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Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. Please be seated.
Revisionism. It’s what’s been going on among historians for quite a while now. Typically, revisionist historians take the story of some hero or great event and attempt to deconstruct it, peeling away anything that can’t be absolutely proven and calling that a myth or a legend. Their purpose, they say, is to get at the real truth. Usually they can’t actually disprove the elements of the story that make these historical figures or events so compelling. But unless they are provable, they assume the worst and claim that it may have been made up. What they typically end up with is usually a big disappointment to anyone who’s become emotionally invested in a hero who doesn’t maybe turn out to be such a hero after all.
In the 1950s, for example, due to a movie about his life, Davy Crockett was a big hero to many American boys. Everyone knew how Davy died, swinging his rifle Old Betsy at Mexican soldiers pouring into the Alamo after he and the other brave defenders had been overrun. Revisionist historians see a very different Davy Crockett. They see him as a coward, on his knees begging for his life with a bunch of other survivors. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. At some point in most human efforts, hope and defiance give way to reality and desperation.
The same sort of revisionism has affected the way that many people view Mary, the mother of Jesus. In Roman Catholic tradition, she’s practically on the same plane as her son. She’s the sinless co-redeemer with Christ, the mediator of all graces. She’s taken bodily into heaven without dying, and she’s the object of prayer and devotion. On the other hand, many Lutherans and most Protestants react quite negatively to this exalted view of Mary. They tend to knock her down to the level of ordinary sinners like the rest of us, forgetting that God’s Word tells us that she was highly favored by God and was the chosen vessel to carry God in the flesh to His human birth. So, the truth about Mary is probably somewhere in the middle too.
But just who is Mary, really? More specifically, just who is Mary as we see her in the passion story of Jesus Christ? As Jesus makes his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, there’s no mention of his mother. Since she’s been traveling with him and would be present for his crucifixion, we have good reason to believe that she was among the crowd that is shouting their hosannas to the Son of David, even if she doesn’t have a prominent role or join in herself. Amen. There weren’t reporters in those days to shove microphones and cameras in the face of anyone connected to a famous person, asking what they thought of it all. No, this is Jesus’ time in the limelight. And caring mother that she is, Mary probably doesn’t resent the attention being lavished upon her firstborn. Perhaps all that she had seen and heard before his birth and during his lifetime was beginning to sink in. Maybe she’d heard enough of God’s scriptures to know for certain that her child was indeed the promised Messiah, and that his death was on the horizon.
That may be what kept her close to her son, rather than remaining at home. Indeed, soon after the entry to Jerusalem, Jesus again reveals his imminent death, and here his language speaks not of his earthly mother, but of his heavenly father. It was not for Mary’s glory, but for God’s glory, that Jesus would die. But this truth in no way makes the likelihood of His death any easier for Mary to contemplate. She wants to be near her Son. She wants to be loving and supportive of Him. She wants to make sure that He knows that she cares and that she is there to provide that care. Yet in spite of Mary’s good intentions, the reality is this. Mary is a good mother, but one who receives far, far more than she gives.
We will soon see Mary grieving for her son, just as we would. Mary is near the cross when Jesus is dying. She’s not alone. Others are there too. Mary’s sister, Mary, the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. Seems that Mary was quite a popular name in those days, and it’s sometimes a bit difficult to keep all of them straight. Some of these women have followed Jesus from Galilee. Besides being relatives and friends of one another, they share a love for and faith in Jesus. They will stand there at the cross of Jesus to comfort each other in their grief. But no one’s grief is like Mary’s. Mary is a good mother who grieves at the cross of her son because she’s always cared for his needs.
That’s the way it’s been ever since she heard the angel’s announcement in Nazareth over 30 years earlier that she would be the mother of the Savior by the power of the Holy Spirit. Mary accepts her task in humility and in faith, providing her womb as the first earthly home of our Savior. Joseph faithfully serves as adoptive father. When Jesus is born in Bethlehem, Mary cares for him as a good mother would, wrapping him in cloths, feeding him, comforting him. We know about the visits of the shepherds and the wise men, and the escape into Egypt to flee Herod’s slaughter in Bethlehem. Beyond that, we really don’t know much about the early childhood of Jesus, but Mary remains his concerned mother.
The next time we see Jesus, he’s a 12-year-old in the temple. The family has gone to Jerusalem for a religious festival. On the way home, probably traveling in a great crowd of pilgrims, Mary and Joseph discover that Jesus is missing. Rushing back to Jerusalem, they search frantically and eventually find him in the temple talking with the teachers. Mary, good mother that she is, scolds him. “‘Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been searching for you in great distress.’ Jesus replies, “‘Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my father’s house?’ Surely she does know that, deep down. How could she ever forget? But her role isn’t to be a theologian. It’s to be a caring mother, and she could never set that duty aside.
And that’s how we will see her again later on. Jesus, early in His ministry, is wildly popular. Crowds throng around Him. He’s teaching and He’s healing day and night. Mary hears that He’s not eating or sleeping properly. As a concerned mother, Mary comes with Jesus’ brothers to take Him home. He is out of his mind, she and the rest of the family are thinking, as St. Mark describes in chapter 3. Jesus, told of his mother’s arrival, asks, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” Then he points to those seated around him and says, “Here are my mother and my brothers. Whoever does the will of God, he is my mother and my sister and my mother and my brother.” Surely Mary knows this too. How can she forget? But she’s not a theologian. She’s a caring mother, and she can never set that role aside.
Perhaps at this point, Mary and her friends figure out that Jesus is going to do what He’s come to do. And if Mary wants to continue mothering Jesus, she and her friends will have to travel along with Him and the disciples. That way she can see and be sure that He’ll have clothes to wear and food to eat. And speaking of clothes, where do you think those clothes came from that the soldiers divided up among them? Where did that seamless undergarment come from? I suspect Mary made them herself, as would any caring mother who’s always done her best to meet her child’s needs. Soon Mary, the good mother, grieves at the cross of her son because she can no longer care for him. Everything that a good mother would do, she’s prevented from doing.
Jesus is beaten and bloody. Thorns are pressed into his brow and his scalp. His skin is ripped apart in dozens of places. His face is covered with a grimy paste of dirt and blood and sweat. Suppose you’re the mother of Jesus who sees all this. What does your heart cry out for you to do? You want to get him down from that cross and lay him on something comfortable. You want to get fresh water and clean cloths and gently wash away the filth and the blood. You want to dress and bandage his wounds. That’s the sort of thing that you’ve always done for your son. But now you can’t. They won’t let you near him. So Jesus suffers alone.
Now Jesus needs a cool cup of water more than at any other time in his life. A good mother wants to give Him one, but she can’t. She can only grieve. She’s met all of these needs thousands of times before, but now she can’t. She’s helpless, but Jesus is not. From the cross, Jesus sees His good mother Mary in her grief and her helplessness. And He sees us in ours. And He cares for our needs.
Do you remember the last words of Christ? The last thing He said from the cross before He died? He said, “A woman’s highest calling is to be a good wife and mother. If God so blessed her, she would marry, have children, and devote her life to caring for her family.” That was a great source of joy and fulfillment. That’s what Mary had done for Jesus. And when he wouldn’t stay home, she even went traveling with him so she could care for him and answer her motherly calling.
When a mother reached old age in that society, having served her family faithfully, it was the place of the oldest son to take care of her. That was what their society would have expected Jesus to do. So now Mary, already torn apart emotionally, prevented from tending Jesus’ wounds, from covering His naked body, and from giving Him water to drink, compounding her grief, now she’s robbed of her oldest son. Not only the pride and the hope of her life, but also the one who was supposed to take care of her until her dying days. All of those years as a faithful wife and loving mother. Now, what will become of her? And what about the rest of Jesus’ family?
We learn elsewhere in the Gospels that Mary and Joseph had lots of relatives. What about James and Joseph and Jude, the brothers of Jesus? Why couldn’t one of them fill the role of eldest son and care for Mary? The sad reality was that until this moment, the rest of the family didn’t believe in Jesus as the Christ. They used to taunt and mock Jesus. They were among those who thought that Jesus was crazy, but Mary knew who Jesus was. All these years, she treasured in her heart the words of the angel at the Annunciation and the words of the shepherds. She was always a mother. At times maybe a little overprotective and not much of a theologian, but she knew who it was that Jesus was. And as Jesus hung on the cross dying, she knew Him to be the Son of God and the Son of David, both Lord and Savior.
Believing as she did, could she really live with other relatives who were as yet unbelievers? Can you imagine the misery that they would put her through? This too would grieve her. Jesus knew all this. So, from the cross, before he commits himself into the hands of God, he commits his mother into the hands of his best friend John. And it wasn’t as though John was a stranger to Mary. As she traveled with Jesus and the disciples, she would have cared for John as well. What better choice could there be? John doesn’t even hesitate. From that hour, we’re told, the disciple took her into his own home. Only after Mary is cared for does Jesus commit himself into the hands of his Father.
But Jesus’ concern that day, as he hung in bloody agony, isn’t just for Mary. Everything that Jesus suffers at the cross is for you and for me too. The terrible pain, the humiliation, the thirst, all of this is Jesus arranging to care for us in our helplessness. He’s come to save us from sin and death, not to leave us to fend for ourselves. It isn’t just Mary that Jesus was making arrangements for from the cross. It’s you and me too.
The whole passion drama, from the Garden of Gethsemane, to the trials before the high priest and Pontius Pilate, to Golgotha’s cross, to the borrowed tomb, all of that is payment for everything that our sins deserved. First Jesus finishes his work of saving sinners, and then he commits himself to his Father. But we are not saved from sin and then abandoned. Jesus commits His mother Mary into the loving care of John. In the same way, He commits us into the loving care of our spiritual mother, the church.
Everything that the loving mother Mary did for her son, our loving mother, the church, does for us. Are you wounded and dirty? Baptism into Christ washes away your sins and restores your life. Are you naked? Baptism covers you with the righteousness of Christ too. Are you hungry? The Lord’s Supper feeds you with the Body and Blood of Jesus for your forgiveness. Are you lonely? Here you’ll find family, brothers and sisters in Christ. Are you worried about death? Joined to Jesus in death, you are also united with Him in His resurrection. And by faith, you have eternal life with Him.
Yes, Mary was grieved as a helpless mother. But because of Jesus’ love, even as He hung dying on the cross, Mary had a wonderful home awaiting her. Not just with John here on earth, but with Jesus in heaven. And so do we. And that’s a cause for great rejoicing. It’s okay to grieve the cross. As we contemplate Lent and the coming days of Holy Week, and we think about the horrible suffering of Jesus Christ, we can have sorrow for our sins, those sins that put Him on that cruel and painful cross. It’s impossible not to grieve.
But the cross is more than just an instrument of suffering. It’s also a mechanism of great, great love. The arms of Jesus are outstretched on the cross, not to bring us grief, but to embrace us with forgiveness. That cross says, “Jesus loves you.” Let Him embrace you in your grief. Let Him love you in your loneliness. Let Him wash away your tears and your sins as you trust in Him. Let Him turn your sadness of loss into a great joy, a great joy of salvation.
In His holy name, Amen.
