Jewish Mother

She sat quietly at the dining table after having made lunch. It was lambchops steamed with green onions, garlic, tomatoes, basil and salt. One of his favorite dishes. She’d been widowed quite some time now but, fortunately, had her sons, some relatives and many dear friends.
She heard his footsteps and hand pushing the door open. She guessed it was his footsteps. Her other sons were in the marketplace, working.

“Hello, Mother. The heat is killing me! I’ll make myself a big drink and sit with you a moment.”

Normally she would’ve said “Fine, Dear” but this time she remained silent. She wasn’t angry, just perplexed. Why did he say what he said? In her self-pity, she let a tear roll down her face.

Jesus sat down with a big drink worthy of being called a thirst quencher. As He took His first gulp, He noticed his mother’s tear. He immediately knew the reason behind it.

“Mother, you feel bad, don’t you?”

“I don’t really feel bad. Not exactly. I feel strange I guess it is.”

“Yes. Please go on.”

“’Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?’ You said. Then, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers’. Why, there wasn’t even a woman with You!”

“I was just trying to make a point, Mother. There was nothing negative intended by the remark. Certainly no disloyalty to you or to my brothers! I am human, you know. I also said, ‘For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother’. Did you hear that part?”

“Yes, Son, I heard it. And I liked that part.”

She giggled slightly.

“Mother!” He said.

“I can’t help it, Son. James, John, Mark, and the others being your brothers—okay, no problem. But who’s the mother—Peter? It’s so funny, even if it is metaphorical. I can just see that husky fisherman in a dress!”

She giggled again.

“I don’t have to tell you, Mother, how much I love you,” a smiling Jesus said.

Mary looked at her Son. He was the special One.

“I know, Dear. Don’t pay me any mind. I’m just an old fogey—merely the one who bathed You, dressed You, nursed You, watched over You as You played, shopped for groceries, cooked. It’s a mother’s job. What would You know about it?”

The penetrating eyes of Jesus met his mother’s again.

“A lot, Mother. I think I know a lot about it.”