Halfway through Lent, we have just celebrated Mothering Sunday, or Mother’s Day as it is now more frequently referred to.  Historically this was the day when people returned to their Mother Church, the place where they had been baptised, which would often mean returning to their place of birth.  In less mobile generations, it was quite likely that their mother would still live in that place, so it would, in effect, be a visit “home” with the opportunity to see mum.

Mothering Sunday services have traditionally been a special celebration in church, with posies handed out during the service, and the opportunity to remember our mothers.  But this aspect has to be handled very sensitively because it may well cause considerable anxiety to some people for whom motherhood is a painful topic.  There will be some who longed for a baby but never had that opportunity because of personal circumstances or medical complications.  Some of the congregation may have had unhappy experiences relating to their mother, and are trying to come to terms with feelings of guilt or resentment.  Some may still be grieving for the loss of their mother.  As with all human emotions, we are susceptible to a range of joyful or painful reactions which will suddenly catch us in the pit of the stomach when we least expect it.  And so we particularly pray in our service for everyone who finds this a difficult day.

I have a poster in my house of a poem written by Kahlil Gibran, a Lebanese- American philosopher in the early 20^th century.  Every time our children leave us to return to their own accommodation, or when I return from visiting my own parents, I read this poem and it speaks to me in a really helpful way.  It reminds me that each of us is a person with our own identity, nurtured and loved by the adults who brought us up, made in the image of God and most importantly of all, loved immeasurably by God our Heavenly parent.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts, 

For they have their own thoughts. 

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, 

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. 

You may strive to be like them, 

but seek not to make them like you. 

For life goes not backwards nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children 

as living arrows are sent forth. 

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 

and He bends you with His might 

that His arrows may go swift and far. 

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; 

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, 

so He loves also the bow that is stable.                                                  

from Kahlil Gibran – The Prophet

The image of the Archer bending the bow to allow children to fly forth from the stability of the parents perhaps helps us to recognise that we all fly in complex directions, but we have rooted deep inside us a strong sense of where we came from and what we identify as the stable concept we think of as home.  We may simultaneously be a bow and an arrow, and God loves us in equal part.

Sarah Bourne, Chaplain for the Arts – 17^th March 2021      sarahbourne@banburystmary.org.uk