Do Not Let Your Hearts Be Troubled

5-14-17 (Easter 5A)

Acts 7:55-60; John 14:1-14

Do Not Let Your Hearts Be Troubled

I encountered a peculiar quandary this week as I started looking at the texts and preparing for worship.  It’s not often that the lectionary year and the calendar year end up being so weirdly at odds with each other - there’s a certain irony to be found in the fact that the lectionary readings for Mother’s Day are the stoning of Stephen and Jesus’ farewell discourse in which he says “there are many rooms in my Father’s house.”  And really - what do you do in that weird contrast?  What direction do you take this Sunday?  Did I want to change out the readings and find ones more thematically appropriate?  Or do you just focus on the readings themselves and let the whole Mother’s Day event take a place on the back burner?

Interestingly enough, a connection became more apparent as I started to read more into the history and origins of Mother’s Day itself.  It’s not really very evident today in the flash sales, fancy dinners, gifts, cards and expensive flower arrangements, but the origins of Mother’s Day in America are almost entirely rooted in the calls of women to issues of social justice.  One of the earliest origins of Mother’s Day came from a woman in the 1850’s who was concerned about infant mortality and the condition and education of mothers in the Appalachian regions.  Ann Reeves Jarvis started what were called “Mother’s Day Work Clubs” to help educate impoverished mothers in her area in practices ranging from boiling their water to proper cleaning techniques and ways to sanitize milk and prevent it from contamination.  As the Civil War engulfed the nation, these “Mother’s Day” clubs continued gathering, now tending to wounded soldiers.  Due to Ann Jarvis’ emphatic belief that they should not take sides, these clubs cared for both Northern and Southern soldiers without distinction, and as the war came to its end, the work groups transitioned themselves into “Mother’s Friendship Day” picnics, which provided a safe space for both Northern and Southern soldiers and loyalists to come together, find common ground, and begin the process of healing and making peace with one another.

When Ann Reeves Jarvis passed away in 1905, her daughter, Anna Jarvis, picked up the torch, continuing her mothers work.  Anna made it her new life’s work to campaign for a national holiday dedicated toward honoring not only her own mother, but all mothers because she believed that they were "the person who has done more for you than anyone in the world.”  By 1914, her goal was achieved as Woodrow Wilson signed into law the proclamation that the second Sunday of May would be designated as a national “Mother’s Day.”

While Anna was overjoyed at her success at first, her victory soon became tinged with regret - Anna had initially wanted Mother’s Day to be a personal celebration between mothers and families.  She had envisioned a day in which women wore a single white carnation, families gave handwritten notes of appreciation and thanks to their mother, and attended church or visited their mother together.  And while she had initially partnered with the floral industry to campaign for the holiday, by the 1920’s she had become appalled at how quickly the various industries had commercialized what she had envisioned as a deeply personal day.  Anna spent the rest of her life trying to undo the work that she had done, lobbying congress to remove the holiday from the calendar and protesting the businesses who had capitalized on her efforts.  By the time of her death in 1948, she had put every cent she had into trying to keep some control over how mothers were celebrated.

Now… while this whole history lesson was a fascinating rabbit trail to chase - I had promised that there’d be a connection somewhere in here.  Odd as it may seem at first, I found an incredible echo between the story of some of the women behind Mother’s Day and the story of Stephen that we see the very ending of here in today’s reading from Acts.  Stephen was one of the first deacons of the church and is widely regarded as the first recorded Christian martyr - he first shows up in the book of Acts way back in chapter 6 as the Greek Christians begin complaining about the Hebrew Christians because their widows are being overlooked in the distribution of food and support from the church.  Stephen is one of the seven deacons chosen to engage in this specific ministry of service and compassion, but the book of Acts tells us that the Spirit was so filled with grace and power that he did an impressive number of “great wonders and signs” in his ministry.  He made a name for himself in the region, but also made a number of people pretty unhappy - they brought him up on all kinds of false charges and called on him to testify, and Stephen, so filled with the Spirit, delivers a pretty scathing sermon that lays out the entire story of God’s chosen people before condemning them for ignoring and killing the Messiah.  And as he ends his speech to the Jewish authorities, they are enraged at him - they stone him for his words, and yet even as they are killing him for his testimony, Stephen continues to emulate Christ: he commends his soul to God even as he is dying and prays to God to forgive the ones who are killing him even as he lets out his last breath.

Now, neither this Biblical story or this American history story would be all that remarkable or connected too strongly until we look at them in the light of Jesus’ final discourse that we begin in John’s gospel.  And even this text is peculiar as a Mother’s Day text, given that it’s most often read as part of the funeral liturgy.  Because of the funeral liturgy, we’re most familiar with the first part of the passage: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God - believe also in me.”  We hear those comforting words and the phrasing of the house with many rooms and dwelling places and they are all too familiar for us.  We know Jesus’ definitive statement that “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”  But when we get to the second part of the passage, things get a little more fuzzy - Phillip asks Jesus to just show them the Father and they will be satisfied, and Jesus goes into a convoluted explanation of how if they’ve seen him, they’ve seen the Father as well.  And in the midst of that convoluted explanation, he says something that I realized ties all these things together: “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.”

We listen to the first part of the passage and almost exclusively find it as a word of comfort, a word of encouragement to a people who are confused and grieving: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  Do not let yourselves be overcome with grief - even though I’m telling you that I’m going to my death, I’m also telling you that I’m going on ahead of you to prepare a place for you.  Or as the old poem goes, “Do not stand at my grave and weep / I am not there, I do not sleep.”

But what happens when we let the second part of the passage inform the first part further?  What happens when “Do not let your hearts be troubled” isn’t just a platitude, but also a charge to the disciples?  What happens if we let “Do not let your hearts be troubled” be the start of a greater piece of encouragement, a reminder that we will hear a little bit more of in the next week that we are not alone in this, that Jesus has not only gone before us, but also has sent us His Spirit as a continuing presence among and within us?  What happens when we let “Do not let your hearts be troubled” flow fluidly into “the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these?”

What happens is that men and women are emboldened to speak truth to power, to stand in front of even those who would seek to bring them up on false charges and kill them and fearlessly proclaim the message of God; that women of faith are encouraged to reach out in compassion and love to help ensure that God’s children are cared for, whether rich or poor, Northern or Southern; and that their daughters are so moved by their mother’s prayers that they spend the rest of their lives seeking to honor their mother’s ministry and legacy.  Christ’s message to us is never one of simple consolation - it is always paired with a call to faithful action, a charge that we take that same consolation and encouragement to others.  That we always pair lives of grace with those of gratitude.  So, on this day, may our hearts not be troubled - may we instead be moved to go out into the world, knowing that we do not go out alone but in the presence of Christ, and may we be bold enough to follow in the footsteps of those mothers of faith who have gone before us.  To God be the Glory!  Amen.