A Service for Mother's Day by Rev. Phyllis L. Hubbell
Liturgy (Partial)
Ringing of the Bells
Welcome and Announcements
Meditation
Reading
Rev. Hubbell
Nikki Giovanni, “Let the Church Say Amen,” in My Soul is a Witness: African American Women, ed. Gloria Wade-Gayles. (Boston, Beacon Press, 1995), 180-84.
It’s strange . . . the reason why people do things. I was teaching a creative writing course this spring when I received the happy news that I would be honored with two honorary doctorates. . . . Bemoaning to my class that I would have to fly west then east, [for the ceremonies] . . . and I hate flying, I was nonetheless delighted about the degrees. ”But,” I concluded, . . . this is the price we pay for letting our mothers know we are o.k.” A couple of the young women looked at me with those blank expressions you occasionally get when one generation has no idea what the hell the other is talking about. “Well,” I responded to the looks, “It is all about our mothers, isn’t it? Don’t tell me,” I laughed, “you’re doing it for dear old dad. . . .” “I do it for myself,” one woman said almost . . ., well, . . . belligerently. . . . “Nobody does anything for themselves,” says I, as in Don’t Make Another Dumb Statement To the Class and Me This Afternoon. But others joined her. Yeah, came this chorus, I write for myself. I live for myself. Everything I do is self-motivated. . . . I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Who in their right mind does anything for themselves? Where is the challenge or pleasure in that? Doesn’t make any sense to me at all.
Sermon
Rev. Hubbell
Mother's Day stirs lots of emotions. Many of us have or had mothers we are happy to honor and remember. But we may also find memories of much-loved mothers no longer with us bringing tears as well. Others find Mother's Day inspires pain and anger, remembering our less than perfect mothers who left us in need of years of therapy. Mother's Day may find us alone without a call or card, text or e-mail, mourning our absent children. Mother's Day is breakfast in bed for some, but best gotten through as quickly as possible for others.
Nikki Giovanni finds it difficult to understand the women in her writing class who feel no responsibility to mothers who carried them in their bodies for nine months, who endured the pain of childbirth so that they might live, who raised them from birth in wealth or in poverty, in sickness and in health, when their children were at their most adorable and when they were in full meltdown mode. These young students feel no drive to please their mothers, win their freedom, redeem their humiliations, achieve their triumphs, add a postscript with a happy ending.
It is true that some women get pregnant without thought, seemingly give birth without effort, and show little concern for the miracle they have wrought. But whether intentionally or not, whether saints or sinners, all mothers give us one great gift. Life. Our challenge is to find meaning and purpose in this gift, regardless of the baggage that may have accompanied it.
Unitarian Universalist ministers have recently been struggling with the theological question “Whose are we?” Who or What gives our lives meaning and purpose? To Whom or to What do we give our lives? For Whom or for What will we sacrifice?
What will we make of our lives and why? What is the foundation of our lives, the ground of our very being? Whose are we? These are questions that all of us will answer, if only with the choices we make in our lives. Is it money? Power? Values? Family? God? Who or What called nineteenth century writer Julia Ward Howe, best known as the author of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”, to write and publish throughout her life despite her husband’s disapproval? Who or What motivated those brave Navy Seals on a mission with no certainty they would return alive. Who or What called Osama bin Laden away from a life of luxury to a life of destruction?
There are many answers to these questions, but today, Mother's Day, let us recognize that Giovanni’s remarks challenge us theologically. Unitarian Universalists recognize our interdependence. We have obligations to those who gave us life, and they, to us. Giovanni raises the question “why I am who I think I am.” But I also recognize in her reflections a serious response to our theological question. Whose are we? Giovanni responds, “Our mother's.”
Of course, she was speaking to an audience of women when she said that. Perhaps, had her audience included men she would have said our parents. Or grandparents. Or great, great grandparents. Had she been intentionally speaking theologically, she might have given a somewhat different response.
But what she says is still relevant. Giovanni maintains that we are inextricably bound to our mothers, just as our children are to us. The call of that relationship is to continue our mothers’ dreams that we can do better, we can be better. We are part of something that goes back before history, that will continue to the end of history. Our life challenge is to determine what part we will play in that unending link.
Let me end this sermon with Giovanni’s words.
We are somebody’s dream. Somebody, some woman, hundreds of years ago, dreamed that one day someone who looked like her would be able to . . . what? Eat in a restaurant, go to school, vote, not be cold, own herself, be paid for her labor. Who knows what she dreamed, but we do know that she dreamed. Had she not dreamed, we would not be here. We have no right to stop now. We have, in fact, every reason to continue the dreams, to stand before history’s docket and testify: I am here. And here I will stand.
Let the church say, “Amen.”