Friends,
Last year a few of you noticed something that often has confused members of the churches I’ve served: as a pastor I don’t make a big deal about Mothers’ Day. I know that my approach to the second Sunday of May can cause disappointment, in fact, one of the very few times anyone at MPC has been angry with me was a year ago when, as always, I downplayed mother’s day in celebration.
Like many Americans, I grew up in a church where Mothers’ Day was a big deal. Children gave carnations to all the mothers who walked through the door; and there were bouquets for mothers who excelled in various categories, such as being the mother with the most descendants or the mother with the youngest child. The mothers of the church would show up, all dressed up (sometimes there were big hats involved) and worship felt a little bit like a party. In my church growing up–as in many American Churches–Mothers’ Day was one of the biggest Sundays of year.
It was fun, and I continued the practice of making a big deal of Mothers’ Day through the first few years of my ministry, but then something happened that changed my life and my pastoral approach to Mothers’ Day (and Fathers’ Day): Anne and I found ourselves unable to have children. Not only were we unable to conceive in the same way that most human beings conceive, but we spent an ungodly amount of time, energy, and money trying to get pregnant using variety of medical procedures, none of which worked.
Those were difficult years, a season of my life marked by sorrow, a time when I had to drag myself into worship on the second Sundays of May and June, when Mothers and Fathers were feted and the gnawing sadness of infertility grew to an intensity I scarcely could abide. Of course a lot has changed for me since then. Anne and I adopted two children and then, in a surprise from which I’m still recovering, we ended up with a biological child as well. Our lives are now as filled with children as they are abounding in happiness and gratitude for our brood. But I still remember the painful sorrow of infertility, and I cannot lead a worship service that spends overly much time celebrating Mothers’ Day.
Over the years a few people in my congregations have been disappointed in my decision to abandon traditional celebrations of Mothers’ Day, but along the way I’ve discovered that a lot of people struggle with the way so many churches observe Mothers’ Day, and quite a few people have expressed gratitude to me for keeping Mothers’ Day low key–some because they were infertile, some because they were single, LGBT, or both, some because they had strained relationships with their mothers. It turns out that minimizing Mothers’ Day is one way churches can practice radical inclusion.
So when you come to celebration on Sunday, Mothers’ Day will be acknowledged. We’ll wish each other happiness and we’ll hear about what our Youth Group is doing to support mothers in need here in Oakland. But out of respect for those who grieve on Mothers’ Day, we’ll keep our observance of the day fairly minimal.
Thank you for your understanding and for your ongoing desire to be a welcoming and safe church.
Peace,
Ben