Hebrew Scriptures: Proverbs 6: 20-22
Christian Witness: Romans 8: 14-17
Gospel Lesson: Luke 15: 11-32
The prodigal son; The loving father; A man and his two sons. The prodigal and his brother. Whatever you may call it, it is such a familiar story and perhaps it is Jesus’ most famous parable. One that we likely know by heart, that we acted out on Sunday School felt boards as children, the theme of which we’ve seen remade into movies and books, poetry and music.
In commentaries and other religious literature there is no shortage of laud for this parable – often cited as Jesus’ best parable, an interpreters dream with well-developed characters, resolved and unresolved tension. Others have said it is Jesus’ truest presentation of the Gospel that if compared to a lake would be one of the clearest spots where we can see all the way to the bottom. Even others suggest that it is one of the world’s supreme masterpieces of story telling. But, ultimately, nearly every commentary notes that, “The main point of the parable – that God gladly receives the repentant sinner – must not be obscured.”
But is this the main point of the parable? On closer examination, my inclination is that the point is really not about the plight of the repentant sinner but rather about the nature and character of God – about how God, in relationship with us, truly becomes our Father, our Mother, our Parent.
One of the interesting things that comes with being a parent is being introduced to the wonderful world of Children’s Music. Some of it is terrible, some familiar, and on rare occasions some of it is wonderful. Last Christmas Anderson received a Children’s CD by the Barenaked Ladies. They are one of my favorite bands, and they did not disappoint with their kids entertainment. One of the best songs on the cd is this chorus called, “Things.” The lyrics go like this:
There are things that make me mad,
But you are not one of them.
There are things that make me sad,
But you are not one of them.
There are things that make me Dad,
You seem to be all of them.
Allow these lyrics to play in your mind as we think about this parable more closely.
There are things that make me mad
Before Anderson was born I knew that I loved kids I spent my summers working in childcare and rarely did a Friday night pass that I didn’t have a babysitting job. But the saying is true that you never know what it is like to be a parent until you are a parent. I particularly remember one pre-Anderson Saturday afternoon when I was working retail and there was this mother standing in line holding her baby. She kept kissing her baby over and over and over. It had been a long day, I was rushing to check out my customers and I was so annoyed by her incessant kissing. I remember thinking, “Enough already, you love your baby, we get it, he gets it, everyone gets it.” At that point I had never loved anything so blissfully much that even in a crowd of folks I couldn’t think about anything else besides the object of my affection.
Just a few short years later Matt and I welcomed Anderson into our family and my world changed. Love as I had never known it flooded my heart. Now, please don’t mishear me, I realize that some folks cannot or choose not to have children, and certainly that does not diminish their capacity for love and nurturing commitment to other things in their lives. But for me, my experience at becoming a Mother absolutely changed everything – the way that I related to myself, my spouse, my parents, and especially God. More importantly the way that I understood God’s relationship to me, radically changed.
In April of 2007, I remember sitting in Sunday School at our church in North Carolina and we were talking about the recent massacre at Virginia Tech. Many of us were stunned at the horrific details, some were angry that lack of security, or lack of attention, allowed such an event to happen. Others were overwhelmed with grief for the families who lost children that day – perhaps remembering their own tragic losses. But the thought that hit me, as I held my gently sleeping baby, was that at some point, some mother or father, grandmother or grandfather, snuggled a tiny little baby, just like mine, that grew up to be a mass murderer. Many years ago that violent person was pure and innocent, filled with potential and promise. I wondered out loud to our class, “Despite the awful, murderous actions that occurred at Virginia Tech, does God as our Parent, remember this man as the pure and innocent child that he once was. Can God see through the tragedy that we make in our own lives, and the lives of others, to love us still?”
Our Gospel Lesson for today seems to affirm that God can, indeed that God does, that this is exactly what God is all about. Some commentaries suggest that if the younger of the sons had gone off and committed more heinous crimes such as murder or rape – that the Father would not have so quickly welcomed him home and lavished him with the love typically reserved for the pure, innocent and faithful. But the reality is, in demanding his inheritance before his Father has died the youngest son basically says to the Father, “I wish you were dead. Your money and your land are worth more to me than you are.” The rejection of his family– truly wishing his father dead – is far worse than any transgression committed in the distant country.
If you watch the news you’re well aware that the headlines are full of people making poor decisions, embarrassing their families, ruining their names, destroying their lives. Recently, right here in our own community, a young man took the life of his lover in a very public, very shocking murder. Of all the news coverage, the one image that plays over and over in my mind is of this young man’s mother. Her son had murdered another human. His life as he had known it was likely over, her hopes and dreams for him were shattered, his innocence and potential wasted by a moment of irrational rage. And yet as the camera followed her out of the courthouse, reporters shouting questions at her, this mother screamed at the camera over and over, “I love my son. I love my son! I LOVE MY SON!”
Even with broken hearts, even when the anger and shame of the circumstances should dictate otherwise, both this local mother and the father in Jesus’ parable loved their children fiercely.
There are things that make me mad, but you are not one of them.
There are things that make me sad
We mustn’t forget that the youngest son isn’t the only “sinner” in Jesus’ parable. We can safely assume that after the younger son skipped town with his inheritance that the older son got his portion of Dad’s money too. Unlike the younger son who wantonly spends every last cent, we are led to assume that the eldest brother tucks his portion away and continues to toil the land and remain faithful to the Father. But the end of Jesus’ parable opens our eyes to the truth.
The elder son is as estranged, or by some commentators assessment even more estranged from his father, than the younger son. The older son is so disengaged from his family that he flies into a bitter rage disowning his brother and his father, “For all these years I have been working like a slave for you…but when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you kill the fatted calf for him?!” I’ve been working like your slave – you’re not my father, you’re my master. This son of yours – he’s not my brother.
Just when the Father thought that his world had been put back together, he experiences another rejection by another beloved son. The naivety, arrogance, and selfishness of the younger son is quickly replaced by the bitterness, callousness, and self-pity of the elder.
If you listen to NPRs story corps you may have heard the interview this past week between an adoptive single father and his son. At the time of his adoption the child was seven and had spent the majority of his life in foster care. He had been abused and suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Even after the adoption was finalized, the boy lived in fear of being rejected. One day when his teachers called to report that he had not been paying attention in school the child panicked and ripped all the phones out of the walls, for fear that if his father heard bad things about him, he might send him back. Another time when the father attempted to discipline the son by taking away his TV privileges, the son retorted, “Wait until I tell the judge about this.” The father looked at his son with compassion and said, “Son, you are adopted. It is final. There are no more judges in your life.”
For the elder son in the parable, the feeling of not belonging is overwhelming. The Father in Jesus’ story could have easily become angry. He could have shouted, “Everything I have is yours, you arrogant, bitter ingrate. You are no better than your brother.” He could have become sad, “I have given you everything I have, why are you rejecting me even as your bother did?” But instead, he pleads with the son, filled with compassion, “Son, you have always been with me, everything I have is yours. Come let us celebrate your brother’s return from the dead.” “Come return from the dead yourself, my child.”
Raising a child who has been abused, or who walks in the shadow of rejection and disappointment, is certainly cause for a parent to be heartbroken to say the least. But both the father in the story corps interview and the father in Jesus’ parable have more than enough reason to affirm, “There are things that make me sad, but you are not one of them.”
There are things that make me Dad
So, back to the initial suggestion from our commentary friends that the point of this parable is that God gladly receives the repentant sinner. If we look at the younger son, it certainly seems that he is repentant. Indeed the Gospel Lesson gives us a sneak peek at him practicing his repentance speech. How many speeches have we rehearsed just like this?
I’m sorry I am late, but the dog…;
I really had hoped to be able to help you, but the babysitter…;
I am so sorry that I hurt your feelings, I never meant to…;
Father I have sinned against heaven and before you, treat me like one of your hired hands…
What strikes me about his actual return home, however, is that the Father seemingly doesn’t hear, doesn’t care, or perhaps is oblivious to the son’s words. The Father has literally made a fool out of himself, running through the gates of the town to catch up his son in a ‘back from the dead’ embrace. Even as the son attempts to mumble out his repentance speech the father cuts him off calling for the best robes, slippers, and rings.
The son’s words are insignificant. There is nothing the young man can say, no excuse that needs to be made, no promises for better behavior, no begging for a job as a hired man. It doesn’t matter where he’s been, what he’s done, or how he justifies it. The father doesn’t care. The father is overwhelmed with the shear fact that his son has returned.
But what of the older son? Where’s his repentance speech? He berates rather than repents. He lashes out at the father, disrespecting him, belittling him. The elder son makes a heated case for what he deserves and why he deserves it. There is no begging for mercy, no humility, no admission of inappropriate behavior. And even still, how does the father respond to this his unrepentant elder son? He responds as lavishly as he did with his younger son. He pleads with his eldest, he reinforces that literally every single thing that he owns, actually belongs to the son. He states the fact that, “You are always with me.”
It is true that there is no sin too big that God can’t forgive, it is true that God loves us while we are still sinners, even before we are wise enough to repent, it is true that our arrogance and our pride often overshadow our acceptance of God’s lavish love….these are all good points to learn from this parable. But is the more shocking point, the more life altering point, the fact that God truly loves us regardless of our sinning or our repenting – unconditionally, unselfishly, lavishly, foolishly – as a parent in the truest, purest sense of the word loves a child?
The Father’s compassion in this story lead one commentator to note, “This is no ideal picture of an imaginary father, of such exceptional saintliness that he can stand for God himself. He is any father worth the name, as the hearers are expected to recognize, and this is how he would behave; and this is what God is like.”
As I said in the beginning, it is difficult for me to think about God as Father. Misuse of the concept of God as father has lead to patriarchal systems that oppress women, mask abuse, support injustice and manipulate God’s love. What is more, I recognize the difficulty with imagining God as Father, especially for persons whose fathers have been abusive, rejecting, and unloving. But today, on Father’s day, it is important that we attempt to look a little deeper at what Jesus intended when he called God, Father.
God as our Parent is like the Father in our Gospel Lesson today – a fool for the love of his children. As Jurgen Moltmann would say, may we rejoice in the unconditional love of our Motherly Father, our Fatherly Mother this day, and every day to come.
There are things that make me Dad. You seem to be all of them. Amen.
This is a sermon that I originally wrote and delivered in my last year of Divinity School. I was taking a Rituals class, and our end-of-the-semester group project was to organize a worship service around a randomly selected theme. My group was assigned Easter. Needless to say, November was a difficult time of year to be in “Easter Mode.”
For the last few weeks this sermon has been on my mind. Maybe it is because my daily work takes me to the graveyard over and over. I literally walk in the shadow of death for a living. Even now, during this Holy Week, I am journeying with families as they bear their own crosses and make their way toward their own tombs.
I did not edit the sermon for this blog post. It is what it is, and I didn't feel comfortable changing it now, especially since I’m not actually preaching it. Instead I simply offer it to you as a glimpse into my past, amazed at how eerily applicable it is to my present.
For a little clarification (because I allude to this in the sermon) our full worship service included a ritual of nailing slips of paper to a wooden cross. On these slips of paper the congregation confessed sins, fears, concerns, and pleas for forgiveness. It was a powerful ritual, with audible and tactile imagery that was emotionally challenging to say the least. Someday I would love to be a part of a Good Friday service that does something similar.
A Stop in the Graveyard on the Way to Resurrection
Mark 16
Ezekiel 37:1-14
November 28, 2004
The church I attended as a child has several graveyards. The historic graveyard sits across the road from the church and contains the tombstones and remains of the first church members from the early 1800’s. The newer graveyard is located behind the church on a rolling hillside where some of my family is buried and where my parents will be buried when their time comes. I never thought it was strange to be so close to the remains of the dead. In fact many of the churches in my small home town are nestled between graveyards. I recall spending many Sunday afternoons strolling or running through the tombstones as I would wait for my grandmother to finish socializing. My friends and I would search for the headstones with the oldest dates, or the strangest names, or the youngest or oldest person buried below. Many of the old tombstones were crumbly and faded and often toppled over from age or reckless children. Sometimes the graveyards bustled with activity near Memorial Day or Christmas, and I’ll never forget how the graveyard seemed different after my great grandmother was buried in it.
Both our Hebrew Scripture and Gospel passages for today are located in graveyards. For the prophet in Ezekiel, the dusty, dry battlefield was the portrait of hopelessness and despair. The remains of the fallen soldiers had been left to turn to dust much like the hopes of the exiled Israelites. Just as the bones in the field would never be filled with life, it seemed that Israel would never return to her homeland.
But the Lord had a different purpose in showing Ezekiel the graveyard. The Lord demonstrated that against all odds, in the face of the gravest desolation, the impossible isn’t always what it seems. Upon God’s instruction, Ezekiel prophesied to the arid land below him. Immediately the sounds of re-creation echoed from the valley. Bones and sinews snapped and popped as they reattached themselves. Gasps for breath could be heard as life animated the newly reconstructed bodies. Ezekiel watched as the spirit of the Lord demonstrated its power to rebuild even the most broken life. If this is what God could do to restore the dead, how much more could God do to restore Israel?!
The resurrection of Christ demonstrates this very same reconstructive power and shocking hope. For the followers of Jesus, his death not only symbolized the end of his mortality, but also the end of his dream. Their faith, their hope, and their purpose had been murdered. On the first day of the week after Jesus’ death, the women were about the business of mourning. Their clothes, their oils and spices, their wailing cries, their hushed whispers gave away the story in their heart. Death was all around them.
But, like Ezekiel, their time in the graveyard was not what they expected. Where they had anticipated finding a cold dead body they found the dazzling possibility of new life. The Christ that had been crucified was no longer in his tomb. The activities of mourning no longer seemed appropriate. Could hope be all around them?
For many of us the idea of the resurrection of the dead may seem intangible. I have never seen crunchy dry bones reconnect to form a living human. I have never seen a buried person come back to life. But I wonder if there is hope in these resurrection stories that goes beyond our physical life and death? What are some of the other graveyards that we travel through? Perhaps the things that you wrote and attached to our cross symbolize the dry, dusty dead places in your life. Maybe you are walking in the valley of death with someone else, and you feel pieces of your own life slipping away with them. Perhaps you are deciding to leave school, or a job, or a lover, and you are feeling the weight of those decisions. Maybe you are nearing the end of your time here and have little hope for what lies around the corner. Graveyards may not always be full of dead bodies, but may be full of dead hopes, dreams, relationships, jobs and promises.
I want to challenge us today, to think of ourselves as people in the process of resurrection. Let us allow ourselves to think of resurrection, not merely as an event that may or may not occur at the end of cosmic time, but rather as the promise that there is always the hope for something new and creative and life-giving. Resurrection may be the day you wake up after the passing of a loved one and smile without faking it. Resurrection may be the decision to commit to a new partner after recovering from the failure of a past relationship. Resurrection may be your decision to give God or the Church another chance. Resurrection may be reclaiming your passion for Scripture after having that passion wane while in Divinity School. Resurrection may be the hope of a new marriage or a new baby or a new job.
As much as I want to challenge us to think of ourselves as resurrected people, I want to stress the importance of the process of resurrection. In an article for The Christian Century, Barbara Brown Taylor emphasizes that we must walk through the graveyard to get to Easter. Our journey to this Easter Sunday took us through the celebration of Palm Sunday, the service of remembrance on Maundy Thursday, our cross ritual on Good Friday and finally our baptismal service this morning. We must be cautious not to rush toward new life. Can we allow ourselves to linger in and to allow God to work with us in the midst of the graveyard? Can we trust that the hope of new life exists even when we cannot see it, hear it, feel it or believe it? Can we trust that God has the power to recreate in imaginative and exciting new ways, and that God has the power to sustain us in the process of resurrection?
The hope of new life is shocking and unexpected. Ezekiel’s vision of the valley of dry bones encourages us to acknowledge the power of God’s spirit and promise of re-creation. The discovery of the empty tomb breathes new life into dead dreams and hopeless futures. May we envision ourselves as people in the process of resurrection. May we find value in all of the stages of the journey trusting that God has the power to inspire new life in the most despairing situation. May we be blessed as we celebrate the hope of Christ’s resurrection on this Easter Day!
WARNING – This post contains graphic child language for the human anatomy….if words like Weenie, and Butt offend you, don’t read ;-)
In our house, Matt is usually in charge of Anderson’s bath time. It is one of their special Daddy and Anderson things. Every night, after dinner, Anderson and Daddy do “Showertime”. Some nights Anderson loves it, some nights he hates it – but it is their special time and Anderson usually has fun letting the water run over him, brushing his teeth, spitting, pretending to shave, etc.
One morning we were running late, Anderson didn’t have a bath/shower the night before, and so I put him in the shower with me to expedite the process. Curious in the differences in our bodies Anderson said,
“Mommy, I see your weenie.”
I explained that Mommy doesn’t have a weenie because mommy is a girl and only boys have weenies.
I said, “You have a weenie because you are a boy.”
To which Anderson promptly stated with full emotion, “I AM NOT A BOY!”
I said, “Oh, what are you then?”
He said, “I am Anderson.”
He then said, “Mommy, I see your butt.”
I agreed with him on that and then we had a long conversation about how everyone has a butt, including our dogs and our cat.
Now, I am not posting this to merely share a cute kid story, or to get anyone all riled up about co-bathing with toddlers, but I am posting it because I thought about this conversation for weeks after it happened wondering if I had missed the boat on helping Anderson think outside the “box” about gender stereotyping in our culture.
For most folks gender is very clear cut. We identify male or female, not giving a second thought about our anatomy or our gender preferences/tendencies.
For children who identify somewhere else on the gender scale (regardless of or prior to sexual orientation) our culture uses derogatory words like “tomboy” or “sissy” to explain their tendencies.
While I don’t think it was inappropriate for me to explain to Anderson, who is only two years old, the differences in the physical anatomy of males and females, I know that somewhere down the road I want to have an honest and open conversation with Anderson about the fact that some people, regardless of their physical anatomy, don’t always conform to the traditional and confining gender norms of our culture.
There are many children (and adults) who struggle with gender identity issues at a young age and their stories touch and sometimes break my heart. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for them to feel like strangers in their own bodies. I can’t image how confused their families must be. It is so bold, as well as isolating, for these families to support and love their children for who they are in their hearts and spirits, regardless of what organs exist between their legs.
I am glad that words like “transgender” are becoming a part of our wider vocabulary and are creeping into the consciousness of many more Americans.
Here is an example of the journey of some of these families.
Beyond issues of gender identity crisis, it is important for Matt and I to help Anderson to think critically about gender norms in our society. As a white, American male, Anderson’s race and gender afford him an incredible amount of power and privilege, more power and privilege that I will, unfortunately, ever have as a white, American woman.
Anderson will have more access to education, employment, housing, travel, and financial security than the majority of female Americans of any race, male Americans of any non-white race, and most of the rest of the world’s population.
It is our job, as Anderson’s parents, to ensure that he acknowledges and utilizes this reality in a way that is both socially responsible and empowering to persons of all genders, races and classes. How can Anderson use this privilege to serve others, to empower others and help others gain access to more opportunities for education, financial security and health care?
While we can’t change the fact that Anderson was born into this privilege, Matt and I can work hard to ensure that he recognizes it, understands the destructive power that has resulted from other white, American men abusing it, and encourage him to use it to the advantage of others less privileged.
Here’s an example of a young, white man who is doing just that very thing.
A few weeks ago a local church in my small town had this on their marquee:
Like it or not
Jesus loves you
I drove past that sign every day thinking about how it made me feel.
Was the sign intended to be hopeful?
Threatening?
Motivating?
In the end I decided that, to me, it felt threatening. “Like it or not” implies that there is potentially something not to like about being loved by Jesus.
The more I thought about the sign, the more I realized that the “love” of Jesus that I grew up hearing about, and that many churches, presumably like this one, continue to preach, really isn’t very loving at all.
Instead, the “love” of Jesus from my youth is something fearful, intimidating, judgmental, conditional and ultimately condemning.
Rather than freeing, the “love” I grew up learning about was confining…only certain folks were worthy of friendship, companionship and love; only certain behaviors were acceptable for a young Christian woman; only certain music was worthy for Christian ears; only certain people (men) were called to preach the good news; only certain folks would make it into the kingdom of heaven, namely those who believed, acted, and prayed like me.
After years of self-doubt, denial of my true calling, painful critical thinking, and even the occasional suspension of belief, I realize, now, this isn’t love at all.
Love.
Daily, I sit with folks who are journeying through their final days on this earth. The theme I hear over and over is the desire to love and be loved. Some folks ask me, with years of heartbreak echoing in their words, “Why has no one ever loved me the way I wanted to be loved?”
Other folks, heavy with grief, fight to the very last minute because they can’t bear to think about any kind of existence without the loved ones they are leaving behind.
Other folks, anxious and hopeful, are ready to get the heck out of here because the ones they love have already passed.
Love.
Love.
Love.
It has the potential to hurt us or help us, make us or break us, build us up or tear us down, give us something to reach for or something to hold on to.
The truth is we fail at loving every day. We long to be loved more, or better, or differently.
Even though I am a Universalist at heart when it comes to salvation, I remain a Christian in my religious practice because I can’t shake the conviction that Jesus points us in the clearest direction to God. And I believe that God is Love. Which means (and I am sure I am breaking all kinds of logical rules here) that Jesus’ way is the way to Love.
If Jesus truly loves us, there is nothing not to like. It’s only when we humans put our own spin on Jesus’ way of loving that everything gets messed up.
The reality is, Jesus’ way of loving is scandalous at best and down right dangerous at worst. Jesus’ best friends were outcasts – scoundrels, called without conditions, and made saints because of Jesus’ love.
Those excluded, the ones who found little to like in Jesus’ version of love, were the ones too proud, or too religious, or too stubborn to see what Jesus saw in the eyes of those on the margins.
As Christians, if we aren’t seeking the marginalized, we’re not loving.
And I don’t mean seeking the marginalized to change them, or even to pull them away from the margins into some more comfortable way of being. I mean seeking the marginalized to learn from their experiences, and, most importantly, to find Jesus there.
As Christians, if we’re keeping to our own, or if loving as Jesus loves means changing folks to be more like us, we’ve missed it.
If we’re threatening folks with Jesus’ love, we are the enemies of the kingdom.
Love.
Growing up I learned that Jesus ministered and ultimately died on the cross because I was a miserable excuse for a human being - a filthy rag, on which God could not bear to look. I needed rescuing – rescuing that could only come from someone else suffering and dying on my behalf. Like it or not, Jesus loved me. That’s just plain scary…nothing loving or hopeful in that.
My faith has evolved to where, through Jesus’ ministry, I now see the way in which God values every human immensely. The kingdom that Jesus preached, the kingdom that he longed to be made real on this earth, was all-inclusive, valuing even the least of these among us as the most prized member.
Jesus passionately believed in this kingdom. Ultimately, Jesus believed in me and my value as part of the kingdom so completely that he was willing to die for his mission, to die for me, if it meant that his vision, God’s kingdom, would become reality. Jesus died loving (John 19: 25-27), forgiving (Luke 23:24), including (Luke 23:42-43)…
Love.
Jesus loves me and I like it.
1. Use the library.
Next post will be my reading list for 2009. Lexington, Nicholasville.
2. Shop at local stores more often.
I think we're going to become owners at Goodfoods.
3. Buy local food as much as possible.
Can't wait for the farmers market! Lexington, Everywhere else.
4. Join a CSA.
I think we've decided on this one. Triple J Farm.
5. Use reusable bags 100% of the time.
I'm good at using them for major shopping, really bad for remembering them on quick in and out stops for everything else. :-(
6. Shop used before new as much as possible.
Stores I LOVE: goodwill,re-kid.
7. Reduce our clutter and get rid of stuff that we haven’t used in 6 months.
On my to do list for February and August.
8. Re-use more (food containers, plastic bags, etc).
I am so bad about not cleaning things out (yogurt cups, sour cream containers, peanut butter jars) in order to recycle...so I just pitch them. How lazy is that??
9. Increase our recycling.
See #8. This also includes getting my husband to recycle more too...hint hint, honey.
10. Eat out 2x’s or less per week.
Off to a good start with this one!
What are your green goals for 2009??
During my first unit of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) one of our first didactic seminars focused on Universal Truths, or things that people believed across the globe regardless of culture, faith, socio-economic status, etc. It was a tough discussion because so many of our "truths" are culturally conditioned, however, I made the comment that I thought that people universally believed that children should outlive their parents. To put it another way, parents should die before their children die. My supervisor quickly pointed out that he felt that this was a culturally conditioned truth because parents who lived in under-developed countries, where it was common to lose a child, would not hold this belief.
In the moment I didn't argue with him, but this conversation has lingered with me for the past five years, and I wish I would have defended myself to him.
Even in cultures where it is "common" to lose a child in infancy or childhood, it still doesn't feel "normal". There is something intrinsically abnormal about losing a child - regardless of whether or not it is culturally common.
My first introduction to pastoral care occurred when I went to Ghana in West Africa in 2000. While there I spent much of my free time with a young mother named Falecia. She was 20 and had just given birth to her first child. He was a beautiful baby boy, only 8 days old when I met him. He and his mother had traveled nearly 6 hours to get to the hospital because his mother knew there was something wrong with him. He had a dysfunctional bile duct and would need a liver transplant to survive. This type of extreme procedure was not possible in that part of the country and so the mother had to accept the difficult news that her child was going to die.
Many of the young African mothers that I met in Ghana had lost children. I suppose you would say that it was "normal" or "common" in their culture to lay at least one child to rest. But for Falecia, and for all the other mothers that I encountered that had this "normal" experience, their grief was tangible and their future, without their child, appeared to be anything but normal.
This past week I sat with a woman, nearly 90 years old, who held her adult daughter's hand as she breathed her last breath - her life swept away by cancer in her mid-fifties. The mother lamented that she had tried for nearly 6 years to conceive the child she just watched die and now hoped that it wouldn't be 6 more years until God saw fit to re-unite them. The mother sobbed over the body of her child, promising her that they would be together forever. Later, as I offered pastoral presence to the grieving mother, she wondered aloud why God would take her daughter who still had so much for which to live. The reality is that whether parents lose their children in infancy or in adulthood - it never feels normal, irregardless of the culture, to watch your child die.
Becoming a mother has revolutionized the way in which I understand God and Christ. I've never felt a love as fierce and as all consuming as the love that I feel for my son. God, as our creator, truly our mother, must love us as fiercely and certainly more so that I am capable of as a mere mortal. And if Jesus is the incarnate one that we confess him to be, understanding God as his mother completely alters the way in which I understand God's presence in the Cross event.
I cannot speak for fathers, because I have only experienced life as mother, but I would have to suggest that their is no grief like that of a grieving mother - and this grief is NEVER normal or common.
