United Church of Jaffrey
5/10/20
The sermon below begins at minute 7:50 in the above video
As a child, one of my favorite things of all, was waking up in the morning to the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen…
The sound meant something…
It meant that my mother was in the kitchen.
And this meant that everything was alright.
Squirming in my comfy world of flannel and down, I had the delicious knowledge that if I got up and stumbled into the day, I was likely to be greeted by the crackle of frying eggs.
We all have moments like this in our lives, don’t we? Moments when everything in the universe is suddenly and unaccountably in its proper place, and we know, in our very bones, that everything is alright. These are rare and beautiful moments, that often occur without warning, and usually without our involvement, and we spend much of the rest of our lives vainly trying to re-create them.
I don’t want to ruin the simple beauty of my memory by analyzing it too much, but I do think that many of these moments of grace – if I might call them that – happen during childhood, when everything is new, fresh, and surprising to our senses, and our hearts are open to receiving love.
Sadly, though, it is this same vulnerability that makes children dreadfully prone to damage if they are treated cruelly.
When, during my pastoral training, I served as intern in a church in Connecticut, my mentor warned me about Mother’s Day.
“Mother’s Day is a big deal in church” he said. “But watch your step. It’s a potential minefield.”
I’m telling this story because, of course, today is Mother’s Day.
“It’s easy to idealize mothers, but remember,” he said, “that mothers are people too, and they make mistakes just like everyone else. The person in your pews who was hurt by their mother will feel lost and alone if your Mother’s Day message is all Hallmark Cards and Rose Gardens.”
This is certainly true.
The thing about Mother’s Day, is that it is really about two things. It is about your mother (we all have at least one)…
and it is also about motherhood.
Motherhood is a notion – an ideal, an aspiration, a desire, the smell of apple pie, a pair of arms where you can go when life has given you a scraped knee… or worse.
Motherhood is a tall order. She, like no one else in our world, is supposed to be the one who makes everything alright.
But the inevitable problem with this idealized notion of motherhood is that your mother and my mother (or perhaps you, as a mother) – aren’t always going to measure up.
And this makes us feel bad, or guilty, or resentful.
I, myself, am not a mother – but I am a parent – the father of three children, and as I think about where this sermon started, and where I think it’s going, I can already feel guilt tickling the edges of my soul.
It’s been a long while since I made my children fried eggs in the morning.
Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow morning.
But it’s not really about the fried eggs. Fried eggs can be part of it, for sure, but there is really only one thing that parents (or a grandparent for that matter) must succeed in doing.
It’s simple enough.
Kids must feel loved.
Especially when they are in distress.
Everything else is beside the point.
Let us turn now to this morning’s gospel story from the fifteenth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew.
In this story, a Canaanite woman asks Jesus to heal her daughter who, she says, “is tormented by a demon.”
In the story, Jesus refuses to help the woman, and it soon becomes clear that the reason for his refusal is a troubling one.
In response to her pleas, his first response is that he “was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
When, nevertheless, she persists, he says
“It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
Not to be outdone, the woman then delivers her famous rejoinder:
“Yes, Lord, she says, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”
We see, in this story, that Jesus was capable of being taught a lesson.
And who was it, who taught him a lesson.
The person who taught him a lesson was from Canaan – which means that he – Jesus – was humble enough to learn something from a member of a ethnic community that was looked down upon by Jewish society.
This is important. Many sermons have been written about this. But not this one.
The person who taught him a lesson was a woman – which means that Jesus was humble enough to learn something from a woman in a rigidly patriarchal society.
This is important. Many sermons have been written about this. But not this one.
The person who taught him a lesson was a mother.
That’s what this sermon is about.
“Obaasan” means Grandmother in Japanese.
My Obaasan was a remarkable woman. Her husband – my paternal grandfather–died of pneumonia in 1937, leaving her deeply in debt at the very moment when Japan was on the brink of war.
Obaasan was a small woman.
But the strength of her will was awe inspiring!
By the end of the war, all the major Japanese cities were bombed into oblivion. Tokyo—where they lived – was hit worst of all. Almost 100 thousand civilians died on the night of March 10th, 1945.
And yet, because of Obaasan’s extraordinary shrewdness and fortitude, neither my father, nor any of his siblings perished.
Obaasan was once asked the following question:
Which of her children, she was asked, did she love the most?
Which of her children did she love the most?
Now we have an answer to this question don’t we?
We all know what it is…
Presented with this question we have a ready answer that leaps to mind immediately.
It is practically an article of faith in our culture.
We say that we love all our children equally.
No doubt this was probably true for Obaasan, but it was not the answer that she gave.
When asked “Which of your children do you love most?”
Obaasan said “I love most the child who is suffering the most.”
“I love most the child who is suffering the most.”
*
Jesus learned from the encounter with the Canaanite woman.
He learned something from her because she was from Canaan. And he learned something from her because she was a woman.
But today, on Mother’s Day, I emphasize that Jesus learned from her also because she was a mother.
He recognized the Obaasan in her.
Since he was especially attuned to the workings of love… He had no difficulty seeing the power of her love.
She would do anything for her daughter’s well-being.
Flaunt any social or ethnic barrier.
Embarrass herself.
Humble herself.
For her, nothing mattered more than her daughter’s health.
And I have no doubt that her daughter knew this.
She knew she was loved.
And Jesus, seeing this, simply affirmed it.
.
Let every mother
And every father
And every child in the land
Know that Love is the greatest healing
It is what makes everything alright.
Amen