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Greet Herodion, my relative. Greet
those in the household of Narcissus who are in the Lord.
Greet Tryphena and Tryphosa, those women who work hard in
the Lord. Greet my dear friend Persis, another woman who has
worked very hard in the Lord. Greet Rufus, chosen in the
Lord, and his mother, who has been a mother to me, too.
“Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord, and his
mother, who has been a mother to me, too.”
I love that little line from the end of
Paul’s letter to Rome. “Hey, if you see Rufus, tell him hey
from me. And if you see his mom, make sure you give her a
big hug. I love that woman.” Makes you wish you knew Rufus’
mom, doesn’t it? Paul says he thought of Rufus’ mom like his
own. Was it because she wrote Paul encouraging notes while
he was on the road? “Hey, keep up the good work! We’re
praying for you!” Maybe she sent Paul care packages full of
his favorite cookies and the current issue of Sports
Illustrated. Maybe Paul said this because of the times
he couldn’t talk to his own mother about his struggles and
dreams, but he could talk with Rufus’ mom. Maybe it was
because Rufus’ mom gave the best hugs. Or maybe it was
because when Paul’s mother died, it was Rufus’ mom who kind
of filled in, making sure that birthday cards still arrived
in the mailbox. Who knows, really? The scriptures don’t tell
us. They just say that Rufus’ mom was Paul’s “other
mother.”
“Other mothers”—the women in our lives
who did not give birth to us, but who gave us their devotion
anyway. I don’t know about you, but I have had plenty of
“other mothers”—women who helped to mold me, shape me, and
love me into the person I am today. We all have “other
mothers.” We might call them our second mom or our bonus
mom, but truth be told, it doesn’t matter what we call them
as long as we can call them when we’re in need or in
hysterics or in love. Our “other mothers” might be a
neighbor, a godmother, an aunt, a sister, a teacher, a
pastor or a family friend. Some “other mothers” are
matchmakers, others mischief makers. Some have needed only a
moment or a single act to shape our lives, while others have
been a quiet, gentle presence over the long haul. Like Paul,
we are blessed to have our “other mothers.”
This is Mother’s Day, the day set aside
to honor our biological moms with cards and candy, flowers
and fragrances, balloons and brunch. All the praise and
honor heaped upon the women who carried us in their wombs is
much deserved, for without them, we wouldn’t be here. But
for us, the Church, it is the remembrance and the inclusion
of our “other mothers” in the celebrations of this day that
give this moment its deepest and truest significance. For as
Christians, we know that parenting is as much communal as it
is biological. Today we remember that when we joined the
church, whether it was through baptism, profession of faith
or simply by hanging around long enough that it felt like
home, we became members of a new family. Through our
connection to the church, we suddenly had a whole new bunch
of brothers and sisters, aunties and uncles, grandmothers
and grandfathers—and yes, we found that we had other mothers
and fathers: people, usually a generation or so older, whose
affection was unconditional and unflinching; mother and
father figures who offered counsel and consolation.
Many of us have found our “other mothers”
here at this church in people like Ruth Peck, Nancy Austin,
Ellen Percy and Ann Van Deusen. Some of our youth have found
their “other mothers” in people like Bridget Nelson, Heather
McNutt, Wendy Chapmoux and Julie Work. Just watch what
happens each week when our children go off to their Kids
Alive class—they run into the arms of dedicated and loving
women like Ann Tenniswood, Robyn Adams, Katrina Vanerwoude
and Amy Bouque. I can tell you that for the forty minutes
they are in their class, these women love your kids like
they are their own. They become their “other mothers.”
It is true, it does take a village to
raise a child. So on this Sunday, it is important that we
stretch the boundaries of Mother’s Day to include all of the
women—all of the “other mothers”—who have made differences
in our lives. I think this is especially important because
for some, Mother’s Day is a difficult day. For some, maybe
even for many, this day brings up the pain of the broken or
stressful relationships they have with their moms or their
children. For some, this brings to the surface the pain of
mothers who have died. There are those who never knew their
birth moms. For others, this day is difficult because they
have wished to be parents but cannot be. And for others,
Mother’s Day brings acutely to mind the loss of children to
death, miscarriage and abortion. That is why we celebrate
Mother’s Day here in the broadest sense, because through the
church, we have been given the opportunity to find “other
mothers” and be “other mothers” in ways that the
circumstances and tragedies of life have not always
provided.
The author of Hebrews says that “we are
surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses”—a community
of people both past and present who serve as guides for how
to live our lives faithfully. Tonight, let us celebrate some
of the women who make up this great cloud of witnesses—the
women who are truly the mothers of our faith.
The first of our “other mothers” is
Sarah. In the biblical literature, Sarah was literally the
mother of the faith. God told her and her husband, Abraham,
that through them God would create an entire nation of holy
people—people who would show the world what it meant to live
as God intended people to live. It would be from the womb of
Sarah that these people would be born.
This sounded like a great idea, an
exciting prospect to be sure, especially since both Abraham
and Sarah were so young when God made this promise to them.
But there was a problem. God didn’t seem to keep his end of
the bargain. Forty years passed. Fifty years passed. Sixty
years passed, and nothing. No baby anywhere, and with no
baby, there could be no future for this promise God had made
to them. That was true until, at the ripe old age of ninety,
God made good on the promise and a child was on the way.
Here is how the book of Genesis describes the scene:
Then the Lord said, “I will surely return
to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will
have a son.”
Now Sarah was listening at the entrance
to the tent, which was behind him. Abraham and Sarah were
already old and well advanced in years, and Sarah was past
the age of childbearing. So Sarah laughed to herself as she
thought, “After I am worn out and my master is old, will I
now have this pleasure?”
And Sarah laughed. I love that line of
scripture. Sarah laughed. It tells us so much about this
mother of faith. She knew how to laugh. That is part of the
legacy she has left for us—laughter. And what would life be
without some laughter? I love what Jean Houston says. She
says that, “at the height of laughter, the universe is flung
into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities.”
Tonight, let us give thanks to the women
in our lives who taught us to laugh, the ones who showed us
how to have fun and goof off. Let us give thanks for the
women in our lives who were the pranksters and jokesters,
the ones who reminded us that life is too short to take
ourselves too seriously. Tonight we honor all the Sarahs of
our lives—the women who taught us that sometimes life is a
laughing matter. We thank God for those mothers of our faith
who taught us how to laugh.
The next mother of our faith we want to
remember is Rachel. Rachel is another of the great
matriarchs of the Bible, and while it is Sarah who teaches
us to laugh, it is Rachel who teaches us to cry. Just as
that line from Genesis paints this great picture of laughing
Sarah, there is a line from the prophet Jeremiah that paints
a powerful and poignant picture of Rachel. It reads: “A
voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel
weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted,
because her children are no more.”
Rachel cries. She weeps. She wails. But
her tears are not sentimental tears. They are not sad tears.
Rachel cries angry tears. She cries because of the wrong
that has been done to her children. Her tears demand that
the right thing be done. Her tears demand action. They
demand justice on behalf of the children. And here is the
deal. The children she cries for are not her biological
children. No, the children she cries for are all the
children who die too young—who die because there is not
enough food to eat, who die because violence has devastated
their homeland. She cries as the voice of those who cannot
speak for themselves. She becomes the cry of the forgotten
ones.
Tonight, let us give thanks to the women
in our lives who taught us to cry out for what is right,
the ones who showed us how to raise our voices and take a
stand. Let us give thanks for the women in our lives who
were the activists and advocates, the ones who reminded us
that life is too short to not care about someone other than
ourselves. Tonight we honor all the Rachels of our lives—the
women who taught us that sometimes you have to cry until
your voice is heard. We thank God for those mothers of our
faith who taught us how to cry.
Any recognition of our biblical mothers
would be incomplete without Mary, the mother of Jesus. It
is Mary who God taps on the shoulder to give birth to a most
unlikely plan to save the world. It is through Mary that
God will carry a new promise to the world. She will bring
God into the world.
But here is the thing about Mary. She was
the most unlikely candidate for the task. She was too young.
She was too poor. She was too inexperienced. She had no
power. She had no status. There was no way she was up to the
task God was asking her to undertake. There had to be a
better candidate. But here is how Mary responds. She says:
“I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.”
Mary believed. When the world said no, Mary trusted that God
would say yes. She knew that when it comes to God, there is
so much more going on than ever meets the eye. She knew that
God’s ways are seldom the world’s ways, and more often than
not, God uses surprising ways and unexpected people to bring
transformation to the world.
Tonight, let us give thanks to the women
in our lives who taught us to believe—the ones who showed us
how to dream impossible dreams, those women who told us that
we could be anything we wanted to be and believed that God
wasn’t finished with us yet. Let us give thanks for the
women in our lives who were the dreamers and visionaries,
the ones who reminded us that life is too short to not get
caught up in something bigger than ourselves. Tonight we
honor all the Marys of our lives—the women who taught us
that sometimes God says yes when the world says no. We thank
God for those mothers of our faith who dared us to dream and
taught us to believe.
These are just three of our “other
mothers”—the women who make up the cloud of witnesses that
surrounds us. But there is one more mother I want to call to
your attention today. She is not a biblical woman but a
modern mother, living in our midst, who has taught me much
about what it means to be a person of faith. She is the
mother of one Casey John Nelson. She is my wife, Bridget. I
am an admirer, and big fan, of her work. Over these past
eleven months, she has been writing about her experiences as
a new mom on her blog entitled “The Preacher’s Kid.” A few
days ago, this is what she wrote:
On the Today Show a few days back,
two women were interviewed about their new book coming out
about motherhood. They talked about interviewing hundreds of
moms, and some of the things that were consistent among
them. They said that when asked, “How is motherhood going
for you?”, all of the moms had good things to say—for 22
minutes. Twenty-two minutes of how neat their kids are, how
wonderful their husband is, how much they love their
community and friends, and all the great things their super
sweet and wonderful kids can do.
They said it was actually a little
bizarre that, in so many interviews, after 22 minutes, many
women broke into tears and shared that they were lonely at
home, that they weren’t organized enough or strong enough to
keep kids in a routine or to have consequences for
misbehavior. Basically they were afraid that they weren’t
good enough. Apparently this fear is pretty universal and
takes about 22 minutes to tap into.
I would imagine I am no exception, and I
thought about this after re-reading our last post.
Everything in that post is true, and Casey is a great kid,
but I could also do a whole post about the stuff I am not
getting done, all the laundry that’s piling up, or how some
days since my semester ended have felt really long. So, is
it about what we focus on, or is it a conscious attempt to
sound good so everyone thinks we are uber-mom? The authors
were not sure either, but they did feel after all the
interviews and their own experiences as moms that there
really is a pressure on parents to have the perfect kids and
the perfect life. Moms tend to internalize this and become
their own worst critic.
I am going to continue to focus on the
positive, but also be honest about the struggles of
parenting. I am going to start right now. I posted the
delightful picture of Casey at eleven months yesterday. This
took three different sittings to get, and that was one of a
few pictures he was able to sit still for (note the book as
a trick prop). Here is what the other pictures look like… it
feels good to share :)
We also want to thank God for the women
in our lives who remind us that it is okay to be human, that
we are not prefect, and that all we can do is try our best,
be honest and ask for the help we need.
Tonight we give thanks for all of our
“other mothers”—all of the women who taught us to laugh and
cry and believe and dream and that being human is all we
will ever be. We thank God for each of them.
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