Luke 8.21 "My mothers and brothers are those who hear God's word and put it into practice."

He's right, of course. Obedience to our Father above all, the Holiest of Holies, the one who inhabits the darkened temple, the hushed veiled mystery beyond all our chatter. The Father who created us all and sits in judgement on our children as ourselves, is He not worthy of our sacrifice, our blessing, our awe and holy fear?
Mothers and brothers are important, yes. But only to the young and very old, those who cannot manage by themselves and need help. A man grows up and leaves his family, his wife likewise. This is the Law, the way the world happens, the way responsibility falls from one generation to the next. You cannot stay in your mother's bed all your life. The preacher is right.
And yet, I could not help but feel a pang for the young men with the strong labourers' build who waited so patiently for so long at the edge of the crowd. And I was not sorry to see the way they spoke of their mother, pleaded her case in thick Galilean accents until they saw it was no use. They were politely turned away with the news that the preacher was tired now, perhaps they could come back and visit another time - no one had the gall, or cruelty, to tell them what had actually been said - all was done with tenderness, with the greatest of care - if she wept, she did so quietly, behind her veil, so that we could not see or hear - Sons do grow up and leave home. That is the way of the world.
And although the preacher is of course right I could not be sorry that, one by one, as they took the long road home, I saw these strong young men taking turns to comfort her, whispering in her ear and awkwardly patting her hand.