Wrestling with Mothers Day

As a preacher and worship planner, Mothers Day can be difficult for lots of reasons. In brief:

• There are those for whom the day is extremely important, because it is a day of celebration. 
• There are those for whom the day is extremely important, because it is a day of grief and sadness.
• There are those for whom the day has very little meaning, for a variety of reasons. 

This post doesn't really engage  the debate as to whether to celebrate the day in the liturgy or not. Instead, it is a story that illustrates both the beauty and profound sadness of the day.

On facebook we were discussing times that we had been shown unexpected kindness, and this experience was shared with me by Mary Miller:

I hate mother's day. I really do.  

Before my Mom came to live with us, I would go camping and eat a whole cake, hiding in the woods on that day. So it is a tough day for me. But for the sake of my Mom, I have to tolerate it.  

A few years ago, I was at church on Mother's Day with my Mom and my husband. We went to the service which is entirely in Spanish, because it is our favorite service.  

At some point, the pastor asked the Mothers to stand up. My Mother stood up. I never had children (I'm in my 50's), so of course I didn't stand up when all the other women did.  

In front of us was sat a Hispanic woman probably in her mid to late 30's with a baby less than a year old. It was obviously her first Mother's Day. I had never seen her in church before. She noticed that I didn't stand up.  

After the stand-up and applause for Moms, this stranger turned around and handed me her baby. She let me hold the baby until after Communion. I can still smell his little head.  

The woman did not speak English. I have no idea if she was a documented immigrant or not. We had nothing in common (except that it took her a while (into her 30's) to have a child).
This was the single kindest act anyone has ever done for me. I will never forget it.

(Image:Madonna von der Straße, Roberto Feruzzi. Public Domain. Source) 

Seen & Not Heard

Here's my frustration: I want to encourage the church. I want to point out all of the things that are going great, all the things that we are doing right. I want to praise the way we are bringing Christ into the world. But.

But sometimes, the church is just ridiculous. And to be clear, I am not talking about the congregation where I serve, although we have our moments, too. I am talking about the church - all of us - the body of Christ. 

In almost every church I that I have had any sort of contact with, I have heard some variation on the same concern: "There aren't enough children. We need more kids in Sunday School. The Youth Group is too small." Sound familiar? Church councils sit around, thinking of what the pastor needs to do to get kids in church. The older members complain about parents who don't bring their kids to church. We talk about all sorts of things ... none of which is actually the problem.

Want to know the problem? Here it is, in a nutshell. A few weeks ago, I walked into a church to preach and saw this sign:

I don't post this to shame this one congregation. The truth is that many congregations, without being as explicit about it, still have this attitude lurking under the surface. The people who complain about the kids who talk during the sermon. The stares we give to the parents of fidgety children. We want kids in the church, but "Children should be seen and not heard" ... and we aren't too sure that they should be seen.

Come on, church! We can do better!

We wonder why our churches are graying. We wonder why our Sunday School rooms sit empty. We wonder what happened to all the families with young children. It's really simple: they got the message. They heard us loud and clear.

We need worship services where children are free to be ... well, children. That means sometimes they will be loud, sometimes they will need to move around and play and fidget. Because that is what children do.

We need churches where parents feel comfortable coming with their little ones; not ashamed or nervous. 

If we are going to have churches that have children in them, then those children and their parents should be made to feel welcome. Totally and completely welcome, just as they are. 

Let's be clear: if we don't change this, there will not be a church in a generation. 

God is a Single Parent

The other day, I found myself talking with a friend about what it’s like to be a divorced parent. I explained that when my daughter and I play monsters, she's the baby-monster and I’m the daddy-monster; but when we play dolls, I’m the mommy-doll while she’s the baby-doll. Yes, I’m the fixer of broken things in our house, but I’m also the painter of fingernails and the braider of hair. In many ways, single parents are called to provide both motherly and fatherly love. And in families with divorced parents, both mothers and fathers are called to be both things when the beloved child is in their home.

While talking about this with my friend it occurred to me: God is a single parent.

Spend any time at all in the world of preachers and lovers of theology, and you’ll encounter debate over images & language we use to speak of God. On one side stand those who argue it’s only appropriate to use male imagery to talk about God -- God as Father, male pronouns, etc. On the other side stand those who argue for female imagery -- God as Mother, female pronouns, etc. Between either side is a spectrum of people trying to discern how to faithfully speak about God with images and language that will appeal to modern Christians.

Have we missed the point?

Study the images, metaphors, analogies, and language used in Scripture to describe God and what’s revealed is how God loves us like a parent loves a child. In one passage we hear about God as a father looking after his wayward children. In another, we hear about God as a mother nurturing her children. And if that’s the point, then perhaps neither "God as mother" nor "God as father" alone will get us where we need to be. Perhaps what we really need is a theology of God’s love as single parent!

As a divorced parent, my job is to provide my daughter with both fatherly and motherly love when she’s in our home (just as I know her mother provides both for her in theirs). Similarly, God's love is at times best expressed with words and images traditionally associated with a paternal love and care; at others with words and images traditionally associated with maternal love and care. It is not a case of having to choose between one or the other. Or, one could use an image that encompasses both ways of loving: God is a single parent.

In the world of single parents, divorced parents, merged families, and blended families, we’re discovering new ways to provide children with the love they need and deserve. There’s no longer only one way to be a family, nor only one way to love a child. Perhaps in these wonderful expressions of family we can find new ways to speak of God’s love for the world.

God is Dead!

Like PKs everywhere, my daughter spends a significant amount of time in the church building: in the sanctuary, in the classrooms and meeting rooms, and of course, in Daddy's office. I remember those days, being in Dad's office at the church. I knew where everything was - what pictures he had on the wall, what pieces of artwork he had around. I knew that office like it was just another room in my home. Which is why I am surprised when,  from time to time, my daughter notices something in my office for the first time - as she did Tuesday evening while I was getting prepared for our service of prayer and conversation.

I was sitting at my desk, hastily reading a few last minute things to help me get my thoughts together for the service. My three year old was playing with the stash of toys that stay in my office for just such an occasion. And then, from behind me I heard her declare, "God is dead."

This is not exactly what your pastor wants to hear his child proclaim, no matter what her age. But I've been to this rodeo before, and I knew that the worst thing I could do was over-react. Maybe I misheard her. Maybe she was talking about something else. Maybe her words got jumbled, as often happens for three year olds. So I asked, "What was that?"  She walked over to me, "Is God dead, Daddy?"

Ok, less of a proclamation, more of a question. "What do you mean?" She crawled into my lap as a I turned around in my desk chair. And then she pointed to the crucifix that hangs on my office wall, "Is God dead, Daddy?"

Ah, now this makes sense. She is a good Lutheran, who understands Good Friday. This wasn't a crisis of faith in my toddler, it was a teaching opportunity. And so, all rush to prepare for the service stopped. Now was the time to stop everything, and answer her questions. We talked about Good Friday, and the fact that Jesus died on the cross, and that was sad. And then we talked about Easter, and how Jesus rose again, lives forever, and we don't have to be sad any more. We ended our discussion with a competition to see who could shout "Alleluia!" the loudest as we celebrated the fact that Jesus is risen.

The point of this is not that my daughter is amazing (although she is - just ask me sometime and I'll tell you all about how amazing she is). No, the point is the importance for parents to talk with their children about faith. Keep objects of faith around the house - crosses, Bibles, artwork. Bring your children to church to see the people gathering and hear the stories. Do those things, live your faith, and they will ask you about it.

Just like grown-ups, children are trying to make sense of their world. The first place children are going to turn with their questions is to mom and dad. Make the time to answer those questions. If you do not - if you are too busy to answer their questions, if the questions make you uncomfortable - then your children will learn the lesson: there is not enough time for faith, and God is not something we talk about. And, well, a faith not talked about will die out and not be passed on to a new generation. A God not talked about from generation to generation may as well be dead.

Is God dead? Not in my house.