Saturday, May 18, 2024

Easter 7B: The Prayer of Mother Jesus

 Sermon preached on the Seventh Sunday of Easter, May 12, 2024 at Church of the Redeemer, Addison, NY:  John 17

          It was my first Sunday at my first parish “in charge,” the Vicar of a longstanding mission church called St. George’s in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, DC.  At the 8 am Service six people were gathered with me.  All was well.

           Then we got to the Nicene Creed and the strangest thing happened.  I started, “We believe . . .” but from the back of the chapel in a rather loud voice came the word, “I.” And every time the creed used the word “we,” the voice would say, “I.”  The same thing happened when we got to the Confession. Instead of “we” came “I.”

           This continued and after a few weeks I got up the nerve to take the parishioner aside and ask what was going on.  He said that he was opposed to the change in the creed from “I” to “We.”  I refuse to speak for what other people believe or confess. I can only speak for myself.

           Just a little background: the old Book of Common Prayer used “I” for the Nicene Creed, although the Confession in our Prayer Books has always used “we.”  The current Prayer Book changing to “we” in the Creed was not a newfangled innovation. It was a return to the original form of the Creed in Greek, which began “we.”  The “I” had crept in when in the Middle Ages, the priest alone said most of the Service.

           Another aside, our Roman Catholic sisters and brothers say “I” in their confession, and continue to say “I” in the Nicene Creed.

           So why “we?”

           It is simple, really, in the Eucharist we pray not as individuals or a collection of individuals, but as a body.  We are one voice speaking with God.  We are the body of Christ in praise, thanksgiving, and prayer.

           The Nicene Creed, in particular, is a statement of the belief of the church as a whole.  And so we say it as the whole church, in union with Christians in all times and in all places.

           It seems to me that one way of describing this way of praying—praying as “we”—is fitting to the secular celebration on this day.  To pray as “we” is to pray as a mother.

           Who else better knows the power of the “we,” than a mother who has carried a child, whose body for nine months is quite literally a “we.” And mothers never quite lose this bond.  There’s a part of a mother that is always a “we” when it comes to her children.

           Jesus prays like this in the 17th chapter of John’s Gospel, often called “the high priestly prayer,” but which I think could also be called “the mother’s prayer.”  He prays that “they (we) may be one, as we are one.” It is in that oneness for which Jesus prays that we pray whenever two or three are gathered.

 All mine are yours and yours are mine . .  protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one as we are one.

           I’m not making up on my own this understanding of Jesus praying as a mother.  One of the great saints of the English Church is the 14th century woman, Julian of Norwich. In her writings she often refers to Jesus as “mother.”  “Our mothers,” she writes, “bear us for pain and for death; our true mother, Jesus, bears us for joy and endless life.”

           This is part of the upside-down world that the Book of Acts speaks about. The early Christians were known as “those people who turn the world upside down.” (Acts 17:6)

          Here’s the upside down world that our use of the word “we” in our prayer.  The world—especially western culture—understands that I am an individual first and then members of society.  Jesus turns that world on his head.  In Jesus we are a “we” before we are an “I.”

          In southern African culture this is called “Ubuntu,” which means that I am an I only because we are a we.

          Let us join Jesus in his motherly prayer as we profess our faith, confess our sins, and renew our oneness with him and one another in the Eucharist, including, as we pray as Jesus taught us to pray,

          Our Father . . .


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