Eve from Eve Garden God has written an interesting post titled Behold Your Mother. I commented her post, but my brain insists on expanding on my comment. She references Matthew 12: 46-50 , and wonders at the disrespect Jesus has for his mother. Why does he not stop teaching the crowd and honor her? Why does he call his disciples Mother, Brother, Sister? How easy must it have been for the early Church to marginalize women, given that lack of respect.
I see disrespect throughout that passage, to be completely honest. The above-referenced lack of respect for Mary. The lack of respect Mary and Jesus’ brothers showed to both Jesus and the multitude (so he’s supposed to stop preaching?)
In my comment, I said that I would do the same thing were it my mother. Perhaps if my mother were someone I could respect, that would make a difference. I am (and always have been) subject to my mother’s version of correction. I can’t tell you how many years I spent trying to make that woman “proud” of me….but you have to realize: she does not know how to appreciate a moment. There is no compliment on accomplishment, only an admonishment to try harder. Got one A on a report card? Why aren’t they ALL A’s? If only you would apply yourself. My mother would expect me to stop teaching and recognize her and I would not stop teaching.
I was in my late twenties, with a child and married before I realized that I should concentrate on making myself happy because trying to make *her* happy was making *me* miserable.
In Eve’s post, she wondered at the naming of the disciples as family members, while the “blood” family stood waiting. I have spent an entire lifetime essentially excluded from “the family”. I was not raised to be particularly close to family members on either side. There is a basic “hey, you’re in my family tree” recognition, but they do not know me, nor I them. My brother is also a foreign country. Related by DNA, yet separated by religion and physical distance. I realize now that he couldn’t help the disparaties in the way we were treated as children, but it’s taken YEARS of exploration to get there.
The family I have created for myself, however, is what matters the most to me. My children. My close friends. They nurture me, allow me to mother them, and generally be happy with one another. They are the ones who call me on my stuff, give me another point of view, and generally pull my head out of my rear if I need it.
The relationship between my Mother and I… it is what it is. I accept that it’s not likely to change, and arrange my life around her ways as best I can while we share a roof.