When I was about six years old, I can remember sitting on the front row of Holy Trinity Baptist Church in Philadelphia next to my father. He was a deacon in the Church and it was his usual place to be seated up front. However, for some reason I was seated with him. I normally sat with my sister and mother on the second row, off to the right of the pulpit, underneath the stain glass windows. But on this Sunday, I was on the front row, slightly fidgety and playing with toys and drawing to hold my attention.

At some point during the service I looked up from my play, the way kids do to check on their parents, and I saw his face. My father was crying. Something in the service moved him and he began to weep quietly. I was fixed on his face, I had never seen him cry like this. I could tell these were not just joyful tears, but a sorrow released. I remember wanting him to compose himself, but at the same time I had never seen this deeply into who he was. He seemed so willing to let tears come, to reveal how much he needed G-d in that moment.

I didn鈥檛 ask anything, but I remember moving away from him, the way you move to avoid an awkward situation. I鈥檇 never seen him cry and the vulnerability made me feel a bit unsure. Eventually, he took out his white handkerchief, wiped his eyes and nose and returned to being the man I knew. I don鈥檛 remember the rest of the service, but I will never forget this moment with him. In no other spaces of our life together had I seen him this open. I knew of his sense of duty, but not of his devotion. G-d was important to him and he felt safe enough that he could bring his humanness to G-d and know he would not be shamed.

At times this is the way I hold G-d, much in the way I reacted to my father鈥檚 vulnerability. I desire to experience the love of G-d in the humanity of Jesus, but I still at times resist the accessibility of the incarnation. G-d enters the world through Jesus as a child, vulnerable and quite human. The idea that Jesus was 鈥渂orn of a woman鈥� speaks to His humanity, and in this embodied form, differed from us only in that he knew no sin. It has become easy to dismiss the humanity of Jesus for His divine attributes, but this only serves to put G-d out of reach psychologically and emotionally; to make Him an outsider to our experience. You see, it is in this accessibility of weakness that G-d reveals the invitation to belong, not just to Him, but to each other. G-d discards omnipotence to dwell in human flesh, to be touched and touch, to be held and known. G-d is not here fully human as a threat, not here as the Son to condemn, but to join, and to make us family anew.

Advent is an invitation to move towards G-d and to be moved by a G-d who is with us, who is active in human affairs. I first learned of G-d through the vulnerability and devotion of my father. It was not something I understood at this early age, nor accepted as my own until years later, but I saw in him what it meant to belong to Jesus.

In this season, may we find the safety to accept the proximity of G-d and the courage to embrace the healing intimacy of belonging鈥攖o G-d and to each other.

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All these works of art imagine the first Good Friday. They capture the range of emotions that Christians feel on this dark day, allowing us to place ourselves in the person of Mary who mourned her dead child. There is surely no grief more profound than the grief parents feel at the death of a child. It is unnatural for the younger to die before the older. The profound grief of the mother of Jesus models for believers a response to the unnatural death of this one whom they also love.

None of the Gospels, however, suggests that Mary carried the crucified body of Jesus. According to all four Gospels, Joseph of Arimathea is given permission by Pilate to bury Jesus, and he puts the body in a secure tomb (Matt. 27:57鈥�60, Mark 15:42鈥�47, Luke 23:50鈥�55, John 19:38鈥�42). To care for the dead was an important religious observance, as John鈥檚 Gospel tells us (John 19:31), and as archaeology and other Jewish literature of the period confirm (3). Joseph, a respected Jewish leader, a good and righteous man, undertakes this religious duty for the crucified Jesus (Mark 15:43 and Luke 23:50). There are, of course, paintings of Joseph, but he does not hold the place in our imaginations that Mary holds.

According to the first three Gospels, this Mary isn鈥檛 even present when Joseph takes Jesus down from the cross. Matthew tells us that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, a woman without any particular pedigree, watched Joseph put Jesus in the tomb, sitting opposite it (Matt. 27:61). Mark gives us some information about the other Mary鈥攕he is the mother of Joses (Mark 15:47). Luke says that the women who watched Joseph were the ones who had followed Jesus from Galilee, and later he identifies these women as Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and some unnamed others (Luke 23:55 and 24:10). And in John鈥檚 Gospel, it is Nicodemus who helps Joseph of Arimathea bury Jesus, not Mary, the mother of Jesus (John 19:39).

This image of a grieving mother that has so captured the Christian imagination does, however, have roots in the Gospel of John. In all four Gospels, there are women watching at the crucifixion (Matt. 27:55鈥�56, Mark 15:40鈥�41, Luke 23:49, and John 19:25), but only in John鈥檚 Gospel do we observe the mother of Jesus among those women. John tells us that just before Jesus dies, as his final action, he commends the care of his beloved disciple to his mother and the care of his mother to his beloved disciple (John 19:26鈥�27). Tradition has identified the beloved disciple as John, but in the gospel account, neither John nor Mary are named. Rather, both are identified by their relation to Jesus: she is called his mother, and he is called the disciple whom Jesus loved. It is this story that gives rise to the images of a mother grieving for her son and to John鈥檚 presence with her at the cross.

In John鈥檚 Gospel, Mary鈥檚 identity is both less definite and more important than in the other Gospels. On the one hand, we never learn her name in this gospel. When we read of her presence among the vigilant women at the foot of the cross and when Jesus commends her to John, her particular identity is obscured, as if her identity has been absorbed into her role as mother of the crucified one. She is not made present in this crucifixion narrative as a particular Mary鈥攚hom we would need to distinguish from other women of that name鈥攂ut as the woman who brought into the world the one who is now leaving the world.

We also do not meet Mary in this gospel as a woman with a baby. Instead, we first meet her as a woman enmeshed in family and community with a grown son. She is attending a wedding in the town of Cana in the region of Galilee (John 2:1鈥�11). Jesus and the disciples whom he had gathered before the wedding are there with her. The caterer has run out of wine, so the mother of Jesus asks him to help. Jesus puts her off鈥攊t is not the right time for him to host a wedding banquet. But she insists, and eventually Jesus complies. He turns the water in six large jars鈥攅ach holding twenty or thirty gallons鈥攊nto good wine, and the wedding celebration continues in style. Throughout this account, Mary is called 鈥渢he mother of Jesus鈥� or less intimately, 鈥淲oman.鈥� We do not learn her name.

The third explicit mention of her in the gospel is when Jesus鈥檚 opponents complain about Jesus鈥檚 claim that he is the bread from heaven (John 6:41鈥�42). They argue that they know his parents, so, clearly, Jesus has not come from heaven. They dismiss him with the words: 鈥淚s not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?鈥� (NRSV). Even here, Joseph is named, but Mary is not. In whatever way Jesus鈥檚 mother matters for this gospel, her particular identity is obscured.

On the other hand, the miracle at the wedding of Cana is the first sign of Jesus鈥檚 glory. His mother鈥檚 insistence that he contribute wine for the feast leads to Jesus鈥檚 first act in his public ministry. And the commendation of John to Mary and vice versa is Jesus鈥檚 last act before his death. Jesus鈥檚 mother is clearly very important to John鈥檚 story. She bookends his public ministry, invoking its beginning with her expectation that he will act on behalf of the wedding party and entering into a new relationship with the unnamed disciple at its end.

This is a very different portrait from what we find in Luke鈥檚 writings, where Mary also has a significant role. When we encounter Mary in Luke鈥檚 Gospel, we meet a young woman whose life is being interrupted by an angel. The angel asks her to join God in God鈥檚 redemptive purposes for the world. And she gives her consent. This is a comfortable image, even if it is also benevolently patriarchal. God, the higher being, comes to Mary, the lesser being, to ask her to do what only a woman can do: bear the child who will save the world. And Mary, having been given the grace to participate in the purposes of God, assents to God鈥檚 plan. As a result, she has a singular vocation as the mother of God in the history of salvation. She is Mary, the one that all generations will call blessed (Luke 1:48).

Her singular identity, derived from her particular role, is softened somewhat later in Luke鈥檚 Gospel when a woman in the crowd following Jesus suggests that Mary is particularly blessed for having born and nursed him. Jesus responds that those are blessed who hear the word of God and obey it (Luke 11:27鈥�28). In fact, Mary is both blessed by the woman from the crowd for her unique role and blessed by Jesus for the way this unique role models an obedient response to God. In Acts, which is also believed to be the work of Luke, we find Mary praying in the upper room, a disciple among disciples, waiting for the promised Holy Spirit who would empower them all for mission (Acts 1:14). But even here, she is named.

John鈥檚 Gospel starts in a different way. He announces that 鈥渋n the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God鈥� (John 1:1). The Word was active in the creation of all things and became human and joined our community, shining in our darkness. There is no thought here of a woman contributing to the grand purposes of God. There is a man sent from God to witness to the light, but that man is John the Baptist. God is active accomplishing God鈥檚 purposes in God鈥檚 own way, with no mention of Mary. Neither does the ending of John鈥檚 Gospel mention her. Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, Thomas the Twin, Nathanael of Cana, the sons of Zebedee, two others of the disciples, and the disciple whom Jesus loved all see and converse with the resurrected Jesus, but Mary is not a part of his resurrection ministry.

So how is it that, despite the evidence of the Gospels, the image of the grieving mother has so captured our imaginations? Have I drawn an entirely faithful picture of her role in John鈥檚 Gospel?

Something else needs to be said. I believe that Mary captures our imaginations because we can believe she is like us. It was her catering problem that provided the impetus for Jesus鈥檚 public ministry. It was her loss of a son that Jesus responded to at the end of his earthly life. The 笔颈别迟脿 invites us to join her in her grief because we can believe that we grieve as she grieved. In these stories about Jesus鈥檚 mother in John鈥檚 Gospel, we are not invited to participate in God鈥檚 story鈥攖hat is Luke鈥檚 invitation鈥攊nstead, we see that God comes to participate in our story. When her friends need more wine, their need is met and there is an abundance of good wine. In her grief at the death of her child, she is given one who will care for her. It is easy to read our lives into the life of this unnamed one who is so like us, who calls on her son to create abundant life instead of scarcity and who was so cared for by him in her sorrow. We are grateful to know that our needs and our sorrows are sufficient invitation for God to come near.

In his Farewell Discourse, as he anticipated his death and separation from his disciples, Jesus comforted them with an image of a woman giving birth (John 16:20鈥�22) (4). He reminded them that in the hour of a woman鈥檚 labor, she has pain and anguish, just like the disciples are experiencing as they anticipate Jesus鈥檚 absence. But when the birth has been accomplished, the woman forgets the pain because of her joy in the new life of the person born. As Jesus leaves his earthly life, attending to the grief of his mother, he dies as one anticipating vindication, as a woman in labor who anticipates the joy of new life. His teaching is embodied by his mother.

And so his mother becomes not only the one with whom we identify in sorrow but also a model of hope for life and joy beyond sorrow. Mary becomes an archetype for all of us in our need and in our afflictions, and even more, as mother, in our hope for new life. If one must be born from above to enter the kingdom of God, as Jesus said to Nicodemus, the mother of Jesus guides us through that birthing process, standing at the foot of the cross (John 3:7). Grace and truth, and glory, become present like wine at Cana (John 1:14). The deep sadness of losing a child becomes the foundation for new relationships. At the point of great suffering, Jesus responds to her overwhelming loss.

To say it another way, in John鈥檚 Gospel, it is our need that evokes God鈥檚 action. And God鈥檚 action is for abundant life鈥攅ven death on a cross. We grieve with his mother, and we are comforted because Jesus comforted her. By speaking of this woman as Jesus鈥檚 mother rather than identifying her as a particular woman, John calls us into an intimate relationship with God, into an affiliation that we also can inhabit because of our own need. This is in contrast to Luke, where Mary is presented as fulfilling a unique role in God鈥檚 plan of salvation, a role that does not need repetition. In this way, the mother of Jesus teaches us what to do with Holy Friday. She allows us to dwell in the grief of the world as God-bearers, watching as the light of the world is extinguished. As children of light we experience the scarcity of our existence and long for abundance. She teaches us to weep and to pray. And we know that our grief is enough because, in our tears and our prayers, we are as the woman who gave birth, the woman to whom God responded with wine and companionship. We too anticipate joy because we are confident that our tears and sorrow enjoin light and life to come to us.

This post was originally published at .

1. Timothy Verdon, Mary in Western Art, captions by Filippo Rossi (New York, NY: Hudson Hills, 2005), 140鈥�64.
2. Michelangelo Buonarroti, 笔颈别迟脿, c. 1498-1500, marble sculpture, ; Giovanni Bellini, 笔颈别迟脿 Martinengo, c. 1505, oil on panel,; Andrea Mantegna, Lamentation of Christ, c. 1480, tempera on canvas, ; Sandro Botticelli, Lamentation over the Dead Christ with Saints, c. 1490鈥�1495, tempera on panel, ; Enguerrand Quarton, 笔颈别迟脿 of Villeneuve-l猫s-Avignon, c. 1460鈥�1470, oil on wood, .
3. See Byron R. McCane, 鈥淏urial Practices in First Century Palestine,鈥� Bible Odyssey, .
4. Judith Lieu helpfully brings this passage into the discussion of Mary in the Gospel of John in 鈥淭he Mother of the Son in the Fourth Gospel,鈥� Journal of Biblical Literature 117 (1998): 61鈥�77, especially 70鈥�74.

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