Sermon: Mothering Sunday 2014

Preacher:

Date:

Sunday 30th March 2014

Service:

Cathedral Eucharist

Readings:

1 Samuel 1:20-28

Luke 2: 33-35

Listen:

Download Recording (MP3, 18.2M)

Adam gets into the black cab; his Archdeacon is left uncharacteristically on the pavement.

A baby... How adorable! Coos Jill the Area Dean.

What a heavenly child; I love children. Intones Jerry, the Diocesan Secretary, flatly.

May I touch her? Adorable.

Heavenly child.

 

Just one of the exchanges devotees of Rev might be heard reenacting this week.

Moments later Adoha pleads, or rather demands, Can I hold her, please let me hold her? The homeless addict Nick offers to baby sit so that Adam and Alex can go out; the sincere but hapless Colin is desperate to be a godfather. Archdeacon Robert wants to see that Katie is baptised. Soon.

For all its humour and stereotypes, Rev is painfully, poignantly, tenderly human. More than that: the very complexity and fragility of life is shot through with grace, mercy and transformation. That includes the support of exhausted parents; the desire to transform a community play ground; the longing to be in relationship, to be accepted and included; to be changed.

We are all born into families.  Perhaps Tolstoy was only partly correct in his famous observation about family life at the opening of Anna Karenina.  All families, happy or otherwise, are constituted in their own ways.  That includes our responses to our own mothers, to those who have mothered us: affection, resentment, grief, admiration, friendship, regret, support. 

The commercial world doesn't take account of this complexity: lunches, flowers, chocolates and other treats adds pressure to expectations and expressions of maternal love .  In their presence or absence, mothers impact upon us; there was much debate on Twitter yesterday morning about the way in which the church colludes with, subverts or transforms our understanding of mothering.

Perhaps we need to begin by recognising that perhaps in our worship there is a place today where we can let go of assumptions about gender and marital status.  We are accepted and loved by God as we are; the church too should be a place where we encourage one another in our struggles as delights as we seek to  imitate that love. Here our vision of mothering is expanded beyond the limitations of human experience and circumstance.

For us, today is a time to reflect on our relationships to each other, rooted in God's love; to think about how we receive nourishment from our mother church, as well as how we can contribute to supporting other.  Here may mothers find support in exhaustion and acceptance in being good enough; here may we be invited into new forms of relating, which transcends social/economic status, across and amongst different generations. 

Today we recognise that in Christ all our familial relationships are relativised; they are set in a different context.  If we look around us today, we see a community just as diverse as Rev.  We have our own Roberts and Adoha, Alexs, Colins and Nigels.  In response to Katie's birth they all want to love, protect and teach her. They and we find in today's readings a way of thinking imaginatively and prophetically about what that might mean.

The words of Psalms & Proverbs is full of the teaching of wisdom.  The psalmist responds to the questions of youth; there is a practical focus to the advice.  We are to mindful about the impact of our speech, to actively seek and do good and to shun evil and harmful ways.  All of this is rooted in peace; in the peace of the creator's love for us.  Such is the foundation of our human relationships - in healthy and vital relationships. 

Richard Everett's short sketch on BBC Radio Surrey this morning reminds us that it is God's love motivating, inspiring and enabling every human act of tenderness and compassion; such love gives us direction and parameters within which human lives can flourish.  Richard's script reflects God's faithful, watchful care when in the words of the psalmist we are brokenhearted and crushed in spirit.  Wise teaching, the modelling of mercy and love, flows from God's grace at work in us.

Today's scriptures also give us a profound insight into the nature of love and the cost of letting go.  It's a dynamic we recognise in our human relationships: the pain and uncertainty, the delight and discovery. We let go of what has been; and we have hoped for. We let go - and are let go - from the moment of our birth and at the school date; from the choices we make in our work and relationships to the time of our death.

Yet in that letting go we appreciate more deeply the worth of life as gift.  Some of you will recall Chris Gollon's poignant painting of Hannah; her captures the moment of her wordless prayer; her heartrending longing for a child.  We encounter her again today, as a mother: For this child I prayed; and the Lord granted me the petition that I made him. Therefore, I have lent him to the Lord as long as he lives, he is given to the Lord.

She let's go.  Her longing has been fulfilled; yet that fulfilment entails a return to the Lord. Her son is to dedicated to him: in prayer, worship, living and serving in the sacred place of the Temple. There Samuel is shaped by the frailty and wisdom of Eli,  attends to God; her hears and responds; in him the faithfulness of God's people is reignited.  Hannah does not possess her son; in letting go some deeper purpose is fulfilled.

Mary too takes her young son to the Temple.  There an old man lets go of life, because in this tiny child he has glimpsed the fulfilment of God's promises.  He will be the  light to the nations and glory of his own people; he will reveal the love of God; in him is salvation.

Those of us who are taking part in the pilgrim course have been pondering the meaning of salvation. God's response to our fragmented lives, to our selfish desires and propensity to wound others is to draw alongside us; to reveal the breadth and depth of love, which embraces frailty, suffering and death. A power which overcomes and brings new life. 

No wonder Jesus' parents were amazed.  To hear that this tiny child will reveal the deepest human thoughts and motivations; that he will be responsible for raising up the lowly and marginalised; that he will challenge and bring down the powers of oppression.

Amazing.  Terrifying. Costly.

For a sword will piece Mary's soul too.

The anguish of a lost teenager found in the Temple, with youthful assurance; the desire to talk to him as he taught, perhaps to warn him of the dangers he faced, only to be told that his family, his mother and siblings were those who hear the word of God and do it; the terrible anguish of seeing her son arrested, brutalised, killed and buried.

For the love of God is cruciform.

It is on the cross that we see the fullest expression of God's love for us.  In the Daghani stations we see the dark weight of political power and glimpses of a cross, signifying the weight of our failure that bears down. We also see hands lightly sketched; expressive, suffering, tender, peaceful.  And in the space I wonder if something of God's love breaks through, not in a blaze of glory; but in inviting us into embrace; in bearing with us and for us.  A love that holds, and lets go, but which is not overcome. A love that reaches down and raises us up.

In the midst of the confusion and grief of this death, disciples hear rumours of resurrection; as they walk away, the risen Lord interprets scripture for them saying, 'it was necessary that...'

On Thursday night William Challis used a line from Blake to draw us into the contemplation of the cost and sacrifice of Christian life: joy and woe are mingled fine.  We are caught up in a painful process of growth and transformation; we have to let go of the false images of who we think we are; not speaking from outside an experience of suffering and loss; but being alongside one another before God.

Here in the Eucharist we taste and see how gracious the Lord is.  In broken bread and wine out poured we are nourished; who we are is drawn into relationship with who God is.  Here we receive forgiveness; and are commissioned as people who can be channels of reconciliation; people who bind together and heal.

In the life of the church a new humanity is made manifest. Not because we are perfect, but because we called to this cruciform self-giving mothering.  The power of God's spirit is at work in us - fostering relationships which transform us; increasing our capacity to bear with and understand each other.  The power of God's spirit is at work in this cathedral church as we ignite conversations which build trust and understanding. We are to make space for learning that includes our emotions, values and actions; for conversations where people speak out of difference with joy, confidence and grace; where we take seriously the acute concerns of our world and bring the hope of the gospel into our engagement.

We are the body of Christ; a mother church; not a building but a network of faithful, fragile relationships.

At the end of this service, some may wish to received gifts of flowers; offered as a sign of beauty, life, gratitude and creation.  They are offered and received as a sign of our nurturing care for each other, regardless of gender and status.  In this service we receive gifts of bread and wine; a sign of who we are as the body of Christ.  The church as mother is us: teaching and supporting, protecting and caring.  Rooted in the love of God expressed in Jesus Christ, and welling up in us by the power of his Spirit.

Let us pray in the words of the alternative collect for today:

God of love, passionate and strong, tender and careful:

watch over us and hold us all the days our our lives;

through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.