First Sunday After Christmas
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
If we seek to know the real Mary, we can come to know Jesus better.
Old Testament Lesson
1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26
The Boy In A Linen Ephod
This brief passage has undoubtedly been chosen as a Christmas reading in order to set up the boy Samuel as a parallel to Jesus. The image of "a boy wearing a linen ephod" calls to mind another image, that of "a child wrapped in bands of cloth" (Luke 2:12). Both children, Samuel and Jesus, are dedicated to the Lord's service -- and in today's Gospel Lesson, we likewise read of Jesus performing liturgical duties in the temple. The poignant image of Hannah delivering "a little robe" to her son, before leaving him to continue his religious duties, prefigures that of Mary -- who also goes off, leaving her son in the temple. Skipping over some material that belongs to a larger story (that of the corruption of the high priest Eli), this lection concludes with a prophetic statement that could just as well be true of Jesus as it is of Samuel: "the boy ... continued to grow both in stature and in favor with the Lord and with the people" (v. 26).
New Testament Lesson
Colossians 3:12-17
Clothed In Virtue
Perhaps the image of the pious boy Samuel, clothed in his linen ephod, has provided the inspiration for the selection of this lectionary passage, exhorting believers to "clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience" (v. 12). Greater than all these spiritual garments, however, is the garment of love (v. 14). Such lofty goals are attainable for Christians only because our Lord lives: His peace rules in the hearts of believers (v. 15) and his word dwells in them (v. 16). In the New Testament, the word enoikeo ("to indwell") is only used to describe the spiritual dwelling in human lives. This is a passage simply overflowing with joy. Such unabashed joy issues in worship: as God's people gather to sing beloved hymns and carols of the season, with stronger and more joyous voice than at any other time of the year.
The Gospel
Luke 2:41-52
The Boy Jesus In The Temple
This brief interlude is the only account we have of the childhood of Jesus, between his birth and his appearance on the public scene as a man of thirty years (Luke 3:23). Like many ancient cultures, Judaism did not consider childhood to be an especially noteworthy time of life; infant mortality was high, and children were considered to be low in social status -- so this omission is hardly surprising. Mary and Joseph are fulfilling their obligation under the law to make pilgrimage to Jerusalem at the time of Passover. As a twelve-year-old, Jesus may already have passed through the pre-teen bar mitzvah rite of passage, or perhaps this visit represents his bar mitzvah. Then, as now, a boy who had been through this rite was considered qualified to join the men in their debate and discussion of the scriptures -- which is exactly what Jesus is doing as his parents finally catch up with him. He is "sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions" (v. 46). The rabbis are amazed at his understanding. This is a deeply human story: Any parent can relate to Mary's consternation, having finally discovered the lost child for whom she has been desperately searching. Like other parents in this situation, she surely has a hard time deciding whether to punish him or to embrace him in joy and relief. Jesus speaks, then, a word that foreshadows his later appearances in the temple, and even his ascent into heaven: "Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" (v. 49). As is so often the case with Luke, each episode is carefully chosen, and set in the larger narrative in such a way as to point ahead to that which is to come.
Preaching Possibilities
Several years ago, the Search Institute of Minneapolis decided to ask 10,000 people who or what had the most positive influence on their religious faith. The vast majority of the 10,000 people they polled answered with two simple words: "My mother."
Mothers are truly important people, when it comes to passing on tradition, teaching the things that matter. Fathers and grandparents, trusted friends and church school teachers all have their roles -- but so often, it is the mothers who struggle mightily to answer those weighty questions of theology, questions like ...
• "Do hamsters go to heaven?"
• "Who made me?"
• "Why are people so mean to each other?"
• "Does God see me even when I'm in the bathroom?"
For many of us, our mothers are our first teachers -- and our most important guardians of -- the faith.
We know very little about Jesus' own upbringing in the faith. The scriptures are largely silent concerning all those years from his birth until his appearance in the Galilean countryside as a teacher and healer. Yet one thing is very likely, that one of Jesus' most important spiritual influences was this woman we have come to know so well in the Christmas story, and yet whom we hardly know at all: Mary of Nazareth.
It's strange that Mary is so rarely the subject of Protestant sermons. If truth be told, we Protestants are probably just a little bit afraid of her. Maybe it's because other churches have elevated her to such exalted heights -- placing her feet on a crescent moon and her haloed head in the stars, with all the hosts of heaven circling round. To some, it has almost seemed that Mary has become a fourth person of the Trinity, if not in actual doctrine, then at least in popular devotion.
Yet, Mary of Nazareth is truly worthy of our admiration and respect. It is Mary who helped form the man Jesus would become.
Jesus is the only incarnate Son of God -- but that doesn't mean he never needed to be taught. Someone needed to be there to extend her hands to him as he took his first, toddling steps. Someone had to hug him, and wipe away his tears. Someone had to teach him the language he used so eloquently and convincingly as a grown man -- to teach, to confront, and to pray. That someone was Mary.
We know so very little about Jesus' childhood. After the awe-inspiring story of his birth, the gospels give us only the sketchiest of details. Luke tells us of Jesus' being brought before the wise prophets, Simeon and Anna; and Matthew relates the dreadful tale of Herod's massacre of the innocents, and how Mary and Joseph fled with their child into Egypt. Yet after those events, Mary, Joseph, and their son vanish for a dozen years, into the mists of time.
Much later in the gospels, there are a few brief mentions of the brothers and sisters of Jesus -- but nowhere do we learn when they came along, or what role they played. There is but one exception, one account in all of scripture of Jesus' formative years and that's today's New Testament Lesson, the story of the boy Jesus in the temple.
Mary and Joseph bring their twelve-year-old to Jerusalem, and lose him there. Panic stricken, they rush back to all the many places they've visited, and find him at last in the temple, sitting among the scholars, amazing them with his knowledge. At the end of the story, Luke tells us that "his mother treasured all these things in her heart" (2:51).
Luke uses that very same phrase earlier, after the shepherds of Bethlehem have told Mary of all the wonders they have heard and seen. Mary "treasured" all those things, too, "in her heart."
The Greek word for "treasured" is one that means "to keep, to preserve, to cherish." It is used only to describe something of great value. What is of value to Mary, of course, are her memories.
But more than that, what is of value to Mary is her son himself. The prophet Simeon had said to her: "This child is destined for the rising and falling of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed and a sword will pierce your own soul, too."
Mary will one day learn what it means for a sword to pierce her soul. She will learn it as she and Joseph rush back to Jerusalem to look for their missing son. Years later, she will know that piercing pain again -- as, slumped on the hillside of Calvary, she watches her son cry out, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Motherhood has its joys, but it surely also has its pains.
Any mother who's ever held down a screaming child in the emergency room knows that feeling. Does anything ever hurt so much as the pain of one's own children: their failures, their addictions, their divorces? When wise old Simeon predicts, "a sword will pierce your soul," he knows whereof he speaks.
Yet there is no alternative, in life, to this kind of pain. The mother who treasures her children must one day give them up. In order for her children to learn to walk, the loving mother knows she must step back and allow them to fall. As year succeeds to year, the mother must continually step back: for the first bicycle ride around the block, the first date, the first driver's license for that long, silent car ride to college. To do otherwise -- to hold onto her children in an overprotective way -- is to risk dire consequences.
The story of Jesus' early years is largely a mystery. Yet of one thing we can be certain: We can give thanks for the unique role played by this very special woman, Mary of Nazareth. The one who not only brought the Son of God into the world, but who taught him how to be a man.
Prayer For The Day
Lord Jesus,
we remember that you did not always rule in the heavens' heights.
There was a time when you walked among our people,
talking, laughing, teaching, dreaming.
There was a time when you rested your head on your mother's breast,
lost yourself in her loving embrace.
When we imagine her,
we see you in new ways.
May we learn anew the wonder
of Word made flesh.
Amen.
To Illustrate
Peter Gomes, pastor of the Memorial Church at Harvard, tells the story of a prominent Protestant theologian who dies and goes to heaven. Jesus, the gracious host, climbs down from his seat at the right hand of God to greet the man, and says, "Professor, it's such a pleasure to welcome you. Welcome to the kingdom of heaven. I know you've met my father, but I don't believe you know my mother."
***
Lieutenant Karl Timmerman was the first American officer to cross the famous bridge at Remagen, Germany, in the closing days of World War II. As soon as the news of this victory reached the U.S.A., the telephone rang at the Goldenrod Cafe in West Point, Nebraska. Lieutenant Timmerman's mother worked there, as a waitress.
A reporter was on the other end of the line. "Your son, Karl, just crossed the Remagen Bridge," he told her. "Do you know what that means?"
"I know what that means to me," Mrs. Timmerman replied. "Is he hurt?"
"No, ma'am, you don't understand. He's not hurt, but listen to this: Karl Timmerman was the first officer of an invading army to cross the Rhine River since Napoleon. What do you think of that?"
"Napoleon I don't care about," Mrs. Timmerman said. "How is my Karl?"
Only a mother could say something like that -- only one who treasured the memory of her son in her heart, and yearned to enfold him in her arms again.
***
Making the decision to have a child -- it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
-- Elizabeth Stone
***
The Japanese are fond of cultivating Bonsai trees: dwarf trees that stand no more than a foot or so in height. Bonsai trees don't grow that way naturally. The Bonsai artist deliberately stunts their growth by taking a pair of scissors and snipping through their tap-root. This forces the tree to rely only on its shallowest roots, the ones that grow just below the surface of the soil. Although Bonsai trees may be decades old, they will never grow any taller. Among the Japanese, they are deeply treasured.
Some parents "treasure" their children in much the same way. They treasure their children not in their hearts, but instead they seek to hold onto them, preventing them from growing up emotionally. Perhaps the greatest gift a mother -- or a father, too, for that matter -- can give to a child is freedom, when the time is right.
***
Parents are like God when they provide maximum support and minimum protection.
-- William Sloane Coffin
***
Salvation to all that will is nigh;
That All, which always is all everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful virgin, yields Himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb; and though He there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet He will wear,
Taken from thence, flesh, which death's force may try.
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
Wast in His mind, who is thy Son and Brother;
Whom thou conceivst, conceived; yea thou art now
Thy Maker's maker, and thy Father's mother;
Thou hast light in dark, and shutst in little room,
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.
-- John Donne, "Annunciation"
***
She is thirteen. Short and wiry with dark olive skin. The trace of a mustache on her upper lip, soft black down on her arms and legs. The muscles are hard knots in her arms, solid lines in her calves. Her hair is almost black and has been folded into a single braid down her back for as long as she can remember. The weight of it raises her chin and makes her walk tall, as she has learned to do when carrying jars of water or bundles of kindling on her head. You don't bend into the burden. You root into the ground and grow out of it, reaching up and becoming taller. The greater the weight, the taller you become: the peasant woman's secret of making the burden light.
Her thin linen shift is torn from snagging on rocks and stones. Even the patches are torn, and the original black has long since faded into gray....
The shift hides the gentle bulge in her belly. She is unmarried and pregnant. Sometimes, when she's sure nobody else is around, she'll fold her hands just below the curve, feeling how much it has grown. Her grandmother once told her you could know a child's sex before it is born by where you put your hands: above the belly means a girl, below the belly, a boy. Or is it the other way around? She can't remember, but it doesn't really matter. Like every pregnant woman, she hopes for ten fingers, ten toes, a hungry mouth, and a lusty yell -- a healthy baby, despite the odds.
-- Lesley Hazleton, Mary: A Flesh-and-Blood Biography of The Virgin Mother (New York: Bloomsbury, 2005), pp. 1-2
***
For many modern women, the Mary of Christian tradition is at best an irrelevance, at worst one more reminder of the way in which no woman can live up the image of perfection -- perpetual virgin/perfect mother -- created by centuries of male theologians. What can speak to us, though, is her humanity. Mary shares many women's experiences: her early arranged marriage, her struggle to keep the family together after the death of her husband, her love for her son, and her grief at his death. It is the human Mary who reaches across the centuries to women in every age and every culture.
-- Dr. Helen K. Bond, lecturer in the New Testament at the University of Edinburgh, "Who Was the Real Virgin Mary?" in The Guardian, December 19, 2002
If we seek to know the real Mary, we can come to know Jesus better.
Old Testament Lesson
1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26
The Boy In A Linen Ephod
This brief passage has undoubtedly been chosen as a Christmas reading in order to set up the boy Samuel as a parallel to Jesus. The image of "a boy wearing a linen ephod" calls to mind another image, that of "a child wrapped in bands of cloth" (Luke 2:12). Both children, Samuel and Jesus, are dedicated to the Lord's service -- and in today's Gospel Lesson, we likewise read of Jesus performing liturgical duties in the temple. The poignant image of Hannah delivering "a little robe" to her son, before leaving him to continue his religious duties, prefigures that of Mary -- who also goes off, leaving her son in the temple. Skipping over some material that belongs to a larger story (that of the corruption of the high priest Eli), this lection concludes with a prophetic statement that could just as well be true of Jesus as it is of Samuel: "the boy ... continued to grow both in stature and in favor with the Lord and with the people" (v. 26).
New Testament Lesson
Colossians 3:12-17
Clothed In Virtue
Perhaps the image of the pious boy Samuel, clothed in his linen ephod, has provided the inspiration for the selection of this lectionary passage, exhorting believers to "clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience" (v. 12). Greater than all these spiritual garments, however, is the garment of love (v. 14). Such lofty goals are attainable for Christians only because our Lord lives: His peace rules in the hearts of believers (v. 15) and his word dwells in them (v. 16). In the New Testament, the word enoikeo ("to indwell") is only used to describe the spiritual dwelling in human lives. This is a passage simply overflowing with joy. Such unabashed joy issues in worship: as God's people gather to sing beloved hymns and carols of the season, with stronger and more joyous voice than at any other time of the year.
The Gospel
Luke 2:41-52
The Boy Jesus In The Temple
This brief interlude is the only account we have of the childhood of Jesus, between his birth and his appearance on the public scene as a man of thirty years (Luke 3:23). Like many ancient cultures, Judaism did not consider childhood to be an especially noteworthy time of life; infant mortality was high, and children were considered to be low in social status -- so this omission is hardly surprising. Mary and Joseph are fulfilling their obligation under the law to make pilgrimage to Jerusalem at the time of Passover. As a twelve-year-old, Jesus may already have passed through the pre-teen bar mitzvah rite of passage, or perhaps this visit represents his bar mitzvah. Then, as now, a boy who had been through this rite was considered qualified to join the men in their debate and discussion of the scriptures -- which is exactly what Jesus is doing as his parents finally catch up with him. He is "sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions" (v. 46). The rabbis are amazed at his understanding. This is a deeply human story: Any parent can relate to Mary's consternation, having finally discovered the lost child for whom she has been desperately searching. Like other parents in this situation, she surely has a hard time deciding whether to punish him or to embrace him in joy and relief. Jesus speaks, then, a word that foreshadows his later appearances in the temple, and even his ascent into heaven: "Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" (v. 49). As is so often the case with Luke, each episode is carefully chosen, and set in the larger narrative in such a way as to point ahead to that which is to come.
Preaching Possibilities
Several years ago, the Search Institute of Minneapolis decided to ask 10,000 people who or what had the most positive influence on their religious faith. The vast majority of the 10,000 people they polled answered with two simple words: "My mother."
Mothers are truly important people, when it comes to passing on tradition, teaching the things that matter. Fathers and grandparents, trusted friends and church school teachers all have their roles -- but so often, it is the mothers who struggle mightily to answer those weighty questions of theology, questions like ...
• "Do hamsters go to heaven?"
• "Who made me?"
• "Why are people so mean to each other?"
• "Does God see me even when I'm in the bathroom?"
For many of us, our mothers are our first teachers -- and our most important guardians of -- the faith.
We know very little about Jesus' own upbringing in the faith. The scriptures are largely silent concerning all those years from his birth until his appearance in the Galilean countryside as a teacher and healer. Yet one thing is very likely, that one of Jesus' most important spiritual influences was this woman we have come to know so well in the Christmas story, and yet whom we hardly know at all: Mary of Nazareth.
It's strange that Mary is so rarely the subject of Protestant sermons. If truth be told, we Protestants are probably just a little bit afraid of her. Maybe it's because other churches have elevated her to such exalted heights -- placing her feet on a crescent moon and her haloed head in the stars, with all the hosts of heaven circling round. To some, it has almost seemed that Mary has become a fourth person of the Trinity, if not in actual doctrine, then at least in popular devotion.
Yet, Mary of Nazareth is truly worthy of our admiration and respect. It is Mary who helped form the man Jesus would become.
Jesus is the only incarnate Son of God -- but that doesn't mean he never needed to be taught. Someone needed to be there to extend her hands to him as he took his first, toddling steps. Someone had to hug him, and wipe away his tears. Someone had to teach him the language he used so eloquently and convincingly as a grown man -- to teach, to confront, and to pray. That someone was Mary.
We know so very little about Jesus' childhood. After the awe-inspiring story of his birth, the gospels give us only the sketchiest of details. Luke tells us of Jesus' being brought before the wise prophets, Simeon and Anna; and Matthew relates the dreadful tale of Herod's massacre of the innocents, and how Mary and Joseph fled with their child into Egypt. Yet after those events, Mary, Joseph, and their son vanish for a dozen years, into the mists of time.
Much later in the gospels, there are a few brief mentions of the brothers and sisters of Jesus -- but nowhere do we learn when they came along, or what role they played. There is but one exception, one account in all of scripture of Jesus' formative years and that's today's New Testament Lesson, the story of the boy Jesus in the temple.
Mary and Joseph bring their twelve-year-old to Jerusalem, and lose him there. Panic stricken, they rush back to all the many places they've visited, and find him at last in the temple, sitting among the scholars, amazing them with his knowledge. At the end of the story, Luke tells us that "his mother treasured all these things in her heart" (2:51).
Luke uses that very same phrase earlier, after the shepherds of Bethlehem have told Mary of all the wonders they have heard and seen. Mary "treasured" all those things, too, "in her heart."
The Greek word for "treasured" is one that means "to keep, to preserve, to cherish." It is used only to describe something of great value. What is of value to Mary, of course, are her memories.
But more than that, what is of value to Mary is her son himself. The prophet Simeon had said to her: "This child is destined for the rising and falling of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed and a sword will pierce your own soul, too."
Mary will one day learn what it means for a sword to pierce her soul. She will learn it as she and Joseph rush back to Jerusalem to look for their missing son. Years later, she will know that piercing pain again -- as, slumped on the hillside of Calvary, she watches her son cry out, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Motherhood has its joys, but it surely also has its pains.
Any mother who's ever held down a screaming child in the emergency room knows that feeling. Does anything ever hurt so much as the pain of one's own children: their failures, their addictions, their divorces? When wise old Simeon predicts, "a sword will pierce your soul," he knows whereof he speaks.
Yet there is no alternative, in life, to this kind of pain. The mother who treasures her children must one day give them up. In order for her children to learn to walk, the loving mother knows she must step back and allow them to fall. As year succeeds to year, the mother must continually step back: for the first bicycle ride around the block, the first date, the first driver's license for that long, silent car ride to college. To do otherwise -- to hold onto her children in an overprotective way -- is to risk dire consequences.
The story of Jesus' early years is largely a mystery. Yet of one thing we can be certain: We can give thanks for the unique role played by this very special woman, Mary of Nazareth. The one who not only brought the Son of God into the world, but who taught him how to be a man.
Prayer For The Day
Lord Jesus,
we remember that you did not always rule in the heavens' heights.
There was a time when you walked among our people,
talking, laughing, teaching, dreaming.
There was a time when you rested your head on your mother's breast,
lost yourself in her loving embrace.
When we imagine her,
we see you in new ways.
May we learn anew the wonder
of Word made flesh.
Amen.
To Illustrate
Peter Gomes, pastor of the Memorial Church at Harvard, tells the story of a prominent Protestant theologian who dies and goes to heaven. Jesus, the gracious host, climbs down from his seat at the right hand of God to greet the man, and says, "Professor, it's such a pleasure to welcome you. Welcome to the kingdom of heaven. I know you've met my father, but I don't believe you know my mother."
***
Lieutenant Karl Timmerman was the first American officer to cross the famous bridge at Remagen, Germany, in the closing days of World War II. As soon as the news of this victory reached the U.S.A., the telephone rang at the Goldenrod Cafe in West Point, Nebraska. Lieutenant Timmerman's mother worked there, as a waitress.
A reporter was on the other end of the line. "Your son, Karl, just crossed the Remagen Bridge," he told her. "Do you know what that means?"
"I know what that means to me," Mrs. Timmerman replied. "Is he hurt?"
"No, ma'am, you don't understand. He's not hurt, but listen to this: Karl Timmerman was the first officer of an invading army to cross the Rhine River since Napoleon. What do you think of that?"
"Napoleon I don't care about," Mrs. Timmerman said. "How is my Karl?"
Only a mother could say something like that -- only one who treasured the memory of her son in her heart, and yearned to enfold him in her arms again.
***
Making the decision to have a child -- it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
-- Elizabeth Stone
***
The Japanese are fond of cultivating Bonsai trees: dwarf trees that stand no more than a foot or so in height. Bonsai trees don't grow that way naturally. The Bonsai artist deliberately stunts their growth by taking a pair of scissors and snipping through their tap-root. This forces the tree to rely only on its shallowest roots, the ones that grow just below the surface of the soil. Although Bonsai trees may be decades old, they will never grow any taller. Among the Japanese, they are deeply treasured.
Some parents "treasure" their children in much the same way. They treasure their children not in their hearts, but instead they seek to hold onto them, preventing them from growing up emotionally. Perhaps the greatest gift a mother -- or a father, too, for that matter -- can give to a child is freedom, when the time is right.
***
Parents are like God when they provide maximum support and minimum protection.
-- William Sloane Coffin
***
Salvation to all that will is nigh;
That All, which always is all everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful virgin, yields Himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb; and though He there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet He will wear,
Taken from thence, flesh, which death's force may try.
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
Wast in His mind, who is thy Son and Brother;
Whom thou conceivst, conceived; yea thou art now
Thy Maker's maker, and thy Father's mother;
Thou hast light in dark, and shutst in little room,
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.
-- John Donne, "Annunciation"
***
She is thirteen. Short and wiry with dark olive skin. The trace of a mustache on her upper lip, soft black down on her arms and legs. The muscles are hard knots in her arms, solid lines in her calves. Her hair is almost black and has been folded into a single braid down her back for as long as she can remember. The weight of it raises her chin and makes her walk tall, as she has learned to do when carrying jars of water or bundles of kindling on her head. You don't bend into the burden. You root into the ground and grow out of it, reaching up and becoming taller. The greater the weight, the taller you become: the peasant woman's secret of making the burden light.
Her thin linen shift is torn from snagging on rocks and stones. Even the patches are torn, and the original black has long since faded into gray....
The shift hides the gentle bulge in her belly. She is unmarried and pregnant. Sometimes, when she's sure nobody else is around, she'll fold her hands just below the curve, feeling how much it has grown. Her grandmother once told her you could know a child's sex before it is born by where you put your hands: above the belly means a girl, below the belly, a boy. Or is it the other way around? She can't remember, but it doesn't really matter. Like every pregnant woman, she hopes for ten fingers, ten toes, a hungry mouth, and a lusty yell -- a healthy baby, despite the odds.
-- Lesley Hazleton, Mary: A Flesh-and-Blood Biography of The Virgin Mother (New York: Bloomsbury, 2005), pp. 1-2
***
For many modern women, the Mary of Christian tradition is at best an irrelevance, at worst one more reminder of the way in which no woman can live up the image of perfection -- perpetual virgin/perfect mother -- created by centuries of male theologians. What can speak to us, though, is her humanity. Mary shares many women's experiences: her early arranged marriage, her struggle to keep the family together after the death of her husband, her love for her son, and her grief at his death. It is the human Mary who reaches across the centuries to women in every age and every culture.
-- Dr. Helen K. Bond, lecturer in the New Testament at the University of Edinburgh, "Who Was the Real Virgin Mary?" in The Guardian, December 19, 2002
