Mothering is a verb

This is the text of a 60 second sermon for BBC Radio Surrey/Sussex. In that programme I also spoke to Emily Jeffery about some of the pressures and complexities of Mothering Sunday - for those with difficult relationships or who mourn their mother; and those who aren't mothers themselves. 

As a single woman, who is also a priest, I sometimes struggle with the implicit/explicit assumptions that I'm some how less 'mature' as a Christian or as a church leader because I'm a non-parent. That said, if 'mothering' is verb; perhaps we can extend our vision of kinship throughout the year - enabling us to be more sensitive on this particular Sunday.

Last week, an email arrived from a well known 'fruity' tech company inviting me to ‘Celebrate mum’ with their branded gifts’. 

The commercial world sets expectations for Mothering Sunday based on chocolates, flowers, gifts and promotions for afternoon tea or Sunday lunch.

The reality is more complex. By their presence or absence, mothers shape us. Whether or not we are mothers, we face spoken and unspoken assumptions, pressures and judgements. 

Today honours those who have nurtured and supported us - mothers perhaps, but not exclusively so; perhaps we now care for them in frailty and age.

Today we remember that mothering is a verb: it’s part of the character of God which we can reflect in our love of others, regardless of age/gender. 

The biblical narrative helps us understand that: with stories of Moses’ adoption, Hannah’s longing and Rachel’s tears; with tributes to the teaching and encouragement of Lois, Eunice and Barnabas. 

We are a family in Jesus Christ: who said to Mary and the beloved disciple: Behold your mother; behold your Son.  May the Spirit strengthen our corporate mothering in love, wisdom, encouragement and care.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Mothering: joy and sorrow

Preaching on Mothering Sunday is always a challenge: it's an opportunity to show love an appreciation to our own mothers but it's become more complicated than that. There's commercial pressure and a weight of expectation to be a perfect mum; for some there's the grief and sadness of  being chlidless or losing a mother; the conflicting emotions of fractured relationships or the death of a child.  I don't know if being single and turning 40 has made it harder (personally) this year. I don't know if being a priest, but not a wife and parent, is something which disrupts or enriches langague of mohterhood. Does it make it more accessible to the whole people of God?  We live with all sorts of assumptions about choice, gift, vocation and blessing... and there aren't easy answers. Only perhaps the texts I tried to pay attention to this morning (1 Samuel 1:20-end  & John 19:25b-27).

"Once upon a time..."

So begins Mothering Sunday, Graham Swift's recently published novella. It imitates the dynamics of a fairytale. It's a story of poverty and transformation: an infant abandoned on the steps of an orphanage; a life of service; the possibility of romance and tragedy.

Jane Fairchild, the 22 year-old protagonist, says 'what was a maid to do with her time, released for the day on Mothering Sunday, when she had no home to go to?'

Her story is set in 1924 - only a few years after Constance Smith, a High Church Anglican, published the booklet The Revival of Mothering Sunday. She reconnected the ancient traditions such as simnel cake to the American campaign for a day in praise of mothers, but rooted both in the church's liturgy.

Mothering Sunday or Mother's Day: perhaps the two have always had a complex social, cultural and religious interconnection. Constance's idea caught hold at a time of loss for many mothers following the Great War.

Loss and unknown origins are themes for Swift too. He explores the stories we inherit and the stories we imagine; the stories we read and those we tell:  'Could her mother have known', she ponders, 'making her dreadful choice, how she had blessed her?

Today calls to mind our stories: the paths not trodden and the unfulfilled longings; a tangle of memories and hopes; simple joys and unexpected blessing; the  responsibilities and expectations of parenthood. Stories of those who nourish us - mothers perhaps, but not exclusively so. Those who're frail, those we miss.

In the honesty of honouring or grieving for mothers, we remember that mothering is part of identity of the whole people of God.

Hannah - Chris Gollon (2013) 

Biblical stories of mothering are complex. Today we encounter Hannah nursing her child.  Like many women, she longed for motherhood.  A year or so earlier, she'd uttered wordless prayers of distress in the Temple.  Her husband loved her; others scorned her childlessness. In the presence of God she poured out her soul - her hopes and anxieties.

Perhaps we think it odd that Hannah gives up her son, Samuel. He is fruit of love and an answer to prayer - and yet she dedicates him to the Lord. She lets go of him - entrusting him to the watchful eye of an ageing priest called Eli.

I would encourage you to read more of Hannah's story - her ongoing praises and prayers; her love of her first born and her subsequent children. I would encourage you to read a little more about Samuel too.  He is faithful to Eli, like an adopted son or apprentice; he's faithful to God too. As Eli's eyesight fails, as the vision of God's people wavers, it's this young boy who hears God's call. He comes a trust-worthy prophet.

Hannah teaches us a great deal about the gift and cost of motherhood: the necessary letting go in love, that those who are born might take risks in discovering their calling.

Yesterday, at Diocesan Synod both Bishop Andrew and Canon Hazel spoke about the vocation of the whole people of God.  For all of us, it begins  with our attention to God in prayer and worship; for all of us, it is ignited by allowing the stories of God to shape us.

For all of us, it is about keeping the cross as our focal point, as Solomon put it in confirmation class yesterday. He, Henry, Olivia, Hugh and Josh talked about that being the foundation of our faith; a source of peace and praise; the assurance that we're not alone; the sign of our salvation.  The cross is our hope. It is  sign that nothing can separate us from that love.

As we celebrate Mothering Sunday, we are drawn into the mystery of that love.  Jean Vanier wrote of Jesus as:   'The naked king: stripped of power, mobility and dignity, to reveal the truth of love in an offering of self....  This naked man, condemned to death, is the Word of God made flesh who liberates us from all the  chaos inside and around us.'

Today we stand with Mary.

Like Hannah, Mary is an unexpected mother. Like Hannah, Mary praised God with a vision of justice and mercy. Like Hannah, Mary presented her Son in the Temple.

For Mary, there was a life time of letting go of him.  And she stands there now, with the other women, near the cross.

Sutdy (I) for Mary at the Base of the Cross - Chris Gollon (2015) 

She is there with the beloved disciple, who takes her into his home; into his heart.  This brief exchange in the midst of agony and death could be seen as an act of practical kindness; a son securing his mother's future.

It is far more radical.

On the cross, Jesus draws humanity to himself; that is the work that glorifies his Father; now it is nearing completion.  This final gesture, says Vanier,  is to bring Mary and John 'into oneness as he and the Father are one, to create a covenant of love between them.'

This covenantal bond is life-giving. In the face of death, Mary is to be mother to all beloved disciples; bearing Jesus to them that they may share in that mutual indwelling. He in us, we in him.

Likewise, the disciple  is to become a son to Mary; to bear Jesus to her.  This reciprocity is the life the church is called to.  It is the unity of love and communion.  We are one in Christ; we are united in him; we are members one with another.

This is our family.

We are gathered together around one table. We are not bound by biological kinship; but by the body and blood of Jesus Christ. We are united in unity of love, communion and blessing into which Mary and the Beloved Disciple stand. Behold  your  mother; behold your Son.

That is how we are to see each other - as family; a spacious community where we can grow in love, learning, care and trust.

The Eucharist is a place of challenge and blessing, where all find a home this Mothering Sunday. It is a place where we foster a culture of vocation; where God's Spirit is poured on his holy people.

This Mothering Sunday, along our confirmation candidates, let's pray for the fruit of the Spirit: for peace in anxiety; patience in our families; a little more joy, gentleness or self-control.

Let us pray for prophets who'll proclaim God's Kingdom and renew our as civil servants, researchers or accountants.

Let us pray for pastors in church, social care and volunteering.

Let us pray for evangelists sharing the good news to young and old, rich and poor.

Let us pray for apostles immersed in the world of music, commerce or education.

May we discern a calls both to ordination or leadership in the world in our midst.

As we pray for the deepening of our kinship in Christ, what is God calling you to do in his name?

This is no 'once upon at time'.  Today, we are all called, in the power of the Spirit to bear witness to the one who reveals the reconciling love of God, Jesus Christ.

©  Julie Gittoes 2016

Mothering: pierced hearts

The reality of family life is complex: it’s a complexity reflected in Malcolm Guite’s sonnet written with Mothering Sunday in mind. We do, in his words, give thanks for those who loved and laboured for so long, who brought us, through that labour, to fruition to the place where we belong. He is also mindful of those single mothers forced onto the edge whose work the world has overlooked, neglected, invisible to wealth and privilege, but in whose lives the kingdom is reflected.

He also goes on to challenge us, as member of the body of Christ, to work for that Kingdom as we embrace young and old regardless of marital or parental status:  Now into Christ our mother church we bring them, who shares with them the birth-pangs of His Kingdom.

Luke's Gospel narrative also presents us with a poignant and moving moment which addresses our human conidtion.  It is one which reveals Mary the suffering mother who is forever alongside her son.  His death is implicitly yet cryptically foretold from the start by Simeon.

We are perhaps familiar with the words of the Nunc Dimittis.   Simeon faces his old age and death knowing that God's promise has been fufilled; he can now depart in peace.  As he holds in his arms the infant who brings light, glory and revelation to his people, Israel, and to all nations.   He recognises the universal scope of this redemptive love.

Yet he also foresaw  the cost of this love for mother and son: This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed - and a sword will pierce your own soul too.

These ominous lines evoke the image of the pieta – the grieving mother cradling her adult child.  The infant who'd been nursed at her breast and who'd settled sleepily in her lap, now lies lifeless. His adult body is bruised and pierced; in grief beyond words her she stays with him.  Not only does that resonate painfully with our experience of loving and letting go, but it also reflects the depth of God’s love for us.

Pieta (Diptych)

Chris Gollon 2013

It is sobering reading for Mothering Sunday.  It foreshadows Jesus' suffering and death; it expresses the cost of love which liberates us from our pride, selfishness and human tendency to get things wrong. Jesus bears the cost and restores our dignity that we may share his risen life.

We pray for God’s love and grace to be poured out on those with whom we share our lives, that  in the power of the Spirit we may be formed into a new community.  As human beings our parents and siblings shape us  – family traits, particular gifts, a given set of relationships; there is also a letting go to explore and become who they are. Sometimes that will bring surprise and disappointment.

We have the capacity to grow through our failures; we are also challenged as we pursue our passions and embrace God’s purposes for us.

We hope for life in all its fullness; we pray for the fruits of the Spirit – in love, joy, patience, gentleness, generosity and self-control. Whatever we personally long for, give thanks for, or mourn the loss of, today is saying something profound to each one of us.  In order to  flourish we need the loving attention and encouragement of those with whom we live and worship and work.

We are to be mindful therefore of how we relate to one another – what we say, how we say it; what we are prepared to stand up for – or pass by. Together we learn, love and let go.  Together we are freed from guilt and pain of our “if onlys”; together we delight in human flourishing and tenderness; together we bear heartache and joy.  Together we face our isolation.   To speak of  “Mother Church” is a mothering Church. “Mother Church” means each one of us living as disciples with and for one another.

Jesus was God with us: in birth, in life and in death. His mother too will bear the suffering and pain in an intensely intimate way.  Yet it is in his death on the cross, that love is most fully shown in self-lessness and self-giving.  Only that generosity can bring forgiveness and healing and renewed hope. Indeed, there springs up for us new life.

The whole people of God, the Body of Christ, share this vocation to nurture fatih. We are, in our differences, members of one community – a place of mutual accountability; where our human capacity to forgive, to exercise patience, to show compassion are stretched by God’s grace.   Jesus was able to show love without limits; his mother witnessed the cost of that. We are to demonstrate to the world the breadth and depth of that love: helping others to reach their potential; facing disappointment; showing compassion; offering encouragement; sharing wisdom.

The Church is a  community defined by and shaped by God's love : sharing with one another the burdens of care and nurture, the joys and pressures of life. That is the essence of “mothering”.
Whatever our experience of mothers, whatever our disappointments and hopes for motherhood, we are embraced moment by moment  by the generous and transforming  love of God.    Through us, that same love pours out into the world.  We share the burdens, heart breaks, joys and hopes for transformation in all that we do and are. As individuals, and as a community, we all share the birth pangs of God’s Kingdom.

© 2015 Julie Gittoes

Mothering: deepest longings

For weeks now card shops have been swathed in wall to wall pinkness: of cards for mum, and mummy and mother.  We have as individuals, and as a society, a complex relationship to mothers and motherhood.  Our own experience of motherhood and mothers means that today we bring thanks, sadness, worries, guilt, confusion and grief.  In the media mothers are categorised as working, single, older: each facing criticism and encouragement by turn.  We stereotype the yummy mummy as the latte drinking epitome of ambitious parenting; and so equate motherhood with womanhood that the childless feel pilloried too.

How can we speak about Mothering Sunday in such a way that it transforms the commercial and social pressures around “Mother’s Day”?  Can we express and embrace a richer, more dynamic and corporate vision around “mothering”? In order to do this, we don't refer to an abstract notion of “Mother Church”; but by using our gifts in nurturing one another.

The criticisms leveled at modern parenting and the romaticisation of motherhood are relativised by our personal reflections: today some of us are mourning the loss of a mother whist others will be facing childbirth; a couple will learn that they'll be childless; a single parent might be wrestling with an estranged child.

Day by day women, and men, will utter the agonising silent prayer of desperate longing for children - embodied in Hannah's story.  Chris Gollon's painting captures her heart break and her fervant hope. The fullness of her womanhood is revealed as she carries within herself the instinct to nurture life; as her love overflows seeking acceptance and peace with whatever will be.

Hannah 

Chris Gollon 2013

The tears she sheds and the words forming on her lips are not alien to us.  In the face of ageing, fertility treatment, singleness, adoption, illness, relationship break down and our own mortality - the mortality of our children - we struggle to articulate our deepest longings.  Even as our hearts breaks we name all too starkly our deepest fears; we grasp for hope in the midst of desolation.  We learn that we have to let go; we are unable to rely on our own resources.  Our cries don't  reverberate in a void; they batter the heart of a loving God.  Our wordless petitioning somehow - unexpectedly or incrementally, or even dramatically - changes us. Is 'mothering' in part the creation of a capacity to love and give, to be resilent and altruistic in the face of adversity?

The biblical narrative paints an honest and complex picture – not just of being a mum, but of the joy and cost of love, and of the purpose and potential of our own lives.  It reflects the gift of new life and the challenge of letting go.  It’s all a very long way from the overwhelming pinkness of the card industry; it presents a challenge to how we live together in community, in fellowship. By drawing on biblical texts, we are lead into thinking about love that is committed and passionate. It's a ove that calls us into unexpected relationships, that is resilient and altruistic, that faces risk and uncertainty, that is consistent in bearing joys and pain.

The opening chapters of Exodus present a tableaux of realistic and resourceful females.  The bonds between mother and child, child and sister, lead to bold and imaginative action. Pharaoh had decreed that Hebrew boys were to be killed: a ruler's fear threatened human flourishing.  So when Moses was born, his mother faced a dreadful moment of letting go in order to preserve his life.  Human sympathy is evoked by a helpless baby.

So when the Pharaoh’s daughter discovers the child, she deliberately overlooks the facts both that he is ‘foreign’ and that helping the child would involve disobeying her father’s decree.  Moses' sister has watched and waiting; she negotiates a continuation of maternal nurturing in a palace removed from the child’s home. There is risk on both sides; there is longing that this child should grow and flourish. God works through the emotions and determined and resourceful actions of women.  Moses is let go – and found and raised in a context far removed from his own roots; yet he becomes the leader and liberator of his people.  For all his temperamental flaws, God is able to work through him; just as God works through us, in our vulnerabilities, gifts and relationships.

God's Spirit moves through our wordless cries and inarticulate longings, weaving the threads of our life together and bearing our sorrows. God's love is made manifest to us in the risky and compassionate action of others as they reach out to us.  We all share in this generative activity of 'mothering': praying and consoling in heart break; delighting in and nurturing others; bringing passion and resourcefulness, imagination and commitment to our relationships. Such mothering transcends bonds of kinship and extends the tapestry of God's Kingdom.

© 2015 Julie Gittoes