FIFTH
SUNDAY OF EASTER
Cycle:
“C”: Mothers’ Day
John
15, 9 – 17
THE
HOMILY: Mother’s Day began in the
United States in 1870. We owe it to Julia Ward Howe, the author of the Battle
Hymn of the Republic. Initially it was named Mother’s Peace Day. It was to be a
day when mothers would applaud peace and strive for it. In this age, when gifts
of flowers, cards and sweets have taken the place of its first purpose, we
would do well to reflect on the thoughts of Ms. Howe in her Mother’s Day
proclamation. A few excerpts: “Arise the, women of this day. Say firmly, ‘We
shall not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. We shall not
have our sons taken from us to unlearn all that we have taught them about charity,
peace and patience. We women of this county will be too concerned with the
women of another country to allow our sons to be trained to kill theirs. From
the heart of the devastated earth, a voice goes up with our own. It says,
‘Disarm, disarm!’”
Mothers’
Day should be observed throughout the world. That so-called celebrated Unknown
Author has this marvellous passage. I hope you’ll like hearing it.
“When
God was creating mothers, He was deep in his 6th. Day of overtime.
An angel sidled up and said, ‘Lord, you are doing a lot of fiddling around on
this one.’ And God answered. ‘Look at the requirement on this order and you’ll
understand why. She has to be completely washable but not plastic. Have 180
movable parts, each one replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a
kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair.
And have six pairs of hands.’ The angel shook his head, ‘Six pairs of hands.
That’s not possible even for you, O God.’
‘It’s
not the hands that are causing me problems,’ replied the Maker, ‘it’s the three
pairs of eyes that mothers are supposed to have.’ Asked the angel, ‘Are the
three pairs of eyes supposed to be on the standard model?’ The Lord nodded
gravely. ‘One pair that can see through closed doors when she asks, ‘What are
you kids doing in there?’ even though she already knows. Another pair in the
back of her head that can see what she shouldn’t but what she has to know. And
of course the ones here in front that can look at a child who has goofed up,
and the look reflects the message, ‘I understand and I love you.’ ‘Lord’, said
the angel, touching his sleeve gently, ‘come and rest. Tomorrow...try again.’
‘I can’t’ said the Lord, ‘I’m so close to creating something so similar to
myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick, can feed a
family of six on one pound of hamburger, and can get a nine year old to stay
under the shower for an incredible two minutes.’ The angel circled the model of
the mother very slowly and sighed, ‘It’s much too soft, dear God.’ ‘Soft yes,
but tough too,’ said the Lord excitedly. You cannot imagine what the mother can
do or endure.’ Asked the angel, ‘Can it think?’ ‘Not only think,’ said the
Creator, ‘it can also reason and compromise.’ Finally the angel bent over and
ran his finger across the cheek. ‘There’s a leak,’ he said triumphantly, ‘I
told you that you were trying to put too much into this model. You can’t ignore
the stress factor.’ The Lord moved in for a closer look and gently lifted the
drop of moisture to his finger where it glistened and sparkled in the light.
‘It’s not a leak’, God said, ‘It’s a tear.’ The angel queried, ‘A tear? What’s
that for?’ ‘It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, compassion, pain,
loneliness, and pride.’ ‘You are a genius,’ said the angel rapturously. The
Lord looked sombre and said, ‘I didn’t put it there.’ “
Here is
a message from a mother of three young adults. “Sound really does travel slower
than light. The advice mothers give to their 18 year olds doesn’t reach them
until they are about 40.”
The
American poetess, Phyllis McGinley, has a verse for mothers and daughters:
Mothers
are hardest to forgive.
Life is
the fruit they long to hand you
Ripe on
a plate. And while you live,
Relentless
they understand you.
And she goes on to say
to mothers: “I realise that I have been fulfilled, and I don’t want my readers
to think that I’m saying you can all be poets. All I’m saying is that if you
really like being a wife and mother, if that’s your basic drive, don’t be upset
by characters who say you have to get out and do something. Because I think you
hold the future in your hand.”
Now
here’s the story of Emilia, entitled “THANK YOU, EMILIA’
Emilia
belonged to a middle class family in a European country that was reduced by
famine after a long protracted national war. Hunger and epidemics threatened
the whole country. Emilia had always been poor in health since childhood,
without the possibility of improving it owing to the poor conditions in which
she lived. She got married while very young to a textile worker. They went to
live in a new village away from home, relatives and acquaintances. Edmund,
their firstborn, died shortly afterwards. He was a very handsome boy, a good
student, and an athlete. Some years later, Emilia gave birth to a girl child
who lived only a few weeks, owing to a bad condition in which the family lived.
After 14 years since Edmund’s birth and some 10 years after the death of her
daughter, Emilia was in a difficult situation. She was 40 years old and in bad
health: serious kidney problems, and her heart was gradually giving way due to
a congenital condition. The country’s political situation became increasingly
critical as a consequence of the recent ending of World War One. In those terrible circumstances Emilia became
aware of being pregnant again. Now, it was possible for a pregnant woman to
have recourse to an abortion, and there were people ready to carry it out. Due
to her age and poor health, Emilia’s pregnancy posed a serious threat to her
life. She also asked herself what kind of world she could offer her newborn,
considering the miserable family condition and the imminence of war. She was
unaware that she had only 10 more years to live. World War II exploded a few
years later. The father of the unborn baby would lose in his life in that war.
Emilia chose to let her baby live and called him Karol. This child is now an
elderly man, very alive, and every time he visits some country millions of
people shout: “John Paul II, we all love you.”
A
million thanks, Emilia !
Emilia,
the Pope’s mother is dead, and so are the mothers of many priests.
MOTHER’S MONUMENT
A priest
one day made his weary way
Into a
graveyard where his mother lay;
And
scarcely had he reached the humble mound
Than
tears rolled down to bless the hallowed ground.
Beside
the humble grave the priest then knelt
To tell
the sorrow his heart then felt.
Full
many a messenger of sorrow went
To make
excuse that yet no monument
Stood
guardian o’er his sweet mother’s head,
To
honour her who lay among the dead.
And then
a voice came gently from the tomb:
“My
monument was builded in my womb;
My
greatest laurels, greatest praises were won,
The hour
when thou became my priestly son.
Go,
then, my son, and never more lament
That
o’er my grave stands no monument;
For all
the souls in heav’n whom thou hast sent
For e’er
proclaim thee as my monument.”
PRAYER:
Thank
you, God
That you
are tender as a mother,
As well
as strong as a father.
You give
us life,
And care
for us
Like a
mother
Who will
not forsake her children.
We pray
for our mothers today,
Putting
them into your hands
For time
and for eternity;
And we
ask your blessing
On all
our relationships
In the
families of our homes,
Our
churches, and our communities.
(Isaiah
49, 15)
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