Apres Ski Meditations on the Holy Family: Mary at the Cross

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, on Saturday, February 22nd.

Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. (Jn 19:25-27)

Two weeks ago, if you've been following our series of Apres Ski meditations on the Holy Family, we were standing with Mary and Joseph in the Temple, and we listened as the aged Simeon took the infant Jesus into his arms and thanked God that he could now die having seen his Saviour.   We heard Simeon pray, "Lord, now lettest thy servant depart in peace, according to your word" as the old King James Bible and the Prayer Book beautifully phrase it, but in the words that followed, Simeon would offer no peace to Mary.

The old man then turns to the young mother and says this:  "This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed ³⁵so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Lk 2.34-45).

Scripture tells us that Mary was a thoughtful person, and so we might well wonder, as the years went by and Jesus grew, how often Mary would recall these words and ponder these things in her heart.  After his first sermon in Nazareth, and its hostile reception, Mary would have seen first hand that some were hostile to Jesus.  As that hostility grew over the time of his ministry, Mary doubtless remembered Simeon's prophecy about "the falling and rising of many in Israel", and she would have feared for her son.  And now we find her at the foot of the cross, staring up at Jesus' broken body.  Now the last part of Simeon's prophecy has unfolded, and the sword of grief has pierced her heart.  

Michaelangelo famously captured Mary's sorrow in his sculpture the Pietà (the word means "compassion"), which shows a Mary holding Jesus' dead body after it has been removed from the cross.   In the sculpture, Mary is depicted as youthful and beautiful, presumably on the grounds that she has a moral beauty that comes from her closeness to God.

While Michaelangelo created a beautiful image, it seems likely to me that Mary would have been considerably less composed as she watched her son tortured and degraded on the cross.  Did she weep?  Did she plead with God?  Did she despair?  Did she miss Joseph's comforting strength and wish he was still alive and there for her? If she was at all like us, she would certainly have done all these things.   If the Holy Family is an icon of God in Christ embracing our humanity, then the icon contains the full range of human emotion and experience.  Mary's suffering is our suffering, her grief is our grief, her mourning is our mourning.

But in John's account there is a particular moment of compassion.  In the other gospels the compassion is writ large as Jesus forgives his enemies.   Only in John's account is Mary present, and the compassion is focused and intimate.  In his pain, struggling to speak as his body hangs heavy, Jesus sees Mary and his beloved disciple (traditionally thought to be John), and speaks to them.   Jesus gives Mary into the disciple's care, forming them as a new family, a new household.

It's worth remembering that houses and families have always been a part of the gospel stories.  We think about Jesus curing Peter's mother-in-law and how she then cared for Jesus and the disciples, or we think about the household of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus which seems to have been haven for Jesus in his travels.  Likewise there is the household and family of the Roman soldier Cornelius in Acts 10, who come to faith through Peter thanks to the Holy Spirit and     Houses and families in the gospels reflect the work of Jesus in that they are places of love and shelter, where people minister to one another.    

As we think about Mary at the cross, we also see her surrounded by supporters:  Mary the wife of Clops and Mary Magdalene.   They remind us that family can take many forms besides those of marriage and birth.  How often do we speak of our church family and give thanks for the love we find in our Christian community?  Any church, if it is indeed a true church, is a place where we can find family to comfort us and walk alongside us, and this can be a particular blessing to those who did not find comfort and love in their own families.  Any community where Christ is present and central to its life and values is a holy family.

This week a few of us in our reading group finished a book by the 14th century mystic, Julian of Norwich.  Towards the end of her writings, Julian writes that we see three faces of Christ.  The first face is the face of his Passion, the suffering that Mary looked up at.  The suffering face of Christ is the face of Jesus sharing our own hardships and sufferings.  The second face of Jesus, Julian writes, is the face of compassion, the face of the empathy and love that led Jesus to go to the cross for us.  The final face, she writes, is the blessed face of Jesus which we will see in the world to come.

Of the three Marys at the foot of the cross, it was Mary Magdalene who met Jesus in the garden after his resurrection.   We can imagine how Mary the mother would have taken this news - did she doubt at first, or did she remember Simeon's words that there would be falling and rising?  No gospel describes Mary's encounter with her risen son, but it is pleasant and wonderful to imagine her joy, and that reunion is something we can ponder in own hearts.  When our griefs and sorrows overtake us, we can imagine our own moment when we will see Christ face to face, for as Julian of Norwich famously said, "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well".    In such moments, when we need consolation and hope, we might also imagine another statue that Michaelangelo might have carved, that of Mary embracing and being comforted by her risen son.

The Catch of Blessings: A Homily for the Fifth Sunday After Epiphany

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, and Good Shepherd, Stayner, on 9 February, 2025, the Fifth Sunday After Epiphany (Yr C).  Texts for this Sunday:  Isaiah 6:1-8 (9-13); Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets. (Luke 5.5)

If you’ve ever had a job or a time in your life where you had to do the same thing over and over again, and felt that you were doing it in vain, I’m sure you can see yourself in today’s gospel reading.  If you’ve ever struggled to make yet another quota for your company, or chased some reward that never materialized, or just tried to get through day after day thing until you were bone tired, then I’m sure you can relate to Peter and his friends.

All night long they’ve been out on the water, throwing out the nets, waiting, hauling in the rope nets, heavy with water, only to face disappointment.   Where are the fish?  Maybe move to this spot?  Try again.   The night goes on, they’re tired, and wondering how they will feed their families and pay the crushing Roman taxes.

And then their friend Jesus comes along.  In Luke’s gospel the fishermen knows Jesus already, he’s acquired a reputation as a charismatic rabbi and he’s healed Simon’s mother in law from a fever, so when he asks to borrow a boat to use a pulpit, they say sure, go ahead, and maybe they listen a bit as they look after their nets, but probably they’re just looking forward to a bite of food and sleep.  But Jesus isn’t done with them.  “Hey, Peter, go try again.   There must be fish out there in the deep water”.   

Peter obviously respects Jesus, he calls him “Master”, but Peter knows his job, he’s been fishing all his life, and Jesus, well, he’s a gifted rabbi, but he doesn’t know fish.  “Jesus, buddy, we’ve been at this all night.   Give us a break.”  But Peter looks at his friend, who’s still pointing out at the lake and nodding encouragement, and he sighs.  “Come on, guys, you heard the rabbi.   Let’s try again.”

Here the story takes a sudden turn, because it’s not about the fish.  The fish are just a clue about who Jesus is, because the fish help Peter connect the dots.  Maybe Peter remembers his scripture, how God in Genesis said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures” (Gen 1.20), and how God gave humans “dominion over the fish of the sea” (Gen 1.26).  Peter remembers these verses, sees the fish, looks at Jesus, and realizes that he is somehow the same God of Genesis.  That realization is I think the real climax and point of the story, for Peter, and for us.

So if the point of the story is to tell us that Jesus is God, then the question for us is, what do we do with this knowledge?  Maybe the answer to that is to ask which Peter in the gospel you identify with.

Let’s start with the Peter who connects the dots, but then who falls down aghast on his knees, saying “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” (Lk 1.8).  Peter’s reaction is mirrored in our first lesson this morning from Isaiah, who is given a vision of heaven and says that he isn’t worthy of God: “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts” (Is 6.5).  This is basically the reaction of anyone in scripture who is called by God or who receives a message from God’s angels: a mixture of shame and fear.  It’s like a person stepping back from the edge of   a cliff, aware of the vast distance between God’s holiness and justice and our human imperfection and sinfulness.

It’s even fair to say that this is the reaction of all believers to Jesus.   The theologianl Karl Barth said that Peter’s words, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man”, is the reaction of anyone who believes that Jesus is the Son of God.  Someone who is indifferent to faith could not care less and wouldn’t trouble themselves to feel the least bit ashamed.   But the faithful person sees Jesus as God and we see our judge and we are afraid of the verdict.

But as Barth said, the Judge comes to earth to be judged in our place and to be sentenced on the cross for our sakes.   Jesus, who could call us sinners, calls us friends and siblings.  The verdict we receive is love and grace, and the fish in the story are a sign of God’s love and friendship.  While Jesus has been teaching, he’s been watching his friends clean their nets.  He understands how hard they’ve been working all night long, and how tired and frustrated they are.   The fish are a sign of Jesus’ power as God, but are also a sign of his compassion for the struggles of his fishermen friends.

And yet, and this is the most curious thing about this story, the fish, and the nets, and the boats, are all left behind.  Jesus tells his friends to come with him and catch people, and so the fishermen become disciples.   So it turns out that this story is not how Jesus can make his friends better fishermen by showing them where to fish.  It’s not about Jesus promising to make us more successful and more prosperous.  Instead, like every other gospel story, it is about Jesus calling us to follow him.

I could spend a whole sermon on what Jesus means by catching people, which is often understood to be a call for evangelism, but in our context, I think it just means being church in a  good, positive, and welcoming way.  It means feeding people.  It means introducing them to a Jesus who is loving rather than scary, a Jesus who is on their side, a Jesus who gets their fatigue and fear and loneliness and disillusionment.  It means offering a worldview which does not idolize wealth or power or race, but which has at it’s heart a God who loves us and heals us.

Which brings us to which Peter we see ourselves as in the story.  If the point of being church is to catch people, in the sense that we want to introduce them to the Jesus we’ve found and followed, it’s fair to say that we may see ourselves as the tired Peter who says “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing”.  Some of us have been doing this for a long time.   We’ve been wardens and treasurers, we’ve grown old, and we’re tired.    Now it’s a long slog and we wish there were more hands at the wheel, stronger hands, younger hands.  And here’s another vestry meeting coming up, reminding us how much we did, and how much there will be to again.     To which, Jesus would say, “do you have anything better to do?  Do you have anyone better to follow?  Go on.  Try one more time.”

So we go out again, we let down the nets, and we do the work again.   We do it because Jesus calls us into a way of life that gives life.   We hear powerful voices around us celebrating greed and hatred, worshipping power, stoking division, and we follow the voice that leads us to hope and light and love.  We follow Jesus not because we want to escape the world, but because we want the world to know him, to know true peace and true freedom.   That’s the blessing that we’re called to share.

Here’s a final thought.    When Jesus called the fishermen to be disciples, they left their nets, and their boats, and they left that miraculous catch on the beach.   What happened to it?  We know that crowds were there to hear Jesus that day.  We can imagine that the crowds were there to scoop them up.  No markets.  No Roman taxes,  Just fish, to take home, to give life, to be a sign of who Jesus is, the Son of God.   The fish are a blessing for all to share.  And maybe the work of church is like that.  We do the work so that others may be blessed, blessed by a hot meal on a winter night, blessed by a warm pair of socks left in the outdoor pantry, blessed by a welcoming community and by life giving worship and a vision of a better life offered by a loving God.   That’s why we go out to let down the nets, it’s to share the catch of blessings.