 | |||
 |
| ||
 |
A Sermon Delivered at First Christian
Church Stockton So when they had come together, they asked him, "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" He replied, "It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, "Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven." Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day's journey away. When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers. Our mothers have there own special way of watching over us. Jesus’ mother was there throughout his whole life, from birth, following his travels, his arrest, and finally his crucifixion. And here she is this morning at his ascension into heaven. But she does not immediately leave and go back to her home in Nazareth. She remains one of Jesus’ closest followers, and devotes herself to prayer with “certain women” not “important” enough to name, as well as Mary’s sons and the 11 Apostles. So not only is Mary a devoted mother, she is also devoted to prayer. For all of my mother’s struggles with alcohol and depression, she was also devoted to prayer and the study of the Bible. I would frequently come home from school to find my mother deeply engaged in Bible study. She would read a passage out loud to me and ask me what I thought about it. Sometimes we would agree, and sometimes we’d argue. But I was always amazed with her love for the Bible. Mom’s Bible was thoroughly worn as she underlined favorite Scriptures, including the 23 Psalm. Timmy was
a little five year old boy that read the 23 Psalm to his mother every
night. Timmy’s mom loved
him very much and, being a worrier, she was concerned about him walking to
school when he started Kindergarten. She walked him to school a few days
but when he came home one day, he told his mother that he did not want her
walking him to school everyday. He wanted to be like the "big
boys." He protested loudly, so she finally got an idea of how to
handle it. Mothers
are the most complex creatures known to man and even boys.
Some mothers are like Timmy’s mom who made sure that her son was
safe. My mother worked,
dropping out of school after the eighth grade so she could support her
family. When she was 15 she married
my father who entered the Navy a year later during WW II, and at 16 she
gave birth to my brother. By
the time she was 28 she had 5 children, raising us all as we moved about
the country following my dad’s Navy career.
She worked outside the home as well, helping to make ends meet.
Mom was always coming and going, working and cleaning and cooking
and making sure we got to church three times per week.
In spite of all of her flaws, she loved her husband, loved her
children, and she loved her Lord. I
miss my mother very much. We
Protestants ignore Mary, the mother of Jesus, even more than the writer of
the book of Acts. Our
Catholic friends give her the respect due her.
The first time I heard a friend call Mary the Mother of God I was
horrified. I quipped back to
my friend, “She is not the Mother of God, she is the mother of Jesus.”
I was probably all of ten years old when I had this theological
discussion with my next-door neighbor, Timmy Ryan.
The Ryan’s were faithful Catholics, and all eight of their
children attended Catholic school. They
also went to Mass each Saturday night, and ate fish on Friday.
Timmy was my best friend, but he was not allowed to play on Sunday.
They observed the Sabbath on that day. Timmy’s
mother, Mrs. Ryan (I don’t think she had a first name), was also my
after-school sitter. She
would invite me over for dinner on a frequent basis, and I spent the night
with them on a few occasions. I
was always amazed with how much time the family spent in prayer, the
crosses all around the house, and pictures of Mary in every room.
It seemed as if Mary was everywhere, even in the car. My church had no place for Mary, nor Joseph for that matter. I sometimes imagined that Jesus really wasn’t born like I was, but that he had instead been beamed down to earth by God, and he was discovered by Mary and Joseph. It made more sense than the story I was told in church about a “round young virgin” giving birth in an animal stall to the King of the world. One day,
shortly before Christmas, I had dinner with Timmy and his family.
As usual, the family said grace together, beginning with “Hail
Mary, full of grace”. I
thought to myself, “I can’t take this ‘Mary’ thing any longer, I
have to say something”. So after the amen, I blurted out, “You people make too much
of Mary. She was nothing
special, and she was no better than my mother.” There was
an uncomfortable silence around the table.
I had insulted their religion, as well as their favorite icon.
I would be banished from their home forever, I thought, and Timmy
would not be able to play with me anymore.
I had dispelled all doubt in their minds that I was going to hell. Nobody
was eating, and all eyes were bearing down on me.
Then Mrs. Ryan said calmly, “You know Mike” (that’s what they
called me back then), “you may be right about Mary and your mother being
alike, but there sure is a big difference between their two sons.
Let’s eat.” Nearly thirty-five years later I am beginning to understand the significance of the young woman named Mary. For through her God has entered the world to bring peace, joy, love, healing, justice, mercy, and salvation for the whole creation.
Michael Malone
| ||
 |
|||
