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My comments come from John 19: 25 -27. They start this
way:
“Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were
his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the
wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.”
When I read these verses, several things strike me.
The first is that the more things change, the more they
stay the same. Think about it. Over 2000 years ago,
in a culture and era vastly different from ours, women
respond as women typically do. When the going gets tough,
the women get going. And when they get going, they take
their friends.
Imagine the scene. In the space of about 15 hours,
Jesus had been betrayed, tried, convicted, and sent
to execution. He had spent the night with his disciples
in the Upper Room and then in the Garden of Gethsemane.
He had warned them what was about to happen, but as
events began to unfold, they fled. Somehow, the women
mentioned here learned about the sudden trial and death
sentence for Jesus.
I can only imagine the horror Mary felt as she learned
the news: her son sent to be crucified -- now, today,
this moment, a done deal. What had happened to the disciples?
Why had the people turned on Jesus so quickly? Why,
oh why, didn’t they release Jesus instead of Barrabas?
Barrabas was a known murderer! As she struggled to comprehend
this nightmare, I am sure of two things: One: Mary would
be there at the execution, and Two: Mary would take
friends along to support her.
Mother love is a powerful force, and it can make you
do things you never imagine, like watch the execution
of your son. I ‘m sure Mary didn’t want
to watch the horror of her son’s death, but I’m
also sure she felt she had to be there. She wanted Jesus
to know that she was there for him.
And if Mary was going, I am also sure that she was
taking her friends. See, women don’t just go the
bathroom in groups: they do most things in groups. Women
find it difficult to be lone rangers. We shop together.
We celebrate together. We commiserate together. And
we talk. Oh, do we talk!
Mark grew up in a family of four boys. So his experience
in raising two teenage daughters has been eye-opening.
One thing he is amazed about is the amount of time that
Emily and Anna spend on the phone, going over in minutia
the events, both big and small, of their day. He’ll
overhear the same conversation 3 or 4 times: Then she
said this. And then I said that. So do you think I should
go with the pink or the purple? Mark turned to me the
other night after hearing Emily rehash an event for
the third time and said, “It’s almost like
an event doesn’t become real until it’s
been thoroughly discussed and dissected with the inner
circle.” I smiled and said, “Now you’re
getting it.”
So no question that Mary's friends would accompany
her to the cross. John is the only disciple the Scripture
records as being at the crucifixion. The gospels of
Mark and Matthew suggest that John’s mother was
one of the women with Mary. John’s mother was
a bit pushy, always looking out for the best interest
of her sons. She had rather brazenly asked Jesus that
John and James get the two best spots in his kingdom.
It wouldn’t surprise me if what happened is that
Mary and her friends were on their way, perhaps to Jesus'
sentencing before Pilate, but certainly to the crucifixion,
and John’s mother decided they needed an escort.
“John, you’re going with us. Get ready.”
I don’t suggest this to belittle John’s
presence at the cross. He loved Jesus, and Jesus clearly
loved him. Maybe he would have been there, no matter
what. But maybe he needed a little encouragement, also
known as a guilt trip, the kind that only a mother can
lay out. For whatever reason, either noble or feeble,
John was at the cross, And Jesus honored that. I’m
glad that God so often overlooks my feeble motivations
in serving Him and honors the effort anyway.
So this tiny group of supporters finds itself at the
cross. From the descriptions, the crucifixion sounds
like a mob scene: lots of people, jeering, noise, and
violence. I can see Mary surrounded by her friends and
John, probably being physically supported by them. Jesus
calls out to his mother: “Woman, behold your son.”
Those seem such strange words to me, but as I was thinking
about them, I tried to paraphrase. Here’s one
possibility: “Look at me. I’m your son.”
In that moment of great despair in what probably felt
like a surreal nightmare for Mary, Jesus calls to her,
“Look at me.” I believe he wanted to make
eye contact with her. She was probably crying, head
down, trying not to watch the agonizing suffering of
her son. But Jesus wanted her to know that in his last
minutes, he was thinking of her. And he wanted to be
sure she knew that.
Two months ago yesterday, my beloved father died. He
collapsed and was taken to a hospital in Fort Myers.
As I was rushing to the hospital, I worried that he
wouldn’t be conscious. That he wouldn’t
know I was there. I wanted to look into his eyes one
last time. And I wanted him to tell me the he loved
me, that I had mattered to him. I knew he loved me because
of a lifetime of loving actions towards me, and also
because he told me every time he saw me. He never said
it in an offhand, indirect way, but directly. He would
hold my face in his big hands and look directly into
my eyes, and say, “I love you, gal.” But
still, I wanted to hear those words, to see that love
in his eyes just one more time.
I think Mary may have felt the same way, and Jesus
knew that. So he calls to her, “Look at me.”
As she lifts her eyes to the cross and to her son, she
sees a look of love in his eyes. “I’m your
son,” he says, and in that moment, in those few
words, he expresses a lifetime of love and gratitude
that comes from a parent/child relationship. Jesus knew
that after the resurrection, their relationship would
be different. He would be Savior and Lord; she would
be follower. But he wanted to honor this earthly relationship
in his final words to her. Jesus could have tried to
encourage her. Why didn’t he say, “It will
be OK. You’ll see.” Because he wanted to
emphasize how important she had been to him here in
his earthly life. I also believe that Jesus knew that
even after the resurrection, Mary would grieve. Her
son had died a gruesome death. She had watched. Their
earthly relationship was over. He knew the resurrection
would not completely erase the pain of his death for
her. She would need someone to help her in that difficult
transition.
So Jesus calls to John, “Here is your mother.”
Jesus is signaling that a new relationship would begin
between his mother and him after the resurrection. He
would not be handling the duties of the eldest son,
but someone needed to. That person was John.
This brief scene resonates with so much love and shows
me once again how personal God is. The cross is first
of all about a relationship with God for humankind:
Relationship with a capital R. The cross is about Atonement.
Redemption. The ultimate Sacrifice. What John calls
’The Lamb of God.” But the cross doesn’t
stop with the big abstractions. Let’s face it:
The Lamb of God is a symbol, an abstraction of God‘s
love. But abstractions are hard to wrap our arms around,
hard to hang onto in a crisis. And this scene, so real,
so poignant, shows me that God, even while hanging on
a cross, thought it important to connect once last time
to his mother, to look her directly in the eye. I don't
think he was only concerned with the practical details
of her future; otherwise, he could have simply said
to John, "Take care of my mother."
The cross is about securing our future, but it is also
personal -- about relationships with a little R -- Jesus
to believer, parent to child, spouse to spouse, friend
to friend, brother to sister. We need a personal God
and we need other people to draw close to us, to look
us in the eye, to express love in tangible ways. Truth
be told, no one makes a good lone ranger, man or woman.
Jesus knew that. John certainly got it for he would
emphasize loving each other over and over in his epistle.
Listen: We love because he first loved us. If anyone
says, I love God and hates his brother, he is a liar.
Whoever loves God must also love his brother.”
In the days immediately following my father’s
death, I felt the whole world fall away and I could
see with a sudden clarity what life was all about: my
relationship with God and my relationships with other
people. I have so wanted to maintain that clarity, but
what seemed simple has become difficult to maintain.
The world and all its details keep obscuring my vision.
Mark and I have talked several times about why this
happens and how to handle it. I think this scene offer
some hints. First, I need to come to the cross up close
and personal. It’s easy, maybe even a little more
comfortable, to view the cross from a distance. But
when I get up close and personal as Mary and John did,
I can see what Jesus wants to say to me from the cross.
Maybe he wants to remind me how precious and fleeting
earthly relationships are. Or how people need the cross,
but they also need to know that others love them. Maybe
he wants to give me a new mission or purpose as he did
to John. Maybe he wants simply to look at me with his
eyes of love. But I have to go to the cross to hear
him.
And if I hear him, really hear him, than I will regain
that sharp focus on relationships, both with a big R
and a little R. Won’t you join me in drawing near
to the cross this week? Won't you look up and see what
Jesus wants to say to you?
Loving Father,
Thank you that you call us by name and that as Jesus
died on the cross, our names were written on the palms
of his hands. Help us to take your personal love for
us and share it in a personal way with others this week.
In the strong and tender name of Jesus,
Amen.
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