Address

You might think that the readings are just a bit weird for Mothering Sunday. They're the readings set for today in the Revised Common Lectionary, and the reason I decided to go with them will, I hope, be clear later, so please bear with me.

It's an odd little incident in the story of the wilderness wanderings of the people of Israel, this attack by snakes (it would make a good horror movie!) and then the means by which the people are healed or, more exactly, saved from death, because the bite of these snakes is fatal.

They are to look up at a bronze snake placed on a pole, and in so doing they will be healed. Kind of the hair of the dog that bit you, kind of thing.

We probably wouldn't pay any attention to this story, but that Jesus referred to it in relation to himself: as the people were saved from death by looking up to the bronze snake, so in looking up towards him on the cross, the people will find salvation.

I'm reminded of John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, when Christian reaches the cross and looks up at it, and the burden of his sin, a burden he's been carrying throughout the journey so far, falls from his back and rolls down the hill and into the empty tomb. He is free.

And as you probably know, the healing snake on the pole is used as a medical symbol, as with the World Health Organisation logo:

This is healing from an unexpected source for we who are brought up on the Creation story in which the snake is the baddie, but the snake has a very positive image in some of the Australian Aboriginal Creation stories: in these, all life emerges from the mouth of a snake.

So far so interesting, but what does it have to do with Mothering Sunday?

A question: who do you turn to when you are desperate? For many that will be, or has been, their mothers, certainly when we are young. How many times have you heard a child cry, "I want my mummy!" or, heart-rendingly, an adult suffering dementia who is crying over and over, "I want my mother!" She who bore the pain of our birth is very often the person we look to when we are in extremis ourselves.

Note the 'very often.' It is not inevitable. Mothers (and fathers) are not perfect; they are not always there for us and get a lot of the blame for how we see our adult selves. We do need to remember that neither they nor we are perfect - we're all human, after all!

But for many people, the relationship with their mothers has not been a nurturing, happy one and throughout life they have had to discover others who will 'mother' them, will give them the affirming care they lost out on. For those of you who have had a happy childhood and still have a good relationship with your mother, or who look back on a loving relationship, this might seem inconceivable, but trust me, I speak the truth and for these people, Mothering Sunday is at best a farce, at worst a time of profound hurt.

This modern picture of the Numbers reading is full of hurt, of anguish:

Look at the desperate way they're reaching out for help. I'm sure you know how it feels to be very frightened. Maybe you know how it is to have people beseeching you for help. Or perhaps you know how it feels to be desperate because you can't help someone. For parents, when your child is ill, or hurting in some way or in trouble, their pain is yours; you want to take it from them, to bear it for them even. And it can be harder when your child is an independent adult and you see them doing something that you know will wreck their life, but because they're now adults you're powerless to do anything other than be there and wait to pick up the pieces. I wonder how many people in the picture, are parents desperate for their children to be saved from death? And that makes me think of the many mothers who are even now trying to protect their children from harm in situations of famine, disease or war. Or parents risking their own lives to bring their children to safety or a place where they can find medical help. Or managing on almost starvation rations themselves so that their children can eat.

We, and they, reach out to Jesus, and he wants us to do so. Looking out over Jerusalem, Jesus said:
"How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!"

We need to look up.

When we are children running to Mum for help, we look up at her, at her face. She might bend down to us or lift us up to comfort us. As adults, looking to Jesus to help us, save us, we have to look up to him. Day to day, we get embroiled in all the busyness of life, all our problems and pains, our joys and fears, and if we aren't careful, they become all and everything and we see no end to them. Look up, metaphorically and actually. See Jesus, lifted up upon the cross so that we might be saved from the consequences of our sin, that we might live fully in this life and eventually discover the joy of eternal life. And he will comfort us. The words of our Gospel reading are wonderfully comforting. God will not condemn us, light is around us, even now.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish, but may have eternal life."John 3:16