Mary’s lessons

 A recording of today's gospel and blog can be accessed here.

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Today’s gospel (John 19:25-34) recounts three distinct moments in the passion and death of Jesus. First, we see the double-sided gift of Mary to the Beloved Disciple and the Beloved Disciple to Mary. Second, we see the thirst of Jesus on the cross and His being given vinegar to drink. Last, we witness the thrust of the Roman soldier’s lance into the side of our Saviour, bringing forth what, according to St John, were blood and water; three distinct scenes only one of which is seemingly related to the mystery that is marked today in the liturgy for Mary, Mother of the Church.

To understand the first scene, we should recall that much in the gospel is “not about what it’s about”. There is always something else going on, just as there is in our daily lives, woven not only from the obvious but from every unconscious motive that runs beneath our conscious activities. In appearance, Jesus provides for His mother who is about to be left without a protector in the moment of His earthly death. Take care of mother for me is what He might have said, given that John was already the son of Salome, a devoted mother, who, as we know, doubled up as the disciple’s ambitious, professional cheerleader. But of course, Jesus does not say that. His words are much more distinctive and imply something else. Behold your mother: but mother in what sense? Here is where the appearances begin to cede to questions that are perhaps answered by the parallel line spoken to His mother: Behold your Son. These are not just requests but commands. John and Mary undoubtedly knew each other, and no doubt already had a relationship, given that John was the Beloved Disciple. Now, that relationship was transformed in two ways. First, it was no longer distant, as might be the relationship of a mother with her son’s friends; instead, it became truly filial. Second, it was henceforth meant to be a reciprocal relationship. Take care of mother for me would create a relationship of need and dependence, of Mary relying on John for support. Behold your mother and behold your son creates a two-way relationship, a situation of exchange and affection, a rapport that is both earthly and spiritual. Mary no doubt did depend hereafter on John for material support. But the relationship was designed to be so much more, just as John’s presence and that of Mary at the foot of the cross was so much more that it appeared. Mary, who suffered no birth pangs with Jesus, gives birth to her spiritual children in this moment, in the agony of witnessing the execution of her Son. How could this moment not have been for her the most exquisite blend of both separation and union: earthly separation from Jesus and spiritual union to His mystical body, brought into the world as it were, in this final physical and spiritual contraction of her fiat, pronounced so many springs ago in a quiet house in Nazareth?

The following two scenes in today’s gospel extract, apparently unrelated to this one, can in this light unfold in another sense. For they offer to Mary, now a mother again, a new pedagogy of the Father, two lessons delivered to shape this new dimension of her motherhood.

In the first, she is bidden to attend to the spiritual pains and pangs of her new children, articulated for her by her own beloved Son:  I thirst. Do we not all in some sense thirst for the Lord, all of us who are trying in our own feeble way to walk after Him? Our hearts are made for you, Lord, and are restless until they rest in you, says St Augustine. Jesus’ thirst was physical and spiritual, for He thirsts for our love and for our safety. In contrast, our thirst before the cross is spiritual and existential for in longing for the Lord, we are also longing for the true meaning of our lives, which are so often betrayed by the self-referential choices that we daily make. To feel that thirst, as to feel hunger, is in fact a sign of health. To know we lack something is to be one step ahead of those who feel nothing at all, even if there comes a time when our thirst can become as it were an object of faith, and we must choose to thirst. Behold your children, Jesus commands Mary. And, how can she now obey His command – as she always does - without recognising that spiritual thirst in us, and wishing to come to our aid?

The second lesson for Mary can be observed in the last scene of the gospel where the Roman soldier drives a spear into Jesus’ side, releasing the gathered fluids in his thorax. The blend of blood and water in this moment has been seen in many senses by spiritual writers down the years, not the least important of which is the commingling of humanity and divinity, in Christ through the incarnation, and in us through the gift of His grace to us. But let us take it here in another sense.

To begin with, why was there water coming from Jesus’ side? The physical cause is probably the distress of crucifixion which causes a large build up of fluid around the lungs and the heart, pericardial and pulmonary effusion. It looked like water, but it could simply have been the colourless serum associated with any trauma to the body. Perhaps, however, we might see in this instance an example of our hidden wounds. Cleanse me of my hidden sins, prays the Psalmist. But it is our hidden wounds that do the serious damage. We see the physical wounds of Christ and we are touched by their severity; yet beneath the surface, there is the extreme trauma of the crucified man whose inner system is overwhelmed by the sufferings of the body. Mary’s observation of this lancing of Jesus’ side is like an appeal to her, a lesson to her maternal heart, to come to the aid of our deepest wounds, the ones that reflect out deepest hurts, the ones that arise from our most severe traumas, inflicted by others and by ourselves.

Beneath the surface lies a world of hurt. As Mary looks upon her Son and sees His inner sufferings gushing forth as it were from His side, we can trust in her maternal concern for us with our deepest injuries.

Mother, behold your sons and daughters, whom you have brought forth in such pain. Bear us unto life in the Lord and guide us in the lessons of the Father’s forming action.

Holy Mary, Mother of God and Mother of the Church, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.