Unitarian Universalist Church of Delaware County - Sermon: "I'm Cold. Put On a Sweater."

"I'm Cold. Put on a Sweater!"*

Rev. Peter A. Friedrichs

May 13, 2007

Today I'm giving my mother a break. You may remember last year when I was here for Candidating Week I told you a lot about my mother. And since I arrived in September, you've learned even more about her, and the other members of my family. Just the other day, my mother told me that if she had known that our family history was going to be the stuff of sermons, she might have said and done things a little differently. So today, in honor of Mother's Day, I'm giving her a break and I won't be talking about her.

You wouldn't think that a sermon about mothers on Mother's Day would be a tricky thing. But I've discovered that conventional wisdom in Unitarian Universalist minister's circles tells us to avoid the topic all together. While UU preachers are willing, even anxious, to tackle the most vexing problems of humanity on a typical Sunday morning, they almost uniformly recommend staying away from the topic of motherhood, especially today. Curious, don't you think? The truth is that Mother's Day does pose some thorny issues. For some, it has become one of those "Hallmark Holidays," where mass marketers and the juggernaut of the American advertising industry holds out one particular segment of our society - in this case, women who have given birth - as praiseworthy, perfect and blameless. On television and in greeting cards we are told of ideal mothers, who can apparently bandage a scraped knee while driving to clarinet practice at the same time she's building a science fair project and cooking up a hearty dinner for the family. I spent last Sunday railing against our culture's drive for perfectionism, so I won't go down that road again, but suffice it to say that Mother's Day can be a time when women look to the cultural images and icons of motherhood and feel entirely inadequate.

Another very good reason for avoiding the topic of motherhood on Mother's Day is that it compels us to reflect upon our relationships with our own mothers, and our experiences, like our mothers, may be less than ideal. Perhaps our mother was distant or aloof. Maybe she was overbearing or even abusive. Our mother might have been completely absent from our lives, physically or emotionally. Because mothers are human beings, too, she might have suffered from mental illness or the ravages of substance abuse, and we carry the scars of our upbringing with us to this day. Our memories of our mothers may be fraught with pain and longing. Pain from the reality of our childhood, and longing for the mother of our dreams. Mother's Day is thus a reminder of hard times survived rather than halcyon days to be treasured.

Celebrating Mother's Day in a public setting such as this is also difficult because not all women who wish to have become mothers. Whether their bodies have not cooperated, or they've been turned down by adoption agencies, or for any myriad reasons, there are likely some women here today who long to be mothers, to live out the physical, emotional and spiritual experiences of motherhood, but who cannot. To be reminded of this loss can be deeply painful, and we must extend our hearts of compassion today to these women. And to top it all off, there are many women who are content never to have had children, and when we lift up the role of mothers it is easy to make them feel excluded. Yes, I suppose that there are many reasons not to preach about motherhood on Mother's Day.

Recognizing that our relationships with our mothers and with motherhood is complex and not always what we may have hoped it would be, I believe it is right and good to honor our mothers today, and to talk about them. To talk about them not in their beatified beauty as saintly angels of mercy, flawless in every respect. But as human beings with all the faults, frailties and failings of the rest of us. Yes, we need to acknowledge that few of us have pristine relationships with our mothers or as mothers, unblemished by the harsh realities of life. But we must also acknowledge mothers as people who have a special relationship with all of humanity, and a special relationship, no matter how peculiar, with us. For, in the words of Nicholas Gordon, it was our mothers who "before we were ourselves made us, made us with love and patience, discipline and tears, and gracefully, as dancers when the last sweet cadence nears, bit by bit stepped back to set us free to sail upon our own seas."

I received a great volume of material from you in response to my request for wisdom gleaned from your mothers. My intention today is to share some of your thoughts and comments, interspersed with some thoughts of my own. I would like to thank all those who responded to me. If I don't refer to your submittal today, it's because of time constraints and not because I don't value your comments.

From the materials that many of you sent me, it would appear that one of the central roles that mothers play in our lives is to hand down the wisdom of the ages in bite-sized and memorable morsels. It seems that on the day we're born, a veritable volume of aphorisms springs forth from a mother's loins as well. From "Don't cry over spilled milk" to "If a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing well," and "His bark is worse than his bite," our mothers' words stay with us for a lifetime. Like seeds planted in fertile soil, our mothers' wisdom blossoms full-blown, sometimes when we least expect or perhaps even want it. Just when we've figured out a way to get something done by cutting a few corners, we hear her voice remind us "If a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing well." Or on the morning after we've had one too many the night before, when perhaps we're looking for a little sympathy, we hear her words, "If you want to dance to the music, you've got to pay the piper." Or when we're toss out some clothes that have gone hopelessly out of style, we find our mother standing behind us, saying "Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without." I am convinced that Poor Richard's Almanac was written not by Ben Franklin, but by his mother!

Sometimes a mother's advice comes in the form of just a single word, uttered at just the right moment, a word that will, it turns out, serve us for a lifetime:

When my parents were walking me down the aisle to be married, I was overwhelmed as all eyes were on me. My mom's low, warm voice coaxed me: "Breathe," she said. "Just breathe." Instantly, I was back in my body, back in the moment, and I remained that way for the rest of the day. Any time my life feels out of control, my mother's voice reminds me that all I really have to do in that moment is "Breathe."**

Of course, as our mothers would tell us, actions speak louder than words. And while we often hear our mother's words inside our heads, or even more remarkably, coming from our own mouths, it was often who and how they were, and what they did, more than what they said, that leaves the deepest impression on us. Although I want to steer clear of the "mother as martyr" paradigm, we learn from our mothers the value of self-sacrifice and the ethic of putting the interests of others ahead of our own. This is apparently a universal, and not just a human, trait of motherhood. I was watching a nature program on television recently, and time and again I witnessed acts of bravery and selflessness by mothers in the protection of their offspring. Here in the human realm, mothers are no less dedicated to the future well-being of their children.

Beyond love and a happy, loving companionship throughout our lives, my mother gave me three gifts through her determination and resourcefulness.

When I was six my mother sent me to the neighborhood convent that was offering piano lessons for 50 cents. Later she found piano teachers for me even throughout college.

A high school teacher asked my mother if my family could send me to college. A quick answer was "no," but when World War II began and offices were being emptied as young men were drafted, my mother answered an ad and went to work for the Atlantic Refining Company as a clerk. Her work helped pay for my college education.

When a distant relative, who worked for an orthodontist, pointed out that I had serious dental misalignment, my mother asked if an appointment with the orthodontist could be arranged. It was and I wore braces for four years. This may seem like a laughable gift, but when your child is becoming the butt of schoolyard jokes, it's no laughing matter.

I didn't become a concert pianist as my mother hoped, but studying piano enriched my life beyond measure. As for the two other gifts, they changed my life.***

Of course, sometimes our mothers' desire to protect us can feel smothering, especially when we're ready to spread our wings and fly the nest. Fortunately, time and distance often give us the chance to grow in appreciation for the little things that once annoyed us.

When I was in High School, anytime I went to a friend's house, she told me to "call me when you get there!" At the time it was horribly embarrassing to walk into a party and have to go immediately to the phone to call home. But, to this day I still call my mom after we get home from the airport after visiting them. For years, I would call her when I got to work or home from work if I was driving in snow or ice even though we lived 1000 miles apart.

When I was in college, I made a needlepoint plaque for her that read, "Call me when you get there." It hung by her kitchen telephone for the next 17 years.****

Mothers are also great at putting things in perspective. When we think the end of the world is at hand, our mothers seem to know just the right words to help us see that what we are dealing with is just a slight bump in the road. Whether it's being dumped by a high school sweetheart or teased mercilessly by our peers, especially when we're young, our mothers were usually the ones who helped to ease our troubled minds.

One time when younger, maybe 10 or 12, I came home from school
crying, and my mother asked me why.

"Because the kids were teasing me about the size of my ears", I told her.

"The size of your ears?" she said in a puzzled way, and proceeded to tell me
that, "large ears aren't anything to be ashamed of. Many famous people have
large ears. For instance; Clark Gable, Jimmie Durante, and Mickey Mouse."

"Mickey Mouse", I said in a surprised shock that got me laughing.

Then she asked, "Doesn't any body tease you about your eyes?"

"What's wrong with my eyes?" I responded in a very questioning almost
fearful manner.

"Nothing, and what's wrong with your ears?" she replied.

I still don't know how it worked to this day, but from that point on I was
never again affected by the jibes and teasing from anyone about
any part of my body.*****

Of course, sometimes it's the children who put things in perspective for their mothers as well:

I was working with my son, who of course was doing a wonderful job on a group project for school. It was frustrating, though, to see that his fellow students weren't pulling their weight, and to know that no matter how well my son did, his grade was going to be pulled down by the lackluster contributions of his peers. "This is why I really don't like group projects," I told him. My teenage son looked at me and said, "What do you mean, Mom? You're a UU. Your whole life is a group project!******

Our mothers can serve as role models to us, well past the age when we become parents ourselves. As Mary Steward's letter to her grown children said, "All life is in a state of becoming, or it is lifeless." When we're young, the example set by our mother is sometimes subtle and at other times explicit. But when we're grown, it can be surprising when it shows up at an unexpected time, in unexpected ways.

My mother taught me not to underestimate myself. Not by telling me so, but by her actions. My father died at age 67 and a few months after Mother called. "The kitchen faucet has been dripping and annoying me for years. This morning I got the large pliers, removed it, took it to the hardware store, got advice and a new faucet. I attached it. Now it doesn't drip and annoy me".*******

Perhaps the greatest gift any parent can give her child is the affirmation that her son or daughter is valued for who and for what they are. Although mothers may harbor secret hopes or dreams for their children and for themselves, and sometimes they quietly wish that the family they'd been given had turned out differently than the reality they face every day, to love a child for who she is, to support him in what he tries, to nurture and encourage and cherish her despite, or even because of, his quirks and faults is to impart to them the deepest wisdom and the greatest gift there is.

In about 1985, my mom's last sibling died in Michigan, their home state. I drove her out for the funeral. On the way back, we were quiet in the car for hours at a stretch. Finally, we started talking about what was really important to each of us. We were serious and lighthearted at the same time. We shared what we wanted to happen when we died...our last wishes. The most important thing she wanted to request, if she died first, was she wanted the heading of her obituary to say simply, "Byrde L. Waltman- mother." She said that being our mother was the most valued role she'd had in her life. She said that when she and my father got divorced, he got the money, and she got the kids. She felt that she was the "richer" one by far, even though we were on Food Stamps and free lunches. She never regretted the way the marriage settlement worked out.

To me, that's a pretty simple statement, but it says a lot. It says that she felt we were precious and worth all the patience and love she was able to endlessly supply. When she died in 2000, and we were at the funeral home arranging her service, I knew exactly what to do when it was time to write the obituary. The simple heading she'd wanted was placed at the top as she'd requested. My brother and sister looked at me like I was crazy to write that title. It was an honor to make sure she got the request she'd made years before.

My mother didn't have great knowledge, charm or grace. She was a simple, hardworking woman who worked in our small town's 5 and 10 cent store. But she was amazing when it came to letting us know how important to her we all were and how she'd made, and followed through with her life's priorities.********

So, here's to our mothers, and to all those who have played a motherly role in our particular lives. Guardians. Teachers. Blame-takers. Role models. Disciplinarians. Nurturers. Defenders. The voice inside our head that won't go away. Life-givers. Like us, they are not perfect. But then, who would want them to be? Happy Mother's Day.

* Mike Berman
** Liss Small
*** Bette Austin
**** Marilyn Huff
***** Clement Smith
****** Jean Lenke
******* Mary Finegold

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