homily

by

Woman, Here Is Your Son

At the Cross her station keeping,
stood the mournful Mother weeping,
close to her Son to the last.

Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
all His bitter anguish bearing,
now at length the sword has passed.

O how sad and sore distressed
was that Mother, highly blest,
of the sole-begotten One.

Christ above in torment hangs,
she beneath beholds the pangs
of her dying glorious Son.

Is there one who would not weep,
whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ’s dear Mother to behold?

Can the human heart refrain
from partaking in her pain,
in that Mother’s pain untold?

Bruis’d, derided, curs’d, defil’d,
She beheld her tender Child
All with bloody scourges rent;1

That is a portion of a Christian hymn from the 13th century. The Latin title is “Stabat Mater” which translates to “Sorrowful Mother.” The hymn is a reflection on Mary’s pain as she witnessed the crucifixion. Though its authorship is unknown, Sorrowful Mother grew in popularity until it was sung throughout Christendom. It has been passed down through the generations. The song hauntingly captures Mary’s broken heart.

The apostle John recounted these terrible moments in his gospel. I want you to picture what John describes: Jesus is hanging on the cross, already brutalized with whip, spear, and thorns. Below him, four Roman soldiers divide his clothing among themselves. As Jesus bleeds they haggle over the remaining piece‒his undergarment. All the while, Mary stands close by, watching.

How terrible the pain of a mother—to witness the humiliation, torture, and execution of her child. How did Mary endure seeing the cruelty inflicted on Jesus? How did she stay through the hours it took for her son to die? 

Can you imagine a pain equal to what Mary experienced in those moments? It’s hard to. It is a comfort when we realize that the only thing that rivaled Mary’s pain was her love. Mary’s love for her son was so great, I believe it surpassed her pain. Her love was her staying-power; it kept her at the foot of that bloody cross. Oh, what wondrous love!

Grieving people understand that great pain is often rooted in great love. We see this truth clearly on display in Mary. But we also see it in Jesus. John 19:26-27 say, “When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, ‘Woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple [he said], ‘Here is your mother.’” 

It’s not hard to imagine Jesus’ pain at the crucifixion. There’s the physical pain caused by Roman brutality. The emotional pain of being rejected by his fellow Jews and betrayed by his disciple Judas. The pain of being abandoned by most of his male disciples. And the greatest burden of all, the pain of submitting to torture and death to atone for the sins of the world. 

But have we noticed the pain of Jesus as a son? In these moments, he was a son stripped naked and nailed to a cross in front of his mother. As he was tortured and taunted and mocked, his mother watched, and he saw her distress. Despite his own terrible pain, Jesus saw his mother’s pain and was overcome with love. 

God’s law, the Torah, gave clear instructions about caring for the most vulnerable in society, including widows. In accordance with the law, Jesus would have stood in Joseph’s stead to care and provide for his mother once she’d become a widow. But what would happen to Mary after Jesus died? Who would care for her?

Jesus knew the heart of his heavenly Father, described in the Psalm 68:5 as the “father of orphans and protector of widows.” A clear example of God’s care for the vulnerable is in the Torah gleaning laws. This set of laws instructs God’s people to purposefully leave the edges of their fields unharvested, and to leave some fruit on their grapevines and olive trees. What remained would provide for the poor, for orphans, foreigners, and widows.2

This law is pivotal to the story of Ruth. We remember that Naomi and her daughter-in-law Ruth were vulnerable widows. There were no remaining male family members to provide for them. So Ruth gleaned wheat and barley from the fields of a man named Boaz. This led to a marriage between Ruth and Boaz, who are ancestors of Jesus.

With this in mind, turn back to the scene of the crucifixion. Knowing his death was imminent, despite the pain engulfing him, Jesus used some of his last words to honor both the law and the heart of the heavenly Father. He protected and provided for his mother when he said, “Woman, here is your son.” 

I want you to picture Mary and John standing below the cross. Imagine, at Jesus’ words, John places an arm around Mary’s shoulders. Hold that image in your mind and hear the echo of words spoken just days earlier:

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener…
Remain in me, as I remain in you. 

No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.
Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. 

I am the vine; you are the branches…

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. 

My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.
Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”3 

Mary and John are standing at Golgotha, which was known as, “the place of the skull.” It’s where Rome executed criminals, a place that probably sent shivers up the spines of passersby. You could hardly bear to look for long. 

But I want you to look at Golgotha on that fateful day and gaze fully at the scene. Look beyond the skulls, beyond the executioners—even, for a moment, beyond the cross. Open the eyes of your heart and see this place transformed. “Woman, here is your son…[John] here is your mother.” At these words, Golgotha becomes a garden. The Father is the gardener. Jesus is the true vine of the garden.  John, is a fruitful branch. Mary, now entwined with John, reaps a harvest.

Jesus’ words on the cross were an act of love and justice: by declaring John and Mary family, Mary gleaned a secure future. John wrote in verse 27, “from then on this disciple took her into his home.” 

Think of the gift Jesus gave to both Mary and John: Together, they could bear the pain of Jesus’ death. Together, they would rejoice at his resurrection. Together, they would bear much fruit for the Lord as they spread the gospel. Together, they would live as Jesus had commanded: “Love each other as I have loved you.”

It’s easy to become transfixed by the pain at Golgotha. For centuries, songs and poems like Sorrowful Mother have reflected on this pain. I don’t want to ignore or minimize the pain at the cross, because through the pain we see the love. But, I also don’t want the pain to blind us to the beauty on display at Golgotha. In the place designated for torture, pain, and death, there was love overflowing, justice reaped, and futures secured—not just for Mary and John—but for all of us. 

In the darkest moments of human history, if you listen closely, you might hear the echo of a song. It’s a simple melody of hope written long ago by King David: “Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”4

Joy is coming for Mary and John. 
Joy is coming for you and me and all people who call Jesus, Lord.

So, weep for the pain.
Wonder at the love.
And hope in the promised joy.

Amen.

  1. Stabat Mater, verses 1-7 (of 20). English translation by Edward Caswall, 1849. ↩︎
  2. See Leviticus 19:9-10, 23:22; Deuteronomy 24:19-22. ↩︎
  3. John 15:1, 4-5, 9, 12 NIV ↩︎
  4. Psalm 30:5b ↩︎
by

It Is Finished

John 19:30 — When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.”

I’d never been so relieved, so exhausted, so exhilarated, and in so much pain at the same time. Night had fallen, and I sat weeping at a campfire deep in the woods of Central Pennsylvania. This was at the end of a 10-hour day of steep hiking into and out of a valley. 

At the campfire, I was surrounded by 11 of my colleagues from the college where we worked. Our boss had decided that a 5-day, off-the-grid, backpacking trip would be a great team-bonding exercise to get us ready for the new academic year. I never would have chosen this kind of “adventure” for myself. I’m a self-proclaimed “indoorsy” person. Though I enjoy exercising outside every day, hiking and camping are among the last things I would choose to do for fun or for bonding. 

I wept at that campfire, not because I was afraid of the dark, or of spiders, or of having to go to the bathroom in the woods, but because I had been hiking all day with a 60 pound pack on my back. I’d had low-back pain for a few months, but by the time of our trip, I hadn’t yet seen a specialist for diagnosis. What I didn’t know is that I was hiking with a herniated disc. What I did know was the constant, fiery pain in my low back and my hips that often shot down my right leg like a lightning strike. 

As we hiked down, down into a deep valley that first day, all I could think about was that hours going down eventually means hours going up. And I was right. After a short break for lunch, we began a grueling 4-hour ascent out of the valley. When you ascend, you naturally shift your center of gravity forward. Unfortunately for me, that shift put even more pressure on the injured disc, and my pain intensified. 

That 4-hour ascent was the most painful experience of my life to-date. I couldn’t catch hold of any positive perspective because the pain was so intense. Tears slipped down my cheeks and soaked my shirt as I put one foot in front of the other. 

Looking up at the horizon brought no comfort because I couldn’t ignore the never-ending hill that I still had to climb. I knew I would survive the hike, of course, but that thought evaporated like a mirage when compared to the pain I knew I must endure first. So when we finally made it out of that valley, made camp, and gathered in front of the campfire, I collapsed — physically and emotionally. 

It was finished. I never had to enter, endure, and overcome that valley of pain again! I was so deeply relieved that I cried for a good hour. (It’s a wonder I had any tears left!) As I cried, I processed so many thoughts and emotions.

I was grateful for, and surprised by, the grit and physical fortitude I used to hike out. At the same time, I was keenly aware of the fragility and weariness of my body. I confess, I was resentful of my boss for forcing this adventure on us. And I was disappointed in myself for not saying “no” to this backpacking trip in the first place — when would I finally learn to speak up for legitimate personal needs, instead of sacrificing my own wellness because I don’t want to ruin things for others? 

Even as all these things filtered through my exhausted brain, the pain continued to throb and disturb my relief. The worst of the hike was finished, but residual pain would continue. I still had a few more days of walking to get out of those woods. Relief, pain, and resolve were always churning within me. Perhaps it’s that very mix that helped me hang on until we were out of the woods entirely.

No human experience can ever truly compare to the excruciating weight that Jesus bore on the cross. I know hiking with a herniated disc is almost nothing compared to the physical pain of crucifixion, or the emotional strain of the task set before Jesus. My task and my pain were but a slight hint of Jesus’ task and his intense physical and emotional suffering. But even a hint can be a beginning.

To grasp the meaning in Jesus’ words, “It is finished” we must do the mental work of going back and answering the question, “What?” What was finished as Jesus hung on the cross? And, what might he have been feeling and thinking that led him to say, “It is finished”? We can only begin to understand those things when we remind ourselves of the task he was given.

We remember that the first time Jesus stood up to preach in his hometown synagogue, he read these words from the Prophet Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Lk 4:18-19)

All along, Jesus made his mission very clear. How many times did he say the phrase “I have come” in his public ministry?! We hear him proclaim his mission throughout the gospels using this phrase repeatedly. Here are a few examples:

  • I have come to fulfill the law and the prophets (Mt 5:17)
  • I have come to call sinners to repentance (Lk 5:32)
  • I have come to seek and save the lost. (Luke 19:10)
  • I have come down from heaven, in the Father’s name, to do the Father’s will (Jn 5:43, 6:38)
  • I have come to bring judgement so that the blind will see (Jn 9:39)
  • I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness (Jn 12:46)

Jesus taught about a kingdom of heaven that was coming, and had come. This kingdom is a way of living that is based not on societal hierarchies and power struggles, but on a foundation of love, mercy, justice, forgiveness, and generous service to others. 

And as we read the stories of the gospels — as we see Jesus heal sick and broken bodies, as he casts out demons, as he shows love and compassion for the outcasts, the untouchables, and for the undervalued — we see him be true to his mission and exemplify the nature of his Father’s kingdom. 

Jesus came to earth on a holy, heavenly mission. He inaugurated his Father’s kingdom on earth through his teaching, his actions, and ultimately, by sacrificing his life on the cross. Only then, could Jesus say, “It is finished.”  

Jesus once said to his disciples, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work.” (Jn 4:34) As Jesus prays to the Father in John 17, he acknowledges that he has “brought [the Father] glory on earth by finishing” the work he was given to do. 

“It is finished.” In these words, in these moments, the awesome fortitude of Jesus is unveiled to us. 

Jesus endured the emotional pain of Judas’ betrayal; the swift abandonment by his other disciples when he was arrested; and the harsh rejection of the Jewish people he came to call back to his Father. 

He endured the pain of unjust accusations; of public ridicule from a crowd of the self-righteous calling for his death; and the humiliation of being stripped of his clothes and forced to walk the streets of the city on carrying the very tool that would kill him. 

Jesus endured the varied physical abuses done by the Roman soldiers and then the pain of gradual suffocation that comes with crucifixion. 

Jesus suffered all this pain because he was dedicated to, and focused on, the end — the ultimate goal. He knew that only his death would fully show the world how much he, and his Father, loved. Dying for the sake of others is the ultimate show of love. If the people didn’t believe after seeing Jesus bravely move toward the cross and endure it’s pain, then they never would believe.

Maybe it was a mix of relief, pain, and resolve churning in Jesus as he hung on the cross. Perhaps it’s that very mix that helped him endure such unthinkable suffering. All this, so that we too might know the freedom and joy of a life lived with him in the Kingdom of God.

“…Jesus said, ‘It is finished.’ With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”

I’ve never been so relieved, so exhausted, so exhilarated, and in so much pain at the same time. Thank you, Lord, for what you finished for us. Amen.