How can a mother ever quite forget, br or quite relinquish in her memory, br that state which babies share with saints: br to be free from all desires of mind? br br And so the mother must take on br that strange but natural responsibility br to desire, for the baby in her charge; but then, br one day, to learn to stop to ‘mother’ br for the child’s own growing sake.. br br And how much more, instinct and reason br must have played in Her; given a responsibility br greater than the world itself? br br And who can ever know those private conversations br between the growing Child of God br and young earthly mother of that heavenly Child? br br So, when at that wedding and its showing-forth br the servants were unsure, She was there br to say ‘Do what He says’.. br br And from John comes that bald account br which we must read each for ourself: br ‘Woman, what have you to do with Me…? ’ br br He, not yet ready as He thought, br for destiny; divisive miracles? br br Who knows how many private conversations br lay behind that question and its rhetoric – br public, and recorded by that deeply impressed scribe… br br and whether it was said with gentle smile br (who reads the words of Jesus as from One br who almost always smiled – His words, a gift?) br br or said with firm authority, which we may take br as heard by Her, not with a fusser’s shame, br but with Magnificat still ringing in Her mind? br br And then, perhaps, She learned to grieve br and not to grieve, beneath a holy Cross.. br br I think this passage is forever read br by men in one way; women in another; br and perhaps, that’s just how it should be.