Mother's Day
By Charles Rush
May 9, 1999
Isaiah 66:12-13
For thus says the Lord As a mother comforts her child, so I will
comfort you
ese come from a collection entitled
You might be a Mother If
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You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure
they're equal.
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You want to take out a contract on the kid who broke your son's
favorite toy car and made him cry.
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Your child throws up and you catch it.
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Someone else's kid throws up at a birthday party and you keep on
eating.
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You can place any amount of food on a plate without anything touching.
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You cling to the high moral ground on toy weapons; your son bites his
toast into the shape of a gun and shoots his brother.
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You become a member of thee aquariums because your kid loves sharks.
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You use your own saliva to clean your child's face.
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You stop criticizing the way your mother raised you.
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You read that the average five-year-old asks 437 questions a day and
feel proud that your kid is "above average".
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You hire a sitter because you haven't been out with your husband
in ages, then spend half the night checking on the kids.
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You realize that you have just cut your husbands Veal Scallopini into
bite sized pieces for him.
I have a brief word for young mother's this morning as a
reminder. Perhaps you have left a basement full of laundry and a
pantry full of muddy boots and there is a make shift fort in front of
your garage. The baby is teething; the boys fought all the way to
church and your husband spent an hour on the phone this morning,
working on a deal.
It is a reminder from Erma Bombeck. There will come a day, she
says, when "you'll straighten up the boys' bedroom
neat and tidy: bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth,
toys displayed on their shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals
caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this
way." And it will.
You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't
been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and
you'll say "Now, there's a meal for company." And
you'll eat it alone.
You'll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone. No
dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?" And
you'll have it.
No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti. No more
bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms. No more gates to
stumble over at the top of the basement steps. No more clothespins
under the sofa. No more playpens to arrange a room around.
No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent. No more sand in the
sheets of movies in the bathroom. No more fake tattoos, rubber bands
for ponytails; tight boots or wet knotted shoestrings.
Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it. Washing clothes only once
a week. Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.
No PTA meetings. No car-pools. No blaring radios. No teenage
girls washing their hair at 11 p.m. Having a roll of Scotch tape with
tape actually on the roll.
Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and
library paste. No more sloppy oatmeal kisses. No more tooth fairy.
No giggles in the dark. No knees to heal. Only a voice crying,
‘Why don't you grow up? And the silence echoing ‘I
did.'
Erma even gets me a little misty. But I have to tell you, she
wrote this just before her grown children moved back home.
Erma is right about one thing. Kids are precious aren't
they? I read about one woman whose daughter just turned 11 months
old. Full of the awesome wonder of the new world, she began saying
‘Wow'. "She spoke this marvelous word for anything new
and wonderful to her, such as the assortment of toys she spotted in the
pediatrician's office or the gathering of clouds before a storm.
She whispered, "Oh Wow!" for things that really impressed
her, like a brisk breeze on her face or a flock of geese honking
overhead. Then there was the ultimate in "Wow," a mouthing
of the word with no sound, reserved for truly awesome events. These
included the sunset on a lake after a magnificent day and fireworks in
the summer sky.
One day when she was 14 months and they were cuddling in the bed on
an October day. Her daughter just said ‘happy.'
Another day, when she was in the midst of her terrible two's
she pointed to a beautiful model on the cover of a magazine and said
‘Is that you, Mom?'
And one day when she was three she put her hand on her
mother's arm and said "Mom, if you were a kid, we'd be
friends." ‘At moments like that' the woman writes
‘all I can say is ‘Oh, Wow'!
We come to say a word about Mother's as the divine presence.
You know, every week, we repeat a prayer that begins "Our Father,
who art in heaven". And the Apostle's Creed begins "I
believe in Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth."
But did you know that there is another tradition in the bible that
thinks of God as Mother? It is a minor tradition, to be sure, but it
is important nevertheless.
In the book
Children's Letters to God, one letter is from a girly named
Sylvia, who wrote: "Dear God,
Are boys better than girls? I know you are one, but try to be
fair." Sylvia.
I think most of us are like Sylvia. We think of God as Dad,
probably because Jesus referred to God as Abba, daddy.
I remember the first time I prayed "Oh God, our Mother, you
comfort us in our time of need like little children." I was in a
little Baptist church in rural Kentucky and one of the farmers came up
to me afterward and told me I should stick with the way the Bible talks
about God. I showed him our passage. He was dumbfounded.
It's not surprising. We didn't have these passages read
to us much when we were children.
There is a hymn of praise in Isaiah that is kind of startling. It
starts off with a military male image and then concludes with a
birthing image. It says "The Lord goes forth like a soldier, like
a warrior he stirs up his fury; he cries out, he shouts aloud, he show
himself mighty against his foes. [Then we have God speak] For a long
time, I have held my peace, I have kept still and restrained myself;
now I will cry out like a woman in labor; I will gasp and pant"
(Isa. 42:13-14).
Isaiah is totally comfortable with the image of God as a mighty
warrior and as a woman in labor, and Isaiah puts them side by side.
This passage reminds me of one of my early visits to the hospital to
visit a newborn baby. I met the dad in the hall, asked him how things
went, and he said ‘Great, it wasn't a difficult birth at
all.' ‘Wonderful', I said, ‘but take my advice on
one thing. Don't call it an easy birth in front of the
women.' It was new news for him. He is still married, still
learning.
And there is another balance of metaphors in Moses speech to Israel
in Deuteronomy 32: 18. He says "you deserted the Rock, who
fathered you; you forgot the God who have you birth.
The combination reminds us that god is not limited to male or
female imager. And it also suggests that God is a personal being, but
not a human being. Today Henry James Quinn was presented for baptism
by Jay and Amy Quinn, and just like this verse, mother and father stood
together and promised not to desert the god who fathered them or to
forget the God who have us all birth.
The prophet Hosea uses one image for god, seeing God as a parent
who teaches a child to walk, a parent who picks it up and bends down to
feed it. These are all the tasks that a mother performed in ancient
Hebrew society. God is agonizing over the prodigal child, but rejects
fierce anger in favor of warm and tender compassion, like a mother
waiting up and night in worry. "When Israel was a child, I loved
him, and out of Egypt I called my son. The more I called them, the
more they went from me Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk; I took
them up in my arms, but they did not know that I healed them. I led
them with chords of human kindness, with bands of love. I was to them
like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to feed them
My compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my fierce
anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no human, the
Holy one in your midst, and I will not come in wrath" (Hos.
11:1-4; 8-9).
Yet another prophet, Jeremiah, speaks of the love that God has for
us that comes from the womb. "Is Ephraim my dear son? Is he the
child I delight in? As often as I speak against him, I still remember
him. Therefore, my womb trembles for him. I will surely have motherly
compassion on him, says the Lord" (Jer.31:20).
These are not verses our children have memorized but perhaps they
should. Jesus knew them; in John's gospel he uses this image of
giving birth to describe the ordeal of the disciples as they were being
birthed into a new life. He said "You must be born again".
Jesus freely identified with a mother animal image, likening
himself to a mother hen who gathers her chicks under her wings. (Here
we mean chicks in the ancient barnyard usage, not the Men's locker
room understanding). He says "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, city that
kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often I
have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her
brood under her wings, but you were not willing". Jesus uses an
image of a comforting mother to describe his deep love for a lost
city.
Finally, there is the image of God in the Revelation of St. John
at the end of the bible. John pictures a new heaven and a new earth.
He sees the compassion of God at work. It is not an exclusively
motherly image, but it is an image every one of us associates with our
mother. I read from Rev. 21:3-4. "And God will be with them
fully; god will wipe away every tear from their eyes."
I think that is right. There is a strong sense in which our
Mother's are the presence of divine comfort for us. Or
conversely, for the vast majority of us, when we experience the
presence of divine comfort, we remember our Mother's- vaguely,
viscerally.
The psychologist Robert Coles wrote about the children that first
went through the experience of integration in the Deep South in the
early 60's. One woman, he interviewed, said this.
Every day when my daughter comes home from school, I can tell she
is anxious and worried. Those adults yelling hateful things at her on
her way to and from school. She would never show it in front of those
people but she was afraid and nervous. So everyday when she got home
from school, I would have her put away her books and things. And then
I would have her come over to me and sit on the couch and I would just
hold her there in my arms. After a bit she would just start to cry. I
would hold her and rock her and she would get through it.
And then it would make me angry and worried. I don't know how
I would have gotten through it, except every evening I would go over to
my Mother's house. We would share the goings on of the day, how
she was doing and what not. Then I would reach over and put my hand on
her arm. And she would put her hand over my hand. I would just stand
there for a moment and get through it.
At some point I began to realize that my daughter was leaning on
me, I was leaning on my Mother, and she was leaning on Jesus.
That's where we got the strength. My mother was Jesus for me and
I was Jesus for my daughter.
That's it in a nutshell. I don't know anybody, how old,
how independent and tough, that doesn't need a little divine
mothering. I don't know anybody, however young and naïve,
that can't pass on a little divine compassion to others. I hope
you get to be part of the blessing somehow, someway.
Amen.
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