Message of Abbot Paul - Monday 29th May 2023

The day following on from Pentecost is now designated “Mary, Mother of the Church”, and the Gospel reading is taken from John’s Passion Narrative, (Jn 19: 25-34), the final moments of Jesus on the cross, from where he commends his mother to the care of the Beloved Disciple, and the disciple to Mary, his mother. This ministry of care between Our Lady and the disciple symbolises Mary’s maternal care for the whole Church and for each one of its members, living and dead. Here is the Gospel passage:

 

“Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. Seeing his mother and the disciple he loved standing near her, Jesus said to his mother, ‘Woman, this is your son.’ Then to the disciple he said, ‘This is your mother.’ And from that moment the disciple made a place for her in his home.

  After this, Jesus knew that everything had now been completed, and to fulfil the scripture perfectly he said, ‘I am thirsty.’

  A jar full of vinegar stood there, so putting a sponge soaked in the vinegar on a hyssop stick they held it up to his mouth. After Jesus had taken the vinegar he said, ‘It is accomplished’; and bowing his head he gave up his spirit.

  It was Preparation Day, and to prevent the bodies remaining on the cross during the sabbath – since that sabbath was a day of special solemnity – the Jews asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken away. Consequently, the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first man who had been crucified with him and then of the other. When they came to Jesus, they found he was already dead, and so instead of breaking his legs one of the soldiers pierced his side with a lance; and immediately there came out blood and water.”

 

​This is undoubtedly one of the finest passages in John, although it does seem strange to be reading it on Whit Monday, when we were always accustomed to continue celebrating Pentecost and the Coming of the Holy Spirit. Of course, when. I was a boy in Wales, Whit Monday, then a bank holiday for religious reasons, was the day when, all over the country, chapel congregations participated in the Whitsun March of Witness. We Catholics would line to streets to see them pass by, all dressed in their new or hand-me-down clothes. I was born and lived in Neath, not a large town, and yet there could have been up to 25 or 30 chapels. In return, on the Sunday after Corpus Christi, two weeks later, it was our turn to process with the Blessed Sacrament, not that Nonconformists knew what it was, yet they all turned out to line the streets and reverently watch us go by. They were happy days, before the vast majority of the population turned their backs on religion.