You don’t need me to tell you that Mother’s Day is complicated for many. A two-second pause to contemplate the people in your life for whom the holiday might be painful would yield evidence enough that the day (and the church-backed events that it often brings) can be tricky. Instead, maybe we can ask why is that so?

My hunch is that the labyrinth of emotions accompanying this holiday has to do with the elevation and highlighting of a very specific relationship. And relationships are layered, sometimes strained, always unique. They are formed between people, and no two people are alike. A day to “celebrate mothers” feels not altogether different from declaring a day to “celebrate health.” Can you imagine? The pain that would come from those whose bodies have received diagnoses? From those who have learned from their faith communities to not trust their physical selves? From those trapped inside of addiction, or those raging against the institutions that compromise our wellness, or those who have been traumatized by diet culture? Health is complicated because it has to do with a relationship between a person and their body. “Celebrating health” would be an oversimplification of such a complex human experience.

So too with mothers.

Here’s a Mother’s Day litany that is also simplified for such vastly different connections and experiences that surround us. But, I hope it makes a little more room for a few more people.

 *****************************************************************

Needed: A candle and lighter, something to represent bread and wine for communion (a cracker and juice, toast and milk, etc), and a little cup of dirt (plus a seed, if available). If reading with people, one voice will read all unbolded sections while the group joins in for the bolded sections.

“If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together, there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we are apart, I will always be with you.” –Winnie the Pooh

ONE: Right now, we push aside all the feelings we “should” have and people we “should” be, and we open wide our doors to what is

ALL: Welcome, old grief; 

Welcome, new reality; 

Welcome, fear; 

Welcome, worry; 

Welcome, exactly who we are right now

ONE: As we light this candle, we declare this space for remembering and honoring the children and parents we miss during Mother’s (and/or Father’s) day(s)

ALL: Be with us, saints; 

Be with us, Spirit

Song: Let It Be

ONE: For children who had to say goodbye to parents when they should have had so much more time

ALL: We hold you now: (name any names aloud)

ONE: For children who have watched the minds and bodies of parents deteriorate, no longer able to recognize or remember

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children whose parents were unable to offer their presence or resources, children who ached to know a different kind of paternal or maternal love

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who have lost parents to suicide, disease, estrangement

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who wrestle with the complexities of their birth parents, adoptive parents, and foster parents

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who are navigating the milestones of life without their mothers or fathers there to call for recipes and family histories and old stories that have faded with years

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For LGBTQIA+ children who do not have homes to which they can return

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who were abused in a multitude of ways:

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who dread the holidays because of their voids

ALL: We hold you now:

Scripture: Matthew 5:1-12

ONE: For parents who birthed babies straight into the arms of God

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have lost young children to disasters that make this life seem too unfair for the human heart

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have raised their grandchildren or other relatives because of a lost life or reality

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have lost children to suicide, disease, estrangement

ALL: We hold you now: 

ONE: For parents whose children were unable to offer their presence or connection, parents who ached to know a different kind of familial love

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have received a gutting diagnosis

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who are raising children, and working jobs, and running households by themselves

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For birth parents who wrestle with the complexities of hard decisions and limited resources

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For adoptive and foster parents who wrestle with the complexities of hard questions, identity narratives, and ethics

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For migrant and refugee parents who are risking everything (even separation) for a better life for their children

ALL: We hold you now:

“If I had lost a leg—I would tell them—instead of a boy, no one would ever ask me if I was ‘over’ it. They would ask me how I was doing learning to walk without my leg. I was learning to walk and to breathe and to live without Wade. And what I was learning is that it was never going to be the life I had before.” –Elizabeth Edwards

ONE: To those who are not biological parents, but who step in to mother and father so many around them

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who chose not to be parents in a culture that so often pressures otherwise

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who would choose to be parents, or parents again, but who grieve the loss of a dream

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who have redefined family to go past lines of biology, nationality, and economics

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who did the best they could with what they had when they had it

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those versions of ourselves that we never turned into, and the versions of ourselves that we did

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To the voices we wish we could hear say “Happy Mother’s and Father’s Day”

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To the ears to which we wish we could say “Happy Mother’s and Father’s Day”

ALL: We honor you now:

Scripture: John 1:5

“Sorry, but you don’t really get a choice—you keep waking up and you keep breathing and your heart keeps on beating. And because your blood hasn’t stopped moving through your body, your stomach gets hungry, and then your mouth eats. This is how it goes. Your sad little heart becomes a force of nature. Despite the depth of its wounds, it just keeps going and then the rest of your body has to follow. You eat. You sleep. You sit, and stand, and walk. You smile. Eventually, you laugh. It’s like your heart knows that if it keeps going, so will you. And your heart hasn’t forgotten how good it is to be in the world, so it pushes on, propelling you along to the fridge, the shower, a family dinner, coffee with a friend. In doing these things, your spirit catches up with what your heart already knows; it’s pretty good to be alive. I guess what I’m getting at is that if you too are mired in the early days of unimaginable loss, the only thing to do is follow your heart. Then listen to your body. And keep…going.” –Jamie Wright 

Song: Great is Thy Faithfulness

ONE: Hear our words to those we miss

ALL: Meet us in our celebration and in our grief 

Communion

ONE: The body of Mary’s son, broken for us

The blood of God’s son, poured out for the world

ALL: Thank you Jesus for the bigger picture of resurrection

ONE: God’s family table is open to all who wish to partake, in your homes, on these screens, though separated we are one.

(Participants hold cup of soil—and a seed if possible—in their hands.)

Remind us, God, that our faith makes room for death, that our faith can hold endings, though they are excruciating and devastating.

(Participants push seeds into dirt.)

Remind us that in a backwards kingdom, end is beginning, last is first, and burial is birth…eventually.

ALL: Thank you for love that was, is, and is to come. Amen.

Go now in the peace that passes our understanding.

Dear Son,

I just walked out of your bedroom like the creepy stalker mom I am.

Being a mother is such an overwhelming phenomenon. I think about you all the time. Not always in the obsessive sneak-into-your-room-and-watch-you-sleep kind of way (sorry, kid), but because I feel the responsibility of being your primary caretaker and needing to make sure all of your needs are met. When you were a baby, I had to make sure that I fed you on time, packed enough diapers, carried a spare change of clothes, and wore the right kind of top to nurse you.

Now that you’re a toddler, I have to make sure your diaper bag is packed, lay out your clothes for the day, and ask how you behaved at school to see if there’s been a revival of your biting phase.

What is amazing to me is that, as much as I think of you, there is someone who thinks of you even more than I do. Since you’ll be raised in the church, I know you already know the Sunday school answer to that one—it’s Jesus. 

While I agonized over having a healthy pregnancy, he already knew the sweet little boy you would become because God was in the business of forming you (Ps 139:13-16).

He’s been in that business since the beginning.

You Are Made in God’s Image

The first three chapters of the Bible are as foundational as the first three chapters of any book. Although, they are more important because this book lays out the guiding purpose of our lives.

The well-trodden battlegrounds of our day—sanctity of life, gender, sexuality, race, stewardship, and authority—all begin at the very beginning of this book. Opening up Genesis, we learn that God is the author of humanity and that we are created in God’s image (Gen 1:27) and charged with the purpose of taking dominion over the earth (Gen 1:28). 

And when God looked at Adam and Eve, God didn’t just see the blond-haired, blue-eyed depictions often fantasized in Renaissance paintings, but two hosts for all of the genetic material needed to produce every tribe, tongue, nation, and people group that would populate the world. Adam and Eve held within them the promise of the nations —the promise of diversity. And it was good.

You Are Black on Purpose

It’s no accident that you are black. You were made black on purpose. 

God decided that you and your brother would be born as twenty-first century black boys to two black parents. He placed you in a lineage full of glorious complexity and gave you the task of learning how to glorify God in light of the ingredients stirred into the pot of your identity. God invites you to delve into a deeper understanding of who you are as an individual so that you can see yourself in light of who you are in the grander story that is being written.

You are black. And it is good.

You Are God’s Beloved Son

I had an ultrasound the other day and brought home pictures of your little brother. 

It truly is amazing. I was making a person. Or at least, I was the vessel for the person that God was making. God was crafting you each and every day, monitoring and guiding your explosion of cells, pouring into you the way God has poured into each and every person created since the dawn of time. God was speaking, and it was becoming so. 

God was speaking, and it was good. 

READ: It’s Complicated: A Different Liturgy for Mother’s Day

You are still a little sinner, miraculous origins notwithstanding. It’s true that I’m much more liable to make excuses for your temper tantrums in a quest to fully understand the little person you’re becoming than your daddy. “He’s just tired,” “It’s a developmental phase,” and “He doesn’t understand” are my usual standbys whereas Daddy cocks an eyebrow knowing you’re just pushing boundaries. Still, I understand that you have a sin nature all your own, inherited from your first father, Adam.

Even though your sins often look a lot like those of your mother, Jasmine.

And that sin nature will crop up throughout your life. If you’re anything like me (and you are), it will crouch at your door when it comes to conversations about race and identity. 

You will be tempted to question the wisdom of God in speaking your brown skin into existence. 

You will be tempted to disobey immediately when God calls you to hard tasks resulting from the color of your skin. 

You will wrestle with shame in the face of a world that does not understand the beauty of your Creator’s provision. 

You will wrestle with pride in the face of a church that doesn’t always thank God the way it should for your uniqueness. 

Like me, you will wonder whether God is holding out on you for making you so different from the world you live in. 

But I pray that you will come to an understanding of who you are that moves beyond your earthly heritage alone. I pray that your heavenly identity will not only supersede your earthly shell, but also give it deeper and fuller meaning as purposeful evidence of God’s grace toward you and everyone around you. 

My dear, sweet little boy, you were created in God’s image. Your purpose is bound up in that one precious phrase: imago Dei. I pray that you will grow to acknowledge your Creator in all aspects of who you are, bowing your knee in gratitude for every single manifestation of God’s providence toward you.

I wish I could watch you safely sleep every single night for the rest of your life, but I know that the One who watches over you loves you even more than I do. I hope you know that too. Look at my love and measure God’s as ten thousand times more powerful. Then you’ll have just barely scratched the surface. 

Our Creator was so kind to make you mine for this tiny window of time. I pray that you are God’s for eternity.

Love,

Mama

Adapted from Mother to Son  by Jasmine L. Holmes. Copyright (c) 2020 by Jasmine Linette Holmes. Published by InterVarsity Press, Downers Grove, IL. www.ivpress.com