JAMES TOEWS
The Miracle

“He is a person only a mother could love.” This is often said of those who commit horrifying crimes. More often than not, as the criminal is put on display before society, the only person left standing at his side is a broken-hearted mother. With her head bowed and one hand covering her grief-stained face, she rests her other hand on her son’s shoulder. Facing society’s wrath, the criminal might be remorseful or defiant, but the picture of the mother rarely changes. This is her son, and the hands which cleaned the blood from his scraped knees and tucked the blankets under his chin for so many years, still long to administer their healing touch. But the shoulder on which her hand rests does not yield to her touch the way it did so many years ago. Still her hand remains. The miracle of a mother’s love remains standing in the ruins when everything else has fallen away.

What do mothers see that keeps that flame of love alive?

Biologically, the answer is simple. Having carried this being within her body, the mother has a unique and powerful bond with her child that even the father does not have. Her body has been programmed to love in spite of circumstances.

Psychologically, the answer goes one step further. Not only was this child formed from the material of the mother’s body; he also represents all of her hopes and dreams. Walking away from her child, therefore, represents walking away from the meaning of her existence. She can hardly do it.

But there is another answer that goes even deeper – an answer that goes back to the very beginning of time, when God created humanity: “God created man in His own image . . . male and female He created them” (Genesis 1:27, the Bible). We are created in God’s image. It is an image that is so tattered and torn that it is hardly recognizable, but occasionally we can catch a glimpse of its faded glory. There, in that broken-hearted mother, we see a remnant of the character of God. Just as the child was formed from the being of the mother, so humanity was formed from the being of God. And just as the child represents the mother’s hopes and dreams, so you and I represent God’s hopes and dreams.

Like the mother standing by the prisoner’s dock with her son, God stands behind us, with His hand resting on our shoulder, the pain of our calamities and the shame of our rebellions filling His spirit. He stands there, waiting for us to yield to His touch. His pain is made even deeper because He knows that, unlike human mothers, He offers a healing that no human can ever give. And still – too often – the shoulder on which His hand rests remains rigid beneath His fingers.