Here Is Your Son
a sermon based on John 19:26-27
by Dr David Rogne  

A fellow with a poor driving record had just finished painting his car. He painted the driver’s side red and the passenger side blue. A friend told him the car looked funny. "Maybe so," said the owner, "But if I get into an accident, won't it be something to hear the witnesses!"

Even without tricks, witnesses to an event see different things. That is one of the reasons we have four Gospels to tell us about the life and message of Jesus. Each writer saw the events of Jesus' life from a different point of view. Indeed, each of us brings something different to a situation which causes us to see it differently from anyone else.

One would expect, then, that it would be the same with such an event as the crucifixion of Jesus - different people would have different impressions of what was happening   Even the words which were spoken at that event would be interpreted differently. With John and Mary standing at the foot of the cross, Jesus says: "Woman here is your son.”  And to the disciple he says, “Here is your mother."  No doubt the disciple thought one thing, Mary another, and Jesus a third   The statement seems to be simply a personal utterance involving only those three persons, yet I think that if we put ourselves in the positions of the participants we shall find some meanings from these words for ourselves.

Let us first consider what the words might have meant to the disciple, to whom part of the phrase is addressed: "Here is your mother." For one thing, it must have meant acceptance. He is called the "disciple whom Jesus loved." That title occurs on a number of occasions in the Gospel of John. He is the one sitting nearest Jesus in the upper room. He is the one who had connections among the temple priests so that he was able to be present at the trial of Jesus. He was standing near the cross now, when the others had fled. He was the first to look into the empty tomb. Everything points toward the fact that this disciple was John, a fisherman, the son of Zebedee and also the purported writer of this gospel. Instead of referring to himself by name, he seems to prefer to call himself "the disciple whom Jesus loved."

And yet, earlier in his ministry, Jesus had called John and his brother, James, "Boanerges," "sons of thunder," because they were young and impetuous. One day when Jesus and the disciples had attempted to enter a Samaritan village, they were refused admittance because of religious intolerance, and it was these two disciples who had said "Lord do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” (Luke 9:54) They were ready to punish the Samaritans for this affront. This was not exactly the attitude which Jesus had been attempting to cultivate among his disciples. How often the church has dealt similarly with those who have disagreed with it. People who have called themselves Christians have killed Moslems because they were infidels. People who call themselves Christians have killed other Christians because they were called Protestant or Catholic. We have our sons of thunder, too.

Even so, it was such a young man as this who now described himself as "the disciple whom Jesus loved." Whatever his temper, his faults, his weakness, he understood that he was loved, and it was this which was to make the remainder of his life effective. These words from Jesus indicated acceptance.

I think it is safe to say that these words must have meant disappointment to John, too. He and his brother, James, had asked earlier for the privilege of sitting on the right and left of Jesus when Jesus established his kingdom. (Mark 10:37) He had expected a position of some importance. And what was he now given? A domestic responsibility! How unglamorous!

Life often treats us that way. We join ourselves to a cause with the expectation of performing some noble feat. And we wind up licking postage stamps or stuffing envelopes in some back room. We are ready for greater things -- we don't want to do what just anyone can do. We want our work to stand out from the crowd - to be noticed-- to be different. But being of service often involves doing the commonplace because that is where people's needs are.

If these words brought disappointment to John, I think we can also say they gave him purpose. He had in mind ruling in the kingdom -- now he was to learn just how close to daily living the Kingdom of God really is. He was being called to be a representative of Christ all right, not in some regal court, but in homely duties. He was being asked to do for Jesus, what Jesus could no longer do -- fulfill a son's duties. The kingdom was not to be found in splendor or privilege, but in humble service.

Had we been standing on that hill, what would Jesus have asked of us? Something too simple to capture our attention? Taking someone to the doctor? Visiting someone who can't get out? Writing that long put-off letter? Washing diapers? There is never a day we cannot represent him — do something for Christ by doing something for someone he loves. Victor Daley, an Australian poet, was being tenderly cared for by the sisters in a Catholic hospital as he was dying. One of his last acts was to thank the nurses for all their kindness to him. "Don't thank us," said the sisters, "Thank the grace of God." The poet responded, "But you are the grace of God."

Most of us would prefer to slay dragons or rescue whole cities from distress. But when we take stock of our lives, few of us will have such noble deeds to our credit. We will derive our sense of satisfaction from less-spectacular actions which nevertheless contribute to life for someone. Emily Dickinson, a poet from our own country, lived as a recluse in Amherst, Massachusetts. She needed assurance that her life had purpose in spite of her limited opportunities. One day she wrote a poem that expresses an important affirmation:
 

 If I can stop one heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Into his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
 

That is what Jesus' words to John say to us: in small and tender acts of love we find purpose.

The second thing I should like to consider is what those words might have meant to Mary. Surely these words meant disappointment to her, too. How differently her life had turned out from what she might have expected! At the annunciation of his birth, she was called "the favored one." She was told the "Lord was with her." She was told this son would reign forever - "—of his kingdom there would be not end."(Luke 1:28-33)

How different things were now! All those possibilities seemed to fade. The home that should have been developing was gone. The dream was put out like a brief candle. The meaning of other words from Scripture such as "Behold, your house is left to you desolate," (Matthew 23:28) were becoming abundantly clear. There had been forebodings that it would come to this. When Jesus was only 8 days old the aged Simeon had said to Mary "A sword will pierce your heart and soul." (Luke 2:35) When Jesus had remained in the temple, when he was twelve years old, his statement then seemed strangely distant "Did you not know I must be in my Father's house?" (Luke 2:49) When his own brothers had come to get Jesus, thinking that he was out of his head, she had been with them. She did not understand all the implications of his work and teachings. Still, when the storm clouds began to gather, she broke with Jesus' brothers in order to be with Jesus. Again, at the beginning of his ministry, at a wedding in Cana of Galilee, she had spoken to him and he responded cryptically, "Woman, what have you to do with me? My hour is not yet come." (RSV John 2:4) "Woman" -- how distant that sounded -- and now he was using it again, "Woman, behold your son." His hour had come, and she was there.

And we are subject to this kind of disappointment, too, aren't we? Recently, ABC screened a movie looking at the background of three boys who were responsible for the Chowchilla school bus kidnapping that took place years ago. Two of the boys were brothers from a prosperous family, raised in suburbia, with bright prospects for the future. Their parents had dreams for them: to go to school where they would choose; to be whatever they might want to be. Instead, the sons on which they doted have spent most of their lives in prison for a terrible crime. Disappointment. Or perhaps, we spend our married years anticipating all the things we are going to do together in retirement - only to discover that we are alone. Disappointment. Is there any relief for it, or are we only left with our tears?

It is here that these words of disappointment to Mary also become words of fulfillment. When Jesus said, "Woman, here is your son," I do not think he was referring to himself, but to John. Her vocation as a mother to Jesus was no longer needed. She was being pointed in a new direction - there were more children in this world than her own, and they now needed her attention. Jesus was not saying simply, "Go to John and he will take care of you." He was saying fully as much, "Go to John and help take care of him." Her emptiness was to be filled by someone else.

I read recently about an elderly woman who would occasionally rise early in the morning, go for a walk, get hopelessly lost and turn herself over to the nearest police officer to take her home. The husband was himself elderly and crippled. He took medications which made him sleep soundly.

Eventually the police officers informed the husband that unless he made arrangements for his wife or both of them to take up residence in a supervised care facility, they would ask the court to take such action. Looking for a more satisfactory solution, the husband arranged with a neighbor to allow her children to watch and entertain his wandering wife. He didn’t know that the three children, ages eight, ten and eleven, had been in trouble for theft, malicious mischief and running away from home. He offered them a small hourly wage, plus snacks and treats, and the children took turns babysitting in the elderly couple's home, stealing odds and ends and commandeering the T.V. But gradually they changed, and so did the woman. She began to bake again and play the piano. She mended clothing. Her memory seemed to improve. So did her housekeeping. She insisted that the children bring their homework when they visited. She told them of her own experiences as a girl. The children picked flowers for her, made vases and little favors for her and purchased gifts. At school their grades and conduct improved. The mother congratulated the couple on the marvelous change they had brought about in the lives of her children. The couple and the children helped themselves by filling an empty place in life of another.

Every person needs a purpose to make life bearable. So often older parents say, "What's the use of living? My children don't need me anymore." That may or may not be true - grown children may very well need their parents, but in a totally different way from the past expression of the need. And even if we are confident that we are not needed by our own children, let us lift our horizon a bit. We are limiting our own usefulness and our own happiness if we say, "I will share myself only with those who are close to me."

Some years ago Helen Ashe and her twin sister, Ellen Turner, began the Bethel Love Kitchen, a ministry to provide food, clothing and care for needy and hurting people in Knoxville, Tennessee. The sixty-four-year old women are not in the best of health themselves. Ellen has cancer, arthritis, and back problems. Helen has problems with her knees and back. However, their perspectives say a lot about why their health doesn't stop them. Helen says, "This ministry is therapy to me. I have a lot of aches and pains, and so does my sister, but coming here gives us incentive to go on." Ellen adds, "If I have the strength to get up, I'm going to help somebody. What am I doing feeling sorry for myself when there are people out there who are much worse?" Here is the cure for disappointment, loss, grief, rejection.  We must learn what it means that we are all children of God, and plunge headlong into the needs of the whole family of humanity. These words to Mary teach us that we may find our purpose in a place different from where we have been looking.

Finally, let us consider what these words might have meant to Jesus, who spoke them. For one thing, he was acknowledging what is means to be human.   As humans we participate in an unavoidable debt. We reap good things that we have not sown.  We are not independent or self-sustaining.  We rely for our lives and our sustenance on the whole great family of the race. Other people's discoveries cure our ills, other people's inventions ease our burdens; others plant so we may eat. It is appropriate that we should want to pay our own way, but we are arrogant if we think we do. We can save, insure and pay cash, but death will still catch us in debt to someone, to many. After taking the hemlock which caused his death, Socrates remembered an unmet obligation and

had to entrust it to a friend's care: "Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius, will you remember to pay the debt?" Even Christ could not say, "It is finished" until he had entrusted to this beloved disciple a duty he could no longer perform. Jesus' words remind us of how dependent we are on one another, how important we are to one another's fulfillment, and how humble we need to be about our accomplishments.

These words also indicate Jesus' continuing concern for individuals. He was on a cross seeking to bring the whole race to its senses. His suffering was to confront the whole world with its separation from God. But he was not so busy with the whole world that he neglected the individuals. Of the soldiers he said, "Father, forgive them." (Luke 23:34)  To the thief, "Today, you will be with me in paradise." (Luke 23:43)  For John and for Mary, he spoke of a new purpose in life.

How easy it is for us to be so absorbed in the big and important matters of life that we lose sight of persons. Too busy providing for "the family" to see the members as individuals needing attention and encouragement. Matthew Arnold said: "Of little threads our life is spun, and he spins ill, who misses one." We may in fact spin poorly because we are human and limited, and prone to make mistakes, but let us not intentionally overlook some of the important opportunities open to us because we are too busy with the big things to take notice of the individual threads!

At the beginning of this message it was noted that the four Gospels each gave a picture of Christ from a particular perspective. It was also suggested that we might understand these words of our Lord better if we considered them from the perspectives of the individuals involved. From John we learn that we can find purpose even in small acts of love. From Mary we learn that we can work through our most bitter experiences when we know that we are needed by someone. From Jesus we learn to accept our own dependence upon others and the need each of us has to be treated as an individual. All these perspectives are but aspects of one underlying theme in Jesus' teaching: We all belong to one family -- the family of God — and we shall find our fulfillment when we learn to live as His children, helping one another.