A Pennsylvania lawyer named James M. Beck wrote a short essay in the early decades of the Twentieth Century entitled “The Laurels of a Mother”. It was sent out to each of you earlier in the week, and if you didn’t receive it, I can get it to you immediately after this service. I hope that everyone took the opportunity to read it. It’s only a page long, and even though the style may seem a bit stuffy to our Twenty-first Century ears, I think we can all agree that they were written with a great deal of sincere admiration.
Even so, this essay not quite adequate to describe the opportunity that Mother’s Day affords us. It’s one thing to set aside some time to acknowledge our mothers and to commend them, in person or in prayer, out of the very special place they have in our hearts, as Beck has done, but we can take this formal recognition a step further and make an effort to truly appreciate motherhood, to try to understand, as much as we are able, what those who have been blessed with motherhood live with on a daily basis. We can reflect on how we can be of service to them out of the same degree of love that they have shown for us. I’m here to suggest that the greatest gift we can give to our mothers is not some household chore or special breakfast, although I’m given to understand that such things would be nice, but rather I’m suggesting a shift in our attitude.
Our gospel reading involves arguably the most noted mother in western history. The twelve-year-old Jesus had disappeared, and both parents, Mary and Joseph, were in a panic to find him, even retracing their steps all the way back to Jerusalem to find him. This would probably require them to spend another night in an inn, which given their experience with finding lodging around Jerusalem probably didn’t thrill them, but this was their son. When Jesus was finally found in the Temple, Mary reacted quite predictably. “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” Scripture doesn’t record whether or not she was speaking through her teeth at the moment, or whether or not she had grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him behind the nearest pillar, but I don’t think anyone would be surprised if she did, or would condemn her for it. Jesus responded with “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”, which is essentially implying that their inability to find him was somehow their fault.
That’s a brassy thing to say to your mother. It would not have worked for me. But as a person that works with twelve-year-olds everyday, I can say that Jesus wasn’t the last child to try something like that. Of course, I know that this story has a deeper meaning, an internal sense that ties Jesus’ purpose to the revitalization of church doctrine. All I’m saying is that day must have tested Mary’s patience as a loving mother. I find it amazing that she “treasured” that conversation “in her heart”, as we are told. It seems clear that Mary was able to get past the aftershock of her fear and perceive something deeper.
She reminds me of the two mothers who went out into the backyard searching for their boys and found them about thirty feet above the ground in an old tree, waving at them, proud of how far thay had been able to climb. One mother reacted with fear: “Come down out of that tree this instant! You’re going to break your neck!” The other mother celebrating the achievement: “Wow! You really climbed high! What’s your plan for getting back down safely?” One reaction produces a child who feels punished, and the other a child who feels celebrated. It’s a tough thing to not let our fear and anger speak for us. If Mary would have yelled at her son, in the Temple or in the middle of the supermarket, would we have judged her differently?
There is a myth in our society regarding motherhood, held by children and mothers alike. Psychologist Jane Swigart, in a wonderful book called “The Myth of the Bad Mother”, describes how we place expectations upon mothers which aren’t always fair, and she defines the two extremes of our expectations as the “good mother” and the “bad mother”. On the one hand, we have the “good mother”: “A woman who wants only the best for her children, whose needs she intuits effortlessly, who adores her children and finds them fascinating, who is so attuned to her children and is so resourceful that she is immune to boredom. To the Good Mother, nurturing comes a naturally as breathing, and child rearing is a source of pleasure that does not require discipline of self-sacrifice.” At the other extreme she describes the “bad mother”: “who is easily bored by her children, indifferent to their well being, who is so narcissistic and self-absorbed she cannot discern what is in the best interests of her children. She is insensitive to their needs, unable to empathize with them, and often uses them for her own gratification. She damages her children without knowing it. Unable to learn from the suffering she causes, she is incapable of change.”
Two extremes, to be sure—June Cleaver verses some horrible demon from the Pit. I’m certain that I’m not alone in thinking that there are no such people in reality, no absolutely perfect mother who will never make mistakes, no perfectly rotten mother who is the bane of all goodness and decency. I believe that these images do have value, however, as the expectations and the judgments that we place upon mothers, and also the expectations and judgments that mothers place upon themselves.
I’ve never met a mom that didn’t want to be that good mother with functional, reputable children that James M. Beck writes are so deserving of our accolades, and although I’ve never met a demon, I can say that I’ve also never met a mother who did not harbor a deep fear that she has fallen short, that she has damaged her children in some way, that all of their emotional scars in life are in some way her fault, at least in part, as consequences of the choices she has made. I’ve met many women who know what it feels like to live with the social pressure to become and to remain “good mothers”, responding to their children with perfect love at all times.
The gift to our mothers I’m recommending is that we simply acknowledge that pressure. I’ve heard a bit about my own mother’s childhood, and I have learned that she is a human being like the rest of us, working to resolve the wounds of the past, just like the rest of us. I want to allow mothers everywhere to have their shortcomings, like all human beings do, without being labeled by the rest of us and without being blamed as the sole reason for our own wounds. No mother can be expected to be perfect all the time. It’s unfair of anyone to demand such rigorous standards. We know that parenthood is not the easiest job in the world, and no, it does not come naturally. Just like the rest of us, our mothers must be allowed to be less than perfect and still be worthy of our respect.
The fact is, parenting doesn’t always happen under the best circumstances. Often, our mothers have had to raise us in spite of forces and events that haven’t always made it easy. I’m thinking of the women of the Civil War, who lost their sons to that frightening but very necessary struggle. Ann Reeves Jarvis had been a mother who cared for both Union and Confederate soldiers after that war, and who comforted many mothers that had lost sons. She helped them to find purpose and meaning after the war had ended. It was her daughter, Anna Jarvis, who began the tradition of Mother’s Day to honor her mother’s work. And I’m thinking of the mother of Moses, who did the only thing she could do given the cruelty of Pharoah’s decree. She gave up her son to save his life. (Can you imagine what is was like to be in her position?) The animated movie “Prince of Egypt” shows her crying as she watches the river carry her son away, and I confess that it brings a tear to my eye every time I watch it. The story in Exodus does not name her, which is unfortunate. She made a difficult sacrifice out of love, and she deserves that her name be known because of it.
When we love something or someone so deeply, we make ourselves vulnerable to the pain of possible loss. I think this fear of loss is what’s behind what we might consider “bad” behavior in our mothers, what’s behind every mother who has yelled at a child that has climbed a tree, or who has set a curfew, or who has demanded that we eat all of our vegetables. Children might resent their mothers because of these things, think of them as a “bad” mother because of it, but we cannot in good conscience resent anything that has love behind it after we have recognized the love. For the mothers who have lost their children, who have felt that devastation, I hope the image of those children being raised in heaven by the same maternal love that you have felt brings you some comfort. In the Lord’s care and keeping, no child is ever lost or forgotten.
Our mothers are human. They always have been. The mothers and step-mothers, grandmothers, mothers-in-law, adoptive mothers, mothers who may have left us too early, mothers who may never let us go—they’re all human, walking their own path. We need to see them as individuals in their own right, with gifts and growing edges and passions that don’t really have anything to do with us. In other words, we need to see her as more than just our mom. As wonderful as being a mom is, she is and has been so much more than that. It’s a beautiful thing, and it’s worthy of our recognition and our support.
For myself, I am grateful for my mother, with all of her gifts and growing edges. The greatest gift that she gave me is a single moment in time. I can’t really tell you when that moment occurred, but it was the moment when I finally let go of her hand to find my own place in this world. In no small part because of her, I had the strength and the self-reliance to do that. That’s not a gift that just anyone can give you.
So thanks, Mom, and thank you mothers. Bless your good days and your bad days, and may the good Lord guide you on your continuing path toward heaven.
By the way, we do know the name of Moses’ mother. Numbers 26:59 identifies her as “Jochebed” of the Tribe of Levi. To my mind she is every bit as blessed a mother as Mary, and every mother who has loved her children. Amen.
READINGS
Old Testament reading: Exodus 2:1-10
Now a man of the tribe of Levi married a Levite woman, and she became pregnant and gave birth to a son. When she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. But when she could hide him no longer, she got a papyrus basket[a]for him and coated it with tar and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile. His sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him.
Then Pharaoh’s daughter went down to the Nile to bathe, and her attendants were walking along the riverbank. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her female slave to get it. She opened it and saw the baby. He was crying, and she felt sorry for him. “This is one of the Hebrew babies,” she said.
Then his sister asked Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get one of the Hebrew women to nurse the baby for you?”
“Yes, go,” she answered. So the girl went and got the baby’s mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this baby and nurse him for me, and I will pay you.” So the woman took the baby and nursed him. When the child grew older, she took him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son. She named him Moses,[b] saying, “I drew him out of the water.”
New Testament reading: John 2:1-12
On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.”
“Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My hour has not yet come.”
His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.”
They did so, and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”
What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him. After this he went down to Capernaum with his mother and brothers and his disciples. There they stayed for a few days.
Reading from Swedenborg: Heaven and Hell, #332
As soon as children are reawakened (which happens immediately after their death), they are taken to heaven and given to female angels who had loved children tenderly during their physical livs and had loved God as well. Since in this world they had loved all children with a kind of maternal ternderness, they accept these new ones as their own, and the children love them as their mothers as though this were inborn in them. Each such angel has as many children as her spiritual maternal nature wants.