Sermon for Mothering Sunday, Sherborne Abbey by Katie Windle
I recently read a remarkable book called ‘Eye can write’ about a boy called Jonathan Bryan, who was born with severe cerebral palsy, but by the age of 12 had learnt to write beautiful poetry and started a charity to help other disabled children to communicate; all through the single movement of his eye.
Perhaps some of you have read it? Jonathan’s story is told in part by his mother Chantal – whose patient love and determination are extraordinary: she reads stories and poetry each night, holds him through seizures, and as he sits to learn each day; she prays for him as he goes into comas – drives him to innumerable hospital appointments, insists that he attend a regular primary school as well as special school; but most of all never stops believing that he is capable of bringing huge hope and joy to the world. In our gospel reading today, we see the same devotion and faith in Jesus’ mother Mary, as she waits at the foot of the cross for his agony to end. I’ve always wondered how on earth she managed to bear it. Perhaps the only people who can imagine what it was like are parents who have lost a child themselves – or faced the prospect of an empty future without them.
Mary wasn’t alone. Her sister, Mary Magdalene and Jesus’ beloved disciple John had stayed with her. And then, moments before he died, she experienced the deep compassion and provision of God through her precious son: ‘When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. Leo Tolstoy writes: ‘In all human sorrow, nothing gives comfort but love and faith and in the sight of Christ’s compassion for us, no sorrow is trifling.’ Christ’s life was marked by compassion and sacrificial love. He had compassion for his family and friends, for the poor and the sick, for criminals, outcasts and all those who came to him knowing that they needed a saviour. He also had compassion for his enemies, even praying for the Roman soldiers who put him to death: Father forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.’ Over millennia, as people have received the forgiving love and compassion of God, they have been changed and moved to share it. This kind of compassion breaks down barriers between people, where it has felt humanly impossible or improper to do so.
On July 17th 1944, more than 58,000 German prisoners of war were paraded through the streets of Moscow by the Russians, following their defeat in the Battle of Bagration- a large-scale offensive by the allies. An onlooker remembers that the pavement swarmed with onlookers, cordoned off by soldiers and the police. He writes: The crowd were mostly Russian women – with hands roughened by hard work lips untouched by lipstick and thin hunched shoulders which had borne half the burden of war. Everyone one them must have had a husband, a brother or a son killed by the Germans. They gazed with hatred as the soldiers approached marching slowly. All at once something happened to them. They saw German soldiers thin, unshaved, wearing dirty blood-stained bandages, hobbling on crutches or leaning on the shoulders of their comrades, the solders walked with their heads down. The street became silent – the only sound was the shuffling of boots and the thumping of crutches. Then, I saw an elderly woman in broken down boots push herself forward, take out a crust of bread from a handkerchief and thrust it into the pocket of a soldier, so exhausted that he was tottering on his feet.
Suddenly – from every side, women were running towards the soldiers pushing into their hands bread, cigarettes, whatever they had. The soldiers were no longer enemies. They were people. Today, in a world that is increasingly polarized, deeply divided, angry and at war with one another, we need to rediscover together the merciful compassion of Christ. An oppressive regime. The corruption of power. An irresponsible politician. The brutal execution of an innocent. A mother’s grief. A young man’s despair. The headlines in our newsfeeds this week echo Christ’s experience in the gospel account. But Christ took every moment that he had, to act with compassion and forgiveness- not blame, he chose to bring reconciliation-not revenge, offering up his life for this purpose-knowing that it was the only hope for the future of mankind.
What would it look like for you and I to do the same today? Perhaps we have become angrier than we dare to admit at what we’re reading online- and need to take a break.