A Sermon delivered on Mothering Sunday : Luke 2:33-35
Mothering Sunday is a day with many layers — joy for some, tenderness or sorrow for others.
And it always arrives just as the world is waking again from a long cold winter and the promise of new life is quietly unfolding in nature.
It is strategically placed at the half way point of Lent.
Into this time of fragile hope, we learn in Luke 2:33-35 of Mary in the Temple, and Simeon’s words foretelling that a sword would pierce her soul.
And as we hold that chilling scene in mind, we can add to the experience two pieces of liturgical art here in our church that can help us enter the story more deeply.
Our stained-glass window of Mary and Joseph presenting Jesus in the Temple depicts the moment St Luke tells of a young couple offering their firstborn to God, stepping faithfully into the mystery of parenthood.
Then also by the altar, a silk panel — hand crafted by a member of this congregation in the 1940s — depicts a woman with child, clothed with the sun and crowned with stars.
This represents a scene in the Book of Revelation, and many in the church believe it is a vision of Mary in all her ultimate glory.
On this Mothering Sunday, both images remind us of the strength and vulnerability — and the holiness — of a mother’s love.
Mary in Luke 2 — Love That Risks the Heart
Christ’s presentation in the Temple was a significant moment for Mary and Joseph, because the Jewish Law required that every firstborn son be set apart as belonging to God.
By bringing Jesus to the Temple, Mary and Joseph were dedicating their firstborn to God’s service — a quiet act that is already hinting at the costly path he would one day walk.
St Luke describes Mary at the beginning of that journey. We see her as a young mother cradling her infant son, receiving Simeon’s joyful blessing, but then hearing his unsettling prophecy:
“A sword will pierce your own soul too.”
In that moment, the light and shadow of Jesus’ life are held together — the promise of salvation and the pain that will accompany it.
Our stained-glass window captures that moment with quiet beauty: Mary and Joseph standing before God, offering their child, not knowing what the future would hold.
It is an act of trust, of devotion, of love – and of eventual sorrow.
And it is motherhood experienced in its stark reality:
It’s a love that risks heartbreak:
• a devotion that carries pain
• and a hope that walks with vulnerability.
Mary learnt early that to bear Christ into the world would be both beautiful and costly.
Yet she did not turn away. She did everything she could for him as a young and faithful mother.
The Woman Clothed with the Sun — Mary Seen Through St John’s Eyes
From Luke’s quiet scene in the Temple, we turn to something very different.
In the Book of Revelation, St John is granted a vision that is not of this world — a sweeping, symbolic revelation of God’s final victory over evil.
In the midst of that vision, he sees a woman “clothed with the sun,” crowned with twelve stars, and ready to give birth.
Many Christians have understood this image to represent Mary: radiant, courageous, honoured as Mary, the Queen of Heaven, and Ark of the Covenant.
But even in all her splendour, this vision acknowledges struggle.
St John tells us that the woman, pursued by the dragon, “fled into the wilderness, where God had prepared a place for her.”
The wilderness, in blblical terms, is an uncomfortable place, but it is also not godless. It becomes the place where God shelters her and nourishes her until the danger passes.
So, whether we resonate with Mary in the Temple or in St John’s great vision, the same truth is revealed: mothering can be a rollercoaster that requires both strength and tenderness. Vulnerability and courage.
The Church as Mother — Nurturing Us in Faith
Just as Mary bore Christ physically, the Church — all of us together — carry Christ spiritually into the world.
Traditionally, Mothering Sunday was a day to return to the church of our childhood, our Mother Church — the community that had nurtured faith in us.
Today the Church mothers us when she:
• teaches the story of God
• feeds us with the Sacrament
• surrounds us with community
• carries us when we cannot carry ourselves
And like Mary in Luke’s gospel, the Church knows both joy and sorrow. Like the woman in Revelation, she sometimes finds herself in the wilderness.
Yet God still sustains his church — and the faithful carry on regardless throughout the world.
Our Mothers, Those Who Mother Us, and Learning to Mother Ourselves
From Mary and the Church, our understanding widens to the many forms of mothering that shape our lives.
Today we give thanks for:
• mothers who loved us well
• mothers who did their best
• mothers we miss
We remember too — whether their love was steady or imperfect — that mothering is bigger than biology.
It also comes through grandparents, adoptive and foster parents, teachers, mentors, and friends — all those through from who, God’s tenderness reaches out to us.
And then there is the mothering we must learn to offer ourselves: speaking kindly to ourself, tending emotional bruises, enjoying restful time, setting boundaries, nurturing our gifts.
In doing so, we echo the work of God who nourishes the woman in the wilderness of the Book of Revelation, and the God who longs to nourish us too.
And as we grow in that grace, we also learn to nurture others — offering encouragement, patience, and compassion in the same generous spirit with which God has mothered us.
God — The Source of All Mothering Love
Wherever our nurturing comes from, the thing to remember is that all true mothering flows from one source: the God who loves us with a tenderness deeper than we can imagine.
Scripture tells us:
• Jesus longs to gather his people like a hen gathers her chicks (Matthew 23:37)
• As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you (Isaiah 66:13)
Bringing It All Together
So on this Mothering Sunday we give thanks:
- for Mary, who demonstrated courageous love enough to face both joy and the sword
- for St John’s vision of Mary in all her ultimate glory – despite struggles in the wilderness
- for the Church, our mother in faith
- for our own mothers and all who have nurtured us
- for the grace to mother ourselves, and others, with compassion
- and above all, for God, the source of every good and tender thing
Like Mary at the Temple — presenting her child to God with trust and trembling — may we rest in that warm love, and may we share it generously with others.
And may we, like Mary depicted in all her glory by St John, shine brightly with the light of God’s love into the world all around us.
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And as we stop and think about all who have cared for us at some point in our lives, we finish with a hymn of deep thankfulness.