As we approach Holy Week, I thought this excerpt from my book, The Face of Jesus might be appropriate.

Chapter Seventeen: At the Cross 

John 19: 25-27

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, “Woman behold your son.” Then he said to the disciple,” Behold your mother.” And from that hour, the disciple took her into his home.

           Behold your mother. What did he mean? I have a mother, and she is not here. She has been ill for quite some time and could never have made this arduous journey.          

Then, I realized he meant his mother! The woman younger than my mother, in fact, she seemed close to my own age, although she obviously was not. After all, Jesus was older than I and while his mother had given birth to him while she was still a teen-ager, she seemed so much younger because my mother was more than forty when she gave birth to me, and I had never known her to be young and healthy. She walked stooped over and with very stumbling steps. Sometimes I thought she wouldn’t make it through another day. And now he was telling me to take care of his mother too! How would I manage caring for two women? I wasn’t even caring for own mother properly!

      I felt a deep guilt because I had neglected my own mother due to the amount of time I spent with Jesus, but this man was so powerful, not so much in physical strength, although he was no slouch. He pulled his own weight when it came to walking long distances through the harsh desert, and when it came to healing and teaching. I honestly didn’t know how he managed it all. He was at least ten years older than I and had his mother to care for too. Not that she needed much care. I was sure she was strong as any of the men, and as smart. Although she was often very quiet, when she did speak, the words she uttered were burned in my heart.  I knew she had a great deal of wisdom, and if she were not a woman, she would have made a wonderful rabbi. She knew the scriptures as well as any rabbi, but it was deeper than that; she had true wisdom that one usually found in white-bearded old men—rabbis, Pharisees, Scribes. Certainly not in a woman, the wife of a carpenter and the mother of an itinerant preacher. If I brought her into my home to care for her, I wondered if it was more a case of her taking care of me. And perhaps my mother too. My father was still active in the fishing business and worked very long hours, so on the days my mother could not cook the meals, do the laundry, and other household chores, I usually took care of these things until my brother, James and I decided to throw away our fishing nets, and follow this crazy man. Our poor mother was without help except the women in the neighborhood who helped her out. 

And look where it got us. Standing at the foot of a cross, watching him die. Most of the other disciples had deserted him for fear of their own lives. In fact, other than the women, I was the only one who risked being there. The other disciples often didn’t take me seriously because I was the youngest. And some were jealous of the way Jesus showed that he loved me more than the others. It wasn’t because I was stronger, smarter, richer, more cunning, or more zealous than the others. It was somehow just natural connection we had from the day I first saw him walking by the Sea of Galilee. I knew right away he was not a fisherman, his hands would be more calloused, and his skin burnt even darker than it was. But I knew right away that he sensed what the life of a fisherman was like and maybe that is why so many—Andrew, Peter, me, and my brother James, were attracted to him. When he said he would make us fishers of souls, I don’t think they quite understood what he meant. But I did. And now he was giving the most precious soul, his own mother, to me to care for.

             Perhaps it’s fortunate that the other disciples did not have the nerve to show up at the crucifixion scene. They would have been even more jealous of John if they had heard these words. There was already bickering among themselves as to who should be “in charge” after Jesus death. He wasn’t even dead and cold yet, when some of their ambitions became clear. They used that as an excuse to hide out—they had to make plans to continue Jesus’ work and couldn’t risk letting the Romans or the Sanhedrin know what they are planning. They had to record his every word for posterity. John wouldn’t think about writing down his account of the past three years until many years later. He had no desire to run what would become Jesus’ “Church” although some wanted him to. His thoughts on how to carry on Jesus ministry were far different than those of Peter, who quickly became the front runner. Citing Jesus words (or, perhaps more accurately, the words they had ascribed to Jesus) about building his church upon the “rock,” Peter, his followers quickly asked Peter to take charge. John, however, knew that Jesus’ intent was not to establish a “Church,” or a “new world order,” but simply to teach all humans to love and care for each other. Love was Jesus’ guiding principle, not rules and laws. While John would write about this in his old age, for now he was content to do what he could to preserve the memory and the teachings of Jesus. He stayed out of the political fray and the theological discussion for now. In fact, he was the only one of the twelve original disciples who were not murdered (except for Judas who hanged himself). Sometimes he felt almost guilty for not following in Jesus’ footsteps and giving up his life. But in his old age he began to see why he was spared. It was so he could write his Gospel of Love, so he could care for Jesus’ mother and learn from her, so he could preserve a semblance of normalcy in a crazy world that became even more divided after Jesus’ death. Jews fought against the Jews who followed Jesus, Jews fought against letting Gentiles into their “Church.” Romans became even more wary of all who claimed that Christ was king and persecuted them for heresy and sedition. John was happy to not get involved with the political scene. He just wanted to love God, ponder the wisdom of Jesus, and share his story with the world in a quiet way. Patmos was his salvation and his place of serenity. No one bothered him there and he was free to write the most thought-provoking gospel of the life of Jesus, from the beginning of time, to what an impact he would have on the future.

          When Mary heard these words, the same words I had heard, she looked a little befuddled too. What did it mean, “There is your son?” Her son was struggling to breathe under the weight of the crucifixion. She had seen crucifixions before, and they were not pleasant to look at. Most of the dying cried out sobbing confessions, begged for the release of a quick death, or cried for some miracle to get them down from the cross. But not her son - he was forgiving those who had nailed him to the cross, he asked for a drink to soothe his parched throat, so he could speak, and he talked with the Creator in very intimate conversation. And he looked lovingly at those he loved and those who loved him - his mother, Mary Magdala, and me. And, when Mary and I understood fully what he meant when he spoke those words to us, that we would be a comfort to each other, we should learn from each other, we would often sit quietly and reminisce about the time we spent with him. At this moment, I know he was pleased.  Although he was struggling just to breathe, let alone talk, I knew he had to say those words for all of us, the two women named Mary, and me, John. I knew his death was imminent. But I also understood that we would live again. I knew this because I saw a knowing smile spread across the face of Jesus.

This is just one chapter. The book has study questions for each chapter, so you might be interested in using it in a book study group. If you would like to purchase the book, The Face of Jesus, 2^nd edition, you can pick it up here.