Fourth Sunday of Lent / Mothering Sunday 2025

On Mothering Sunday, James holds together the joy of family and the pain of broken relationships — exploring what the New Testament means by the Church as mother, and the healing that comes from belonging. 

Transcript

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And so may I speak in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Let me start with a bit of Church of England geekery. The way that we decide what readings happen on a Sunday morning is because we follow a document called the Lectionary. The Lectionary has been set since time immemorial, and uh, you know, you could find out what the readings were going to be on some Sunday in the middle of 2020, 2040 if you wanted to, because it's all just on a rolling pattern. There were three possible gospel readings for us this morning. The first one is if we were doing Lent 4, and then which we're not, we're taking one of the two readings available to us for Mothering Sunday. Two readings are interesting and actually speak to one another in fascinating ways. We've just read from John chapter 19, but the other option is from Luke chapter 2. You might remember it, it's soon after the birth of Jesus, when Mary presents Jesus to the temple, and Simeon is there, and Simeon blesses Jesus and prophesies over Mary. Let me just read that for you. This child is destined to cause the rising and falling of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And Simeon says to Mary, a sword will pierce your own soul too. This cathedral, you might be aware, is dedicated to Saint Mary, and the two readings for this morning are actually depicted in our building. The first one, John 19, is depicted on the east wall here. We have Jesus on the cross with Mary on his left and John on his right. And we're going to spend our time this morning reflecting on that. But it's also worth noting that our emblem as a cathedral is the sacred heart, the heart with the sword pierced through it, which is referenced here in Luke 2. And so our thoughts this morning are on Mary's ministry from start to finish. At the beginning of her ministry at Jesus' birth, she's told a sword will pierce your soul too. And then our reading for this morning is the moment when that happens. Jesus is crucified, a sword pierces his side, and at the same time, a sword pierces Mary's soul. Prophecy and fulfillment, both symbolized in our cathedral. And so we're going to use those images as we reflect on God's words to us today. I'd like you to imagine in your mind's eye, and it might be helpful to be looking at the East Wall as we think about this. I'd like you to imagine in your mind's eye the moment of Jesus' crucifixion, with his mother and his youngest disciple at his feet. Both Mary and John are incredibly vulnerable at this point in the story. Mary is a woman in the first century in an extremely patriarchal culture, an extremely violent culture with no male protector. It is almost certainly the case that Joseph, Mary's husband, is uh dead at this point in the story. That's why he isn't around after the opening chapters, uh, the opening years of Jesus' life. And so Mary, in Jesus' death, becomes a widow with no firstborn son. It makes her extremely vulnerable economically, socially, even physically. Because in ancient Jewish and Roman culture, a woman's socioeconomic status is closely tied to the male relatives in her life: their fathers, then their husbands, then their sons. And Mary has lost all of those. John, the disciple John, is almost certainly vulnerable as well. The likelihood is that he's extremely young at this point. And we can assume that, or we can infer that from the text, because he's able to get as close to the crucifixion as he does. Notice all the other disciples, all the fighting fit males, have scarpered and wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the crucifixion. There are Roman guards there keeping this man, the uh political troublemaker who claimed to be the king of the Jews, keeping him on that cross, ensuring that he definitely dies. That's why the Roman guards were there, to make sure this one gets killed because he's a troublemaker, and to stop any of his followers trying to start a riot or trying to pull the body down to use him as a martyr. First century Romans know how to kill people, they make sure they do the job properly. But this disciple John is probably an early teenager at best. He doesn't have any real muscles to speak of, easily kickable if he needs, if he starts trying to make a fuss. The Roman guards aren't worried about him, and so he's allowed to crawl through the feet of the rest of the crowd and get right up to the bottom of the cross. We have no idea where this disciple's family are, but they don't seem to be in the picture at all. And so he's vulnerable in this world in which young children, young boys are not valued at all. And so Jesus in the middle of his crucifixion sees this mother whom he loves, who's vulnerable, and this son whom he loves and is valuable and vulnerable. And he takes a moment to allow them to look after one another. Now, before we go any further, let's just reflect on Jesus in this moment. Who is this man who, in the midst of crucifixion, is busy thinking about the needs of other people? I don't know about you, but a headache leaves me grumpy and self-centered for the rest of the afternoon. Woe betide someone wanting my attention or something from me when I've got something as little as a headache. I don't have time for anyone else. Pain draws me into myself, makes me focus on my problems. And here is Jesus in the midst of an agonizing death, and he takes time to care for the people who care about him. And this is what Jesus does Mother, here is your son. Here is your mother. Jesus adopts these two people to one another. He allows them to adopt each other at the foot of the cross, and in so doing, designs, develops, creates an entirely new community. A family that transcends biology. This is how the theologian Tom Wright puts it. All those who believe in Jesus are part of a new family. This was and is central. It's not a peripheral part of the gospel message. This is the primary central thing that Jesus is doing. The church was the original multicultural project and with Jesus as its only and primary point of identity. No longer are we identified by the color of our skin or our place in the pecking order, what part of the socio-political landscape we inhabit. It doesn't matter in what family we were born into, now we join a family and Jesus is its point of identity. This was known in the first century and throughout the centuries as both an incredibly attractive and incredibly dangerous way of living. This community is worship-based, spiritually renewed, multi-ethnic, mutually supporting, outward-facing, culturally creative, chastity celebrating, societally responsible, a fictive kinship group. And so that's why these are our readings for this morning. In part to remind us, and this is your annual reminder, I tried to say this, I do say this every year. Today is not called Mother's Day. Today is called Mothering Sunday, because it's actually not about biological motherhood. Today is about the mothering that we are each able to give and receive from one another because we have been adopted into the family of God. Today is not about biological motherhood. Today is about the mothering that we each give and receive because we have been adopted. Adopted into the family of God. He said this to me as we were standing just in the Jesus Chapel and looking up at Jesus, Mary, and uh John. And he said uh this. I'd never come across this idea until he did. He said that this moment in John 19 is the birth of the church. Now, as a recovering charismatic, I find this hard because I'm used to thinking that the church uh was birthed in Acts chapter 2. And this might be a bit of theological geekery, but give me a moment to talk about it. I grew up being told that after Jesus' ascension, the Pentecost happens in Acts chapter 2, and that's when the church is birthed. You might remember the story. Uh Peter, full of the Holy Spirit, stands up and preaches to people of every tribe and tongue and nation, and thousands of people come to faith, and that's when the church was born. And so the church is a multicultural, multi-ethnic, spirit-filled community. And Bishop Philip asks me to reflect again, looking at this image and saying, No, the church is founded not with the Spirit in Acts 2, but with the cross in John 19. Here Jesus starts a community that is formed and that transcends the boundaries of biology and tribe. A family is founded in which strangers can be adopted into. And so Jesus's side is pierced, and Mary's soul is pierced, and from those wounds a new community is formed. And it is into those wounds that a new lineage can be grafted in. It is out of those wounds, out of the wounds of Mary's side, uh Jesus' side and Mary's soul, that the church is birthed. What does this mean for you and I today? Let me offer two reflections. Firstly, I think that means that church should be painful. The church should be painful. Before I go any further, let me be very clear. I do not mean that church should be abusive. The church institutionally is failing at the moment and has been failing for many decades, and a reckoning is taking place that needs to take place. And uh so please don't mishear me. I'm not suggesting that church should be a place where abuse happens, churches should be safe. But I do think the community of church should be a painful place, and that's because it's the community of the beloved, the community where we share one another's pains. What a wonderful and strange community to be invited into. It's weird that you would want to join a community where when someone you've barely known gets cancer, it hurts you. And when someone you've barely known loses a loved one, it hurts you. Because that person over there is not some dear old lady that you've happened to go to church on a Sunday morning with once a month or once a week. That lady over there is your mother. And that person who's lost their loved one is not some young whippersnapper that you barely know the name of. They're your son or your daughter. When you join this community, when you join this community of mothers and sons and brothers and fathers, you join a community where you open yourself up to the pain and the vulnerability of being loved and loving in return. C.S. Lewis says this to love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure that you keep your heart intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it up carefully around with hobbies, little distractions and luxuries. Avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in a casket or a coffin of your own selfishness. And in that casket, it will be safe, dark, motionless, and airless, and it will change. It will not be broken, it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, unredeemable. But to love, to give away your heart, to be vulnerable is to be changed and open to pain. It's the pain that Mary felt as her soul was cleaved in two, and it's the pain into which we are each invited. The pain of being loved. And then secondly, this means on Mothering Sunday that you have a role to play in the nurturing of this community and in being nurtured by this community. And I say that not caring one iota what biological sex you are or whether you have children of your own or of how old you are. You have a role to play in the nurturing of this community and in being nurtured by it. I grew up in Southeast London, quite a posh bit of South East London, but uh my the the the beautiful little Anglican church that I went to uh just south of Brixton was basically 50-50 uh white British folk and members of the Windrush generation who had migrated and lived in uh Southeast London. And so I didn't really realize the gift I was being given, but I grew up with the Caribbean accent being so closely associated for me with what it is to be a grandmother. It wasn't until I was fully in my adult life that I realized that that had happened to me. It was just part of what it meant to be in a church and be mothered and grandmothers by the community in which I grew up. Let me say that on a personal note, Hannah and I are delighted that George and Ruth get to be mothered and grandfathered and parented and have brothers and sisters in the choir by this community, that we are collectively parenting these children. Although I am slightly devastated that it seems George is developing a Lancastrian accent, and I don't really know what to do about that, but that's certainly a sermon for another day. So, Mothering Sunday. I've tried to say an awful lot this morning about what it is to be adopted into the family of God, what it means to be part of a church, a church that opens ourselves up to being vulnerable and pain and experiencing the pain of one another as we journey together through life. But of course, all of us on some level are thinking about biology this morning. All of us are thinking about our own mothers, thinking about our own desire to be a mother, whether we've been able to or not, experiencing a fresh pain and grief, thinking about what it means to be a father, what it means to have children, and thinking about whether those relationships are good or not. Today is undoubtedly going to be a day of pain and joy, of celebration and sorrow. So I'd like to offer in these final few moments just some silence where we allow the Holy Spirit to speak to us and to minister to us comfort and grace on this day of Mothering Sunday. Let's just pause for a few moments and then I'll pray.