Prelude Melodia Africana I by Ludovico Einaudi
Opening Words by Cliff Reed
We are here to love –
to love each other,
to love our frail, wounded selves,
to love our broken world,
and to love its suffering people.
Let us worship so that
love will flow.
Chalice Lighting (you may wish to light a candle in your own home at this point). Words by Cliff Reed
May the warmth of our chalice-flame be to us
a reminder of the warmth we knew
in our mother’s womb,
a promise of the warmth we seek in this
community of the way of love.
Opening Prayer
Spirit of Life and Love,
be with us as we gather for worship,
each in our own place.
Help us to feel a sense of community,
even though we are physically apart.
Help us to care for each other,
in this world in which Covid has not yet gone away,
and the clouds of war and climate change overshadow us.
May we keep in touch however we can,
and help each other, however we may.
May we be grateful for the freedoms we have
and respect the wishes of others.
May we hold in our hearts all those
who are grieving, lost, alone,
suffering in any way,
Amen
Reading From the Gospel of Luke 1: 26-38
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favoured one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.
Alternative Lord’s Prayer
Spirit of Life and Love, here and everywhere,
May we be aware of your presence in our lives.
May our world be blessed.
May our daily needs be met,
And may our shortcomings be forgiven,
As we forgive those of others.
Give us the strength to resist wrong-doing,
The inspiration and guidance to do right,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
We are your hands in the world; help us to grow.
May we have compassion for all living beings,
And receive whatever life brings,
With courage and trust.
Amen
Reading The Innkeeper’s Wife by Sue Woolley
It was a good time for us – every room in every tavern
was full. Even folk not in the trade were letting
strangers sleep in their courtyards.
Odd to feel grateful to the Romans,
but there it was.
That late hour, a knock came on our door.
My man answered, “We have no room.”
I looked past his shoulder – a young man stood there
and, behind him on the ground, leaning against a tree,
a young woman, far gone with child.
Moved by pity, I slipped past him to speak with her.
“Are you near your time?” Her eyes met mine,
then she suppressed a cry as another pain came.
“Come, girl,” I said, “you can sleep in our stable.
It’s warm and dry, and there is straw for a bed.”
I saw them settled, among the animals’ fusty warmth,
told her I’d be back later, to see how she did.
Too late – the babe was already born –
a fine, lusty boy-child, snug in the manger,
and overhead, a bright star shining.
Prayer by Cliff Reed (adapted)
Spirit of Life and Love,
The same stars shine on us
as shone on Bethlehem
when Jesus was born.
They shone on the same world
with light that even then was
ancient beyond comprehension.
It was a world of misery and unrest,
beset by war and pestilence,
oppression and bitterness,
cruelty, grief, and pain.
It was a world not so very unlike
our own as we might think.
But there was hope,
shining like the stars,
Shining in a child, in his mother’s love.
Shining in his father’s tenderness.
Shining in the wonder of shepherds,
the awe of travelling sages.
And there is hope now, shining in human love,
shining in human courage and compassion,
in the human mind turned to good and noble ends,
shining with the Spirit that filled Jesus.
Beneath the same stars that shone on Jesus,
on all great souls, all souls who strive and
struggle on this good earth, we pray to be
worthy of the promise implicit in our birth.
Amen
Reading No Mother Should Lose Their Child by Sue Woolley
All these years, I have cared for him, followed him,
even when I haven’t understood him,
even when he has given me pain,
I have always loved him – he is my son.
The men – Peter and the rest – told me to stay away,
it would be safer for me. As if I cared.
I knew I must be there, to bear witness,
the last thing I could ever do for him.
No mother should lose their child.
The two other Marys were there – the wife of Clopas,
and she they call the Magdalene.
At first the soldiers barred the way,
then one, kinder than the rest, let us through.
And there he was, suspended by nails piercing flesh,
cruel words on a sign above him a final mockery.
“Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.”
as though his kingdom was about power, rather than love.
No mother should lose their child.
The sky grew dark, threatening,
as though the sun’s light was failing,
as though She was loath to witness this barbaric death.
The young disciple came, he my son loved.
He spoke to him. “John, here is your mother.”
His eyes met mine. “Woman,” he said, “here is your son.”
Tears scalding my eyes, I bit my lip to contain the grief,
felt John’s arm come around my shoulders.
No mother should lose their child.
“It is finished.” His last words, seared on my memory.
Later, they pierced his side with a spear,
to make sure he was truly dead, then took him down.
I ran over to his dear body, now lying so low.
I took him in my arms, keening my grief,
no longer caring who heard. My son, my son!
He whom I had loved more than life itself,
now lay lifeless in my arms.
No mother should lose their child.
Time of Stillness and Reflection The day after Good Friday by Celia Cartwright
What was it like? After the death?
For those who had followed?
For those who had cared?
For those who had been so close?
For his mother, who had pondered the meaning of his life for so long, was it what she expected?
For Mary, his sister, who had followed him and loved him?
For Mary of Magdala, who had loved him, cared for him, followed him well?
Did the women who had bravely remained beneath the cross
Cling to each other?
Did they lean on one another, weep together?
Did they wonder what to do and where to go?
Did they wonder if any one would believe them
When they told of the man they loved for those who followed after.
For those left of the twelve, with doubts and fears, rudderless now and shaken by guilt.
What was it like for them?
Did they burn with anger for the one who had told?
Did they wish they had had the strength to stay?
Did they retreat into themselves, with wounded hearts?
Did they run away in fear?
Did they cling to each other in grief and loss
Wondering where to go?
And what did they do when the tomb was open
With no sign of their beloved?
Did they believe he was come again?
That he had not truly been dead?
Did they understand something or nothing?
Did they take to the road
To leave behind the holy city
With its memories of palm leaves and death
Of wine and bread and companionship?
[silence]
Somewhere in the thread of history
Something of these close companions
Whispered beads onto the thread of time
And prayerful fingers held the beads
And joyful hands passed them on
And over time the beads became worn
And the pattern once so sharp
Was lost.
But the beads of love were held and then
From hand to hand
Through all the ages in between
They came,
The remnants of their story
Still there. And
Added to and amended
To fill the space that once the pattern told
Still found the hearts of those who
Reached to take the beads
To keep them holy.
And remember.
Musical Interlude: I Giorni by Ludovico Einaudi
Address Mary, Mother of Jesus
Mary, the mother of Jesus, is perhaps the most enigmatic of all mothers. Her story is simply told. According to the Gospel accounts, she was a young Jewish girl, betrothed to an older man, Joseph. As we saw in our first reading, she received an angelic visitation informing her that she was to be the mother of the saviour of the world, whose father would be God. The first thing about her that takes my breath away is her great faith – instead of having hysterics on the spot, which I think would have been quite justified in the circumstances, she accepts her fate: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
I have often wondered what it must have been like for her, bearing and raising such an extraordinary person. Even if we don’t believe that Jesus was the divinely-begotten son of God, which most Unitarians don’t, he was still very far from an ordinary man. We don’t see much in the Gospel stories about his life as a child or a teenager. Only that one odd passage in Luke’s Gospel, when the family visits Jerusalem for the Passover, and Jesus gets inadvertently left behind. We can only speculate how worried Mary and Joseph must have been when they discovered that their twelve-year-old son was not on the road home with them.
And then to be almost rebuked by him, when they found him in the Temple, after a three-day search, discoursing with the teachers. Listen to the story:
“His mother said to him, ‘Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.’ He said to them, ‘Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?’ But they did not understand what he said to them. Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart.”
Once again, her faith in her son is demonstrated. She doesn’t understand, is even a little hurt, but nevertheless “treasures all these things in her heart.” Even when he seemingly rejects her, in the Gospel of Mark, she doesn’t lose this faith, and continues to follow him, wherever he goes. She is there at the foot of the cross, when he is crucified at the end of his ministry. In the Gospel of John, one of his final thoughts is care for her: “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 the Book of Acts, she is mentioned as being one of those in an upper room with some of the apostles, devoting herself to prayer.
And then she disappears from Biblical accounts. Yet she went on to become one of the most venerated figures in Christianity, not to mention Islam. Later Church traditions argue that not only was she a virgin when she conceived Jesus, but remained one for the rest of her life. Some traditions go even further, and state that she was born free of original sin, so that she could be a suitable vessel for the carrying of the son of God. Catholics in particular reverence her as the Blessed Virgin Mary, and she is often prayed to, to intercede on behalf of humankind. They even believe that she ascended bodily to heaven at the end of her life, and an annual feast day (on 15th August, last Thursday) is held to commemorate this miraculous event.
But it is as a mother, an ordinary human mother, that she moves me. Libby Purves argues in her wonderful book, How Not To Be A Perfect Mother, that the very word “mother’ is a job-description that has little to do with gender. From the day your child is born, you, as a parent, are entirely responsible for his or her welfare. She lists the essentials, “Children have to be fed, clothed against the elements, conversed with a great deal, protected from evildoers and poisons, and given the chance to play and read and observe the adult world. They have to be educated, to take in the knowledge and wisdom their society has developed, and encouraged to take it further as they grow up. They have to be loved and valued, and allowed to bestow their own love on family and friends.”
I know that 2000 long years separate us from Mary, but I believe that her concerns as a mother must have been much the same. I wonder with what mixture of pride and stomach-knotting fear she watched her son embark on his public ministry? In spite of the message from the Angel Gabriel, at the beginning of it all, it must have taken an awful lot of faith to stand by and let him get on with it, knowing the dangers he would face, and feeling powerless to do anything about it.
We can only imagine, as I did in our third reading, her devastation when her son, her beloved child, was crucified. The raw grief of Michelangelo’s La Pietâ, which I was once fortunate enough to see in the Vatican in Rome, brings this to life vividly. Truly, no mother, no parent, should lose their child. And yet, it is happening all too often, all over the world.
For me, mothering, or parenting, is above all about love. Because becoming a parent (or acting in that role, which may later include looking after your own parents or your grandchildren) is the most life-changing commitment anyone can make. I think it is only possible to make a half-way decent job of it if you love the person concerned, and are willing to make their needs and desires a priority in your life. If you really think about it, this is also true of marriage, as well as parenting – it’s all about being in relationship, and not just looking after Number One.
As they grow, children’s needs change; our duty as parents to protect them is diluted by an equal duty to prepare them for the real world. To provide a safe bolt-hole for them is not only the least we can do; perhaps it is also the most any of us should do. As Kahlil Gibran wrote in The Prophet, “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. … You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.” When I read this again, recently, I wondered how Mary must have felt, knowing that her son was set on his own course, and that the only thing she could do would be to have faith, and bear witness. Which she did. But it must have broken her heart.
I believe that mothering, that parenting, of whatever kind, is the most important job in the world. All of us need somebody we can depend on to love us unconditionally. As Dave Tomlinson writes in How to be a bad Christian, “The heart of Christ’s message was the love of God. He brought to ordinary people – downtrodden by ruthless rulers – the sense of their belovedness. Each person Jesus touched knew, perhaps for the first time, that their life mattered; that they were loved and cherished.”
I cannot believe that he would have been able to do this, had he not experienced this kind of love for himself, growing up. So I think that the most we can do for anyone we care for is what Mary did for her son, to love and cherish them, so that they know they are beloved. So that they in their turn can go on to love others, as Jesus did. As we do, the best that we can.
So that the beads of love, which Celia Cartwright talks about, in her beautiful words which I shared as our Time of Stillness and Reflection, can be passed on down the generations, and set against all the mistrust and hate and violence in our world. So that no more mothers, no more parents, have to lose their children; so that no more children have to lose their parents, to war and violence. There are enough ways to experience grief, through natural causes, without having it forced upon us, prematurely. May we work for peace in our world, so that families can grow and thrive, untouched by the spectre of violent death.
I’d like to finish by repeating Cliff Reed’s wise words, slightly adapted for an ending:
We are here to love –
to love each other,
to love our frail, wounded selves,
to love our broken world,
and to love its suffering people.
Let us go forth so that
love will flow.
May it be so, Amen
Closing Words
Spirit of Life and Love,
Our time together is drawing to a close.
May we love one another,
as Mary loved her son,
putting each other’s needs above our own.
May we share the love we feel,
may we look out for each other,
sharing our joys and our sorrows,
and may we keep up our hearts,
being grateful for the many blessings in our lives,
now and in the days to come, Amen
Postlude Stella del Mattino by Ludovico Einaudi