“Woman, here is your Son. . . . Here is your mother.”: a sermon for Good Friday (John 19:25a-27)

 

"Woman, here is your Son. .... Here is your mother."

 

In the TV series Kath and Kim, whenever there was a crisis involving Kath … or Kel … or Brett … or Sharon …, eventually Kim would pipe up and say something like “Listen everyone, nobody here is thinking how I’m affected in this.  Have you forgotten that this is about me?”

If anyone had ever had a right at any one moment to ask “Have you forgotten that this is about me?” it would have been Jesus during that time when he hung on the cross.

But hear again the passage you heard a moment ago:

Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 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.

Instead of saying “Have you forgotten that this is about me?” Jesus made provision for his mother’s safety.

“Woman, here is your Son. . . . Here is your mother.”

It was very much a man’s world in those days.  A woman who was on her own with no living male family members was very vulnerable.  In the midst of his own deep pain, Jesus chose to provide for his mother’s safety.  We see the deep compassion of Jesus in this act.

“Woman, here is your Son. . . . Here is your mother.”

As well, there was this shadowy figure of the Beloved Disciple.  We don’t really know who this person was.  Early Christian traditions saw this person to be John, one of the twelve, brother of James and son of Zebedee.  But we don’t really know.  Many more recent writers have speculated about a number of other possible contenders to be this Beloved Disciple, but it’s all guesswork. 

The same early Christian traditions that cast John as the Beloved Disciple also declared that John was a very young man at this time, perhaps even still a teenager.  Perhaps, in the same way that Mary needed someone around with a strong arm, perhaps John needed to be around someone with a mature mind.  In the midst of his own deep pain, Jesus chose to provide for his friend’s guidance.  We see the deep compassion of Jesus in this act.

“Woman, here is your Son. . . . Here is your mother.”

And in all this, we see the great compassion of Jesus.  And, in the great compassion of Jesus, we also see the compassion of a Jesus-shaped God. 

Today, I’m sure, there will be many gruesome sermons preached all over the world about Jesus satisfying the wrath of an angry God for us, and describing it all in gory detail.  People will come out of church depressed … or terrified …, but also thinking, “Well that’s church for another year, thank goodness.”  And the well-meaning but ham-fisted clerics (of many different denominations) who preached those dismal sermons will unknowingly have done their bit toward the further secularising of our culture. 

And, in all of it, the main point will be missed.  Jesus was the victim, not of God’s anger or God’s wrath, but of human anger and human wrath.  In the name of God’s compassion, Jesus took the worst that the human race could dish out.  And, while it was happening to him, Jesus still demonstrated the profound compassion of God to those around him.

Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 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.

In making provision (even on the cross) for the well-being both of his mother and of his young friend, Jesus illustrated with profound clarity the radical compassion of God for us all.

 “Woman, here is your Son. . . . Here is your mother.”