves to prayer. Following the devastating death of their beloved rabbi, they are simply waiting for what is next: the giving of the promised Holy Spirit.
Is there a part one and a part two to your life? Some authors talk about the first and second half of our lives. And it’s not necessarily chronological. In the first half of life, we build our sense of identity, self-esteem, and security. Mary did that through motherhood. For us, it could be through our jobs and vocations; through relationships, marriage, raising children.
In the second half of life, we find our purpose and identity at a deeper level. It’s no longer about success or health or keeping up appearances. Something rocks our world. A devasting loss or failure or disappointment. And we are changed forever. We begin to see life—we begin to see our lives—more authentically, more realistically. And we learn—sometimes the hard way—that life is finite, that bodies are vulnerable, and that, ultimately we are not in control. And if we are shaped by such challenges early in life, we might be seen as an old soul in a young body.
I have been reflecting on mothers this week we finally concluded watching the moving NBC series, This is Us. At the center of the drama is Rebecca who loses one of her triples at birth, then loses her husband following a house fire, then succumbs to Alzheimer’s. Yet Rebecca makes something of all these losses. Throughout the series she is the motherly face of compassion.
As fans of the show know, This Is Us mastered the art of weaving together different time periods, showing how past, present, and future all inform each other. In fact, Rebecca plays her character ranging in age from eighteen into her eighties. [And more than 100 transformations into old-age makeup.]
As the character Jack reflects in the last episode, “That's what we're doing, just collecting these little moments. We don't recognize them when we're in them, because we're too busy looking forward. But then we spend the rest of our lives looking back, trying to remember.”
And part of that remembering is coming to terms with loss, suffering, and trauma. Part two, if you will.
Maybe one image for Mary, part two is the pietá, Mary sorrowfully holding the dead body of Jesus on her lap. One of the greatest pains a parent can undergo is the death of a child. Or really any traumatic event involving a child. It’s not supposed to be that way.
Maybe that is why Christians through the ages have looked to Mary as a symbol of compassion in the midst of suffering.
At a Buddhist temple in Japan there is a large statue of Kanon, whom Buddhists refer to as “Boundless Compassion.” What is striking is the eleven small heads that surround the crown of the female deity’s large head. Each has a different expression of the many emotions of those who suffer: sadness, hurt, fear, shock, frustration, grief, worry.
Many religions, since ancient times have had a female deity who encompassed compassion. Over the ages many Christians have looked to Mary as the “Mother of Sorrows.”1
Mary is an icon of God’s boundless love and comfort. As Jesus has been portrayed in images from every possible culture and ethnicity, so has Mary.
Our bulletin cover and new banner portray an Ethiopian Theotokos, or Mary the God-bearer. Even though they look like children, the two figures surrounding Mary are angels of protection.
There is the image of Mary from Central America showing her with dark skin. Madre de los Desaparecidos. Mother of the Disappeared. Representing the mothers of those who kidnapped and killed.
This Mary of the Magnificat, Mary of justice, does not support “a privileged white ego,” as one writer notes. “She is best pictures as a black Madonna, the creatively erotic earth mother who promises to guide and protect our planet.”2
Consider the many examples of black mothers and slain children today. In a book called Black Madonna, the author tells the well-known story of Mamie Till who in 1959 was met with the brutal and unjust death of her son, Emmett at the hands of white hatred. Mamie insisted that all the world would see her son’s body in an open casket. His mutilated body shocked the world.2
It is amazing to observe the resilience that can arise from great trauma and suffering. It is such a hope to which we cling in these challenging times. Mary clung to her son through life and death. But more than that, she clung to the faithfulness of God.
“Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your mother.” A new community. Out of unbearable loss came the Jesus movement of which we are now a part. And Mary waited with the other disciples for a Spirit that would continue to enliven them for a mission that lives on to this day.
It can seem that the second half of our life—the challenging “part two’s”—are sometimes filled with loss and grief too much to bear. And yet, these times are also a new beginning. A time of healing. A time for gratitude for what is. For God pours out the Spirit on us. And God promises us to draw us, with Mary, to the great harvest of everlasting life. For at every eucharist past, present and future blend into one.
In all the seasons of our lives, in times of sorrow and times of joy, divine compassion shines on us. And like Mary, we become the face of Christ, the face of compassion for others.
1Joyce Rupp, Your Sorrow Is My Sorrow.
2Courntey Hall, Black Madonna: A Womanist Look at Mary of Nazareth.