Sermon for Mothering Sunday
In the TV drama series Downton Abbey, the “upstairs-downstairs” encounters are often played out as dressing scenes, when a valet or personal maid is attending to their master or mistress. Several scenes, for example, show Lady Mary Crawley at her dressing table, sharing the secrets of her heart with her maid, Anna, as she brushes her hair or helps her into one of those constrictive corsets. Similarly, the Earl of Grantham is shown being dressed by his valet in his ceremonial uniform – and again this may be a time when confidences are shared between the two of them.
Today’s Gospel reading from John is short and to the point. The scene, played out in just two-and-a half verses, is one of the most poignant and powerful passages from the Bible. Mary stands near the cross upon which her son hangs dying, with the disciple whom he loves (who is generally thought to be John) standing nearby. When Jesus sees them, he discerns the needs of their hearts and brings them together: “Here is your son …here is your mother.” In response, the disciple instantly obeys Christ, taking Mary into his own home.
It is a touching, pared-down scene, simple and striking. Yet, as with all truly brilliant writing, a great deal is packed into those lines. It conveys to us the unimaginable rawness of a mother’s grief, her helplessness at having to watch her son die, and Christ’s compassion for his mother and for his disciple, even in his own suffering, even as he draws near to death.
In the second series of Downton Abbey the First World War breaks out, and the daughters of the Crawley family trade glamorous gowns for nurses uniforms, roll up their sleeves and learn how to drive. Yes, it’s fiction, and probably a far cry from your experience – but there will be times when you have found that all those things that preoccupy you daily – your appearance, your social or financial status – simply become irrelevant in the face of something far more important and urgent.
Famously, at times of great crisis, people reach across barriers to help one another. Class distinction, wealth and status dissolve in the face of a shared experience. In recent years, some of the reports that emerged in the aftermath of awful acts of terrorism have been testament to this. Life becomes “stripped down” and that’s not to say that there isn’t a place for ceremony, even for pomp and circumstance. Our particular flavour of Christianity is, after all, a sacramental one, to which we use the symbolism of the Eucharist to remember and re-enact the Last Supper, and welcome someone into the faith with the symbolic act of baptism. But these are the outer garments that clothe the Church, beneath which beats the heart of the Body of Christ.
Turning to one of the New Testament readings for today, taken from Colossians, we are told that we need to clothe ourselves in compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience. These garments never weigh heavily on our shoulders, are never constraining or constricting, never hinder our breathing or movement, and never create status barriers between us and other people.
Over six weeks the season of Lent prepares us, through tradition, ritual, ceremony and sacrament, to face one of those really big moments – the death of Christ upon the Cross. On Mothering Sunday we look upon this horrific scene through the eyes of his mother. The one who gave birth and life to the Messiah must also witness his death. So, as we stand at the foot of the Cross with Mary, and fleetingly share in her grief, we understand that beneath the ceremonial outer garments of the Church lies the beating heart of faith, and we commit to learning more in our daily lives about compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience.