Mom’s Homework

Praying for the unity of brothers and sisters

06/02/2022

Jn 17:20-26 Lifting up his eyes to heaven, Jesus prayed saying: “I pray not only for these, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. And I have given them the glory you gave me, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one, that the world may know that you sent me, and that you loved them even as you loved me. Father, they are your gift to me. I wish that where I am they also may be with me, that they may see my glory that you gave me, because you loved me before the foundation of the world. Righteous Father, the world also does not know you, but I know you, and they know that you sent me. I made known to them your name and I will make it known, that the love with which you loved me may be in them and I in them.”

Today, June 2, is my mom’s birthday, and I want to share a few thoughts about this wonderful woman. I asked her recently what she wanted for a birthday present and she immediately answered that she wanted all three of her children to be close, and love each other, and take care of each other. Of course, the reason she had to ask that is because we have not always done that: we have fought and fussed. So, I told her that would be my homework from now on: to keep in touch and try to take care of my brother and sister, and love each other.

Today’s gospel of John 17 is taken from Jesus’ “high priestly prayer” at the Last Supper. And what does Jesus pray for to his Father? Listen: “That they may be one, as we are one…that they may be brought to perfection as one.” In other words, my mom was not just echoing the prayer of every parent for the peace and harmony of their offspring. Much more, my mom’s prayer carried priestly overtones echoing the heart of Jesus. My mother loves us, her sometimes ungrateful children, like Jesus loved his sometimes ungrateful disciples.

Of course, this shared love between mothers and our Maker was uttered 6 centuries earlier in the prophet Isaiah, who asked rhetorically: “Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even if she should forget you, I will never forget you” (Is 49:15). That is, a mother’s love and our Lord’s love are virtually identical.

My mom grew up in Kerala, India, a coastal state in southwestern India. That area, along with the state of Goa, are arguably the most Christian areas of the country, where both the apostle Thomas and Bartholomew, and later, St. Francis Xavier evangelized and brought the Good News. That is how my mom first learned the high priestly prayer of Jesus.

My mom’s full name is Raichelamma, but she spells is “R-a-i-c-h-e-l’, and my sister’s oldest daughter carries that same name, spelled the same way. I think my niece is very proud to have her grandmother’s name, even it’s not normal. But her grandmother is not normal either: she is extraordinary.

My mom is the youngest of five children. She had 3 older sisters and one older brother who have all passed to their eternal reward. We pray for them when I say Mass at my parents’ home in Springdale. Because she was the youngest, my mom was the one who got to go to school the longest, and completed a degree in nursing. She wasn’t allowed to do the chores at home because she was supposed to study. I doubt she complained.

And it was my mom’s nursing degree that became the ticket for us coming to the United States. There has always been a dearth of registered nurses in the U.S., so our country has given great incentives to foreign nurses to come and practice here. That is why I am here: because my mom is so smart.

Looking back now, I don’t know how my mom did it all. She came to the United States alone and started working and living here to establish a home for us. My father came several months later, and then the three trouble-makers arrived. My mom often worked the night shift at the hospital because it was better pay. We always ate Indian food which takes a lot of time to cook because you make it from scratch.

She took care of the home and raised the kids, and she never complained about her trials and tribulations. She was far more concerned about her children’s trials and tribulations, and that is still her primary preoccupation today. She doesn’t complain about her physical aches and ailments, which are not a few. She just takes care of her family with an indefatigable and serene smile.

When I go to celebrate Mass at their home, like I did yesterday, my mom is the sacristan. She prepares the altar, she places the chalice with the purificator and pall with a precision that rivals the pope’s own sacristan in Rome. She knows exactly where the corporal goes, as well as how much water and wine I will need. Finally, she lights the candles and covers her head with a veil, like all devout women do in India. My dad is the lector who read the Scripture readings, and he rings the bells. Sometimes his hands shake, so he rings it a little more than she should.

And when everything is ready, it is time for me to do the homework that my mom gave me: to pray for my siblings, which is the same homework that Jesus gave me, and that he gave all of us: to pray for the peace and unity of our brothers and sisters, which means everyone.

Praised be Jesus Christ!