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Rev. Meg Barnhouse

June 17, 2012

In Sue Monk Kidd’s The Secret Life of Bees, the beekeeper tells her apprentice “the world is really one big bee yard, and the same rules work fine in both places: Don’t be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don’t be an idiot; wear long sleeves and long pants. Don’t swat. Don’t even think about swatting.” Here’s how we’re going to keep making honey over the summer…

In an article in Paste magazine by Kay Gibbons, one of my favorite Southern writers, she said this: Being a white Southern writer “is a hazardous inheritance that too often reassures us that the world is listening with intent and need for our messages, when it should be our reminder that we’re generally hollering entertainment from the bottom of a well, and getting it right requires sending up water, some force of living that people can use to treat one another better.” I’m going to try to send up some water today that people can use to treat one another better. (Feb/March 2006, Paste : Signs of life in music, film and culture p. 74) My text is from another Southern writer, Sue Monk Kidd, from her book “The Secret Life of Bees.”

It’s 1964 in the South. A sixteen year old white girl named Lily runs away from her abusive father accompanied by Rosaleen, a black woman who helped Lily’s father raise her from the age of four after Lily’s mother was shot — maybe by Lily, maybe by the father. One of the only things Lily has of her mother’s is a piece of paper with a picture of a black Madonna on it. The words “Tiburon, South Carolina” are printed on the paper, so Lily and Rosaleen head for Tiburon. There they find out that the picture is a label from a jar of honey made by a beekeeper named August, who lives in a pink house with her sisters, May and June. The sisters take in the runaways.

Lily is talking:

“I hadn’t been out to the hives before, so to start off [August] gave me a lesson in what she called ‘bee yard etiquette.’ She reminded me that the world was really one big bee yard, and the same rules worked fine in both places: Don’t be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don’t be an idiot; wear long sleeves and long pants. Don’t swat. Don’t even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates, while whistling melts a bee’s temper. Act like you know what you’re doing, even if you don’t. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.” [p. 92]

I think of the church as a hive sometimes. We have all kinds of work to do to make the honey of spiritual growth, intellectual exploration and right relationship. Compassion, love, challenge, clarity. Those things are so sweet, and they take so much effort. In a hive of bees, everyone has a job. Wax making, honey production, the gathering of nectar which pollinates our crops and flowers, the queen who lays all the eggs. There are even nurse bees who feed the babies.

There is a beekeeping project in inner city Chicago. One visitor wrote this: “I stood just a few feet from the hives as the young men jiggled the bees from the supers and extracted the honey. The air around me sizzled. I stood as still as I could, willing myself not to flinch….

Terror and awe were one as I stood in the eye of the swarm, perfectly still. The term “ecstasy” makes some uneasy because of hallucinogenic and sexual connotations. But its root word exstasis means to stand out of yourself. When the air sizzled, it was easy to forget myself, to slip out of my own worries and to realize that I was a small, vulnerable part of something much larger than myself.

It was relief, if only for a few moments. It was like remembering to inhale deeply after a series of shallow breaths. After being so focused on the bees, I could see everything else more clearly. Is this part of the gift the bees give to their keepers Ñ an opportunity to come out of themselves, to turn away from what they’ve done and to remember what they could be? To be, if nothing else, ecstatic.

As I watched the beekeepers work, they would periodically break off small bits of honeycomb that grew along the rims of the supers. After checking for bees, they’d suck they honey from the comb. ‘We do this for energy,’ Micheal Thompson said, ‘But we also do it to remember why we are here.’ I’d read in The Secret Life of Bees that I should continually send love toward the bees and exorcise their own fears. I tried to do these things, but still, I got stung. …

…When I was sitting on the concrete jotting down notes, a bee landed on my knee and dug in.

‘It hurts,’ I said, cringing, as a beekeeper gently brushed the dying bee off of my leg. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘We try to avoid it.’ ” Jenny Schroedel “Eye of the Swarm “Boundless “Webzine

No one can be in community for long without doing the work, tasting the sweetness, and feeling the sting. I used to be scared of bees. I almost jumped out of a moving car when I was a child because of a bee on the window. I still remember a black buzzing splotch on the window, feeling the terror rise, grabbing the door handle in a panic, just wanting to get away from that buzzing threat. How a sting could have been worse than hitting the pavement at 60 mph, I don’t know. That’s not how panic thinks.

The dread of being stung and outrage at having been stung can make us flail around in community when flailing around is the worst choice we could make. August the beekeeper said “: Don’t be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don’t be an idiot; wear long sleeves and long pants. Don’t swat. Don’t even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates, while whistling melts a bee’s temper. Act like you know what you’re doing, even if you don’t. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.”

Don’t be afraid. Most people don’t want to sting you. Some do sting, because they weren’t thinking, or because they were moving too fast, or because they were in pain, or scared. Still, don’t be an idiot. Know that people will sometimes sting, so protect yourself reasonably. If someone is always getting on your last nerve, perhaps it’s because you are wearing your last nerve a little too close to the surface. Wear long sleeves and long pants. Wear a hat. Don’t swat.

Here’s what I take “don’t swat” to mean. If you are in a situation where things are getting scary, try to stand still. Imagine that everyone involved thinks they are doing the right thing, that they have good intentions, or that they soon will. Don’t strike out at one another.

On a web site called “What everyone needs to know about bee stings,” I read: “Bee stings are a normal part of life in the country and a normal part of working with bees. Many people enjoy bees and consider the occasional sting to be the price we pay for the pleasure of their company, for having them pollinate our food crops and for providing us with honey.” This is true about community too. In one that is a good fit for us, the occasional sting is the price we pay for the pleasure of one another’s company.

“Removing the stinger as quickly as possible reduces the amount of the venom injected and reduces the effects.” Yes. When we hold onto the stinger, when we re play the incident in our mind, it gives it more time to inject venom into your system. I can’t think of one healthy reason to let that happen. “Stay calm. Most of the ill effects from normal stinging incidents come from panic in the person being stung and bystanders. Panic and anxiety multiplies the pain, and can result in serious secondary accidents. Panic by the person stung or those around him/her can produce a systemic reaction in itself.” Yes again. Most ill effects of someone saying something hurtful to us or leaving us out of something or ignoring us come from the thoughts we have about what happened. If we can stay calm and interpret what happened in its best possible light, less harm will be done to everyone involved.

This church has been through a lot of change in the past three years. There was pain and sorrow, anger, nobility, difficult conversations, change, joy, renewal…. You all are an amazing group of people, not only surviving but now thriving and moving into the future with hope and peace. That takes intention and hard work, and it demands a lot from everyone. I know you are proud of this congregation. I hope you will keep your heads as you move into the next chapter of your story. It is becoming a good story to tell already, and I imagine it will continue to be. Your job is to stay hospitable to all of the people who want to come be part of what this group is all about. If you feel angry, whistle. And send out love, because every little thing wants to be loved.

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Rev. Meg Barnhouse

June 10, 2012

It is often said that our nation’s ethics derive from the Ten Commandments of Moses. If you look closely at them, though, they don’t reflect American values very well at all. Solon the Athenian was born around 638 B.C.E. In 594 B.C.E he was elected to create a constitution for Athens, in the process becoming the founder of Western democracy and an early proponent of equal rights for all citizens.

Call to worship:

Spirit of life, be present with us this hour. Join us today as we gather in a wider search for truth and purpose. In this quest, may we greet one another with open hearts and minds; may we inspire each other to consider new questions and seek deeper meaning; and may we cultivate wisdom and compassion. Let all who enter this sanctuary see a welcome face, hear a kind word, and find comfort in this community. And may all that is done and said here today be in service to love and justice.

Source: 1997 UUMA Worship Materials Collection

Reading:

Morning Poem

by Mary Oliver

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches —

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead —

if it’s all you can do

to keep on trudging —

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted —

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.

With the election coming up, I know the Christian Right is going to be more in our faces than it is normally, talking about this being a Christian nation, telling us that the framers of the Constitution built it on the morality of the Ten Commandments. I thought you should have some good information about the Ten Commandments. I’ve noticed that we have a big granite monument to the Ten Commandments on the Capitol grounds, and I read about the Supreme Court’s decision in 2005 that this was not unconstitutional. I wonder if the people who fought so hard for that decision could in fact recite all ten.

On his pseudo news show “The Colbert Report,” Steven Colbert, who is from SC, interviewed congressman Lynn Westmoreland of Georgia, who was fighting hard for a display in the House and in the Senate.

“You co-sponsored a bill requiring the display of the Ten Commandments in the House of Representatives and the Senate. Why was that important to you?” “Well, the Ten Commandments is -is not a bad thing , uh, for people to understand and respect.”

“I’m with you,” Colbert responds as the congressman goes on, “Where better place would you have something like that than a judicial building or courthouse?”

“That’s a good question, Colbert says. Can you think of any better building to have the Ten Commandments in than in a public building?”

“No. I think if we were totally without them we may lose a sense of our direction.”

“What are the ten commandments?”

“What are all of them?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to name them?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Let’s see, don’t murder. Don’t lie, don’t steal-uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh– I can’t name them all.”

In the faith story of the Jews, Christians and Muslims, the Ten Commandments were given to Moses in the Sinai desert; In the Hebrew they are called Aseret ha-Dvar”m, best translated: “the ten statements.” The story is found in both Deuteronomy (5:6-21) and Exodus (20:3-16) The Hebrew people followed Moses out of Egypt and they traveled through the Sinai Peninsula to the land of Canaan, which was promised to them by God. After about three months they came to Mount Horeb, also called Mount Sinai. God told Moses to come up the mountain alone, that he would speak with Moses in a voice the people could hear so they would always trust Moses to lead them. The people were told to wash their clothes, to have a consecration ceremony, to abstain from sex, and they were not allowed to go up the mountain. Moses went up the mountain to talk to God. Smoke came on the mountain, like the smoke from a furnace, because Adonai (one of the Hebrew ways of naming God) descended on the mountain in fire, and there was the sound like a trumpet that grew louder and louder. On the mountain, God gave Moses the Ten Commandments, and many more commandments the people were to follow. According to the Talmud, there are 613 laws the Jews must follow. When public reciting of the ten was giving them more weight with the Jewish people than the other 593 commandments, the recitation was discontinued.

It took Moses so long to come down from the mountain that the people grew restless, and Aaron, Moses’ brother, was pressured to make some gods who would go with them to the Promised Land. He asked for all their gold earrings and bracelets; he melted them down and made a statue of a golden calf. The people celebrated with dancing, shouting and revelry. “Revelry’ is Bible translator language for wild partying. Moses heard the noise. The text says it sounded like war. Have you ever been to a party that sounded like a war?

He came down with the tablets, which were carved on both sides (rabbinic tradition holds that they magically had writing that went all the way through, yet read correctly on both sides. The “O” shaped letters still had the circle of stone hanging in the hole, floating there without connection to the surrounding stone.) Moses saw what the people were doing, and became angry and broke the tablets into pieces. He ground up the gold statue, spread it on their water and made the people drink it. Then he went back up the mountain and got two more tablets inscribed by God. Swedenborgian teaching says that the first tablets had the higher law on them, but when the people proved themselves less than highly evolved, the second tablets had a lower form of the law on them.

Here are the ten:

1. You shall have no other gods before me.

2. You shall make no graven image.

3. Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.

4. Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy.

5. Honor your father and your mother.

6. Do not kill.

7. Do not commit adultery.

8. Do not steal.

9. Do not bear false witness (do not lie).

10. Do not wish for your neighbor’s wife, nor his donkey, nor anything that is his.

These are time-honored precepts, and they encapsulate more than one ancient culture’s wisdom about how to live a good life. In fact, they borrow heavily, verbatim in parts, from the code of Hammurabi, whose tablets we have in the British Museum. I remember, in seminary, being taken aback to realize how much of Mosaic Law was taken directly from Hammurabi, which argued against it being given directly from God to Moses. Once your mind can let go of literalism, though, you can see that these laws are a good way for a new society to be structured, especially one made up of people who had been slaves, used to being told what to do for four hundred years.

Did we start putting monuments in court houses and capitol buildings in the eighteenth century? The nineteenth century? No. They were a Hollywood marketing scheme. Cecil B DeMille had a movie coming out called “The Ten Commandments.” He heard about a judge in MN who wanted to send framed copies of the Ten Commandments to courthouses all over the nation to stop the moral decline he saw. A Christian organization, the Fraternal Order of Eagles, was helping with the funding.

Eager for publicity, DeMille contacted the judge and suggested that they replace the framed certificates with bronze tablets, but the judge said no way. Moses’ tablets were in granite, so bronze wouldn’t do So, with DeMille’s backing, around 150 granite tablets were made and distributed across the country, with Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner dedicating a few of them in person. After the movie, the Order of Eagles kept giving out the monuments, the last one in 1985. Our monument is one of those made to publicize the movie.

Many courthouses in Utah have chosen to take down their displays because a religious organization called Summum wanted to erect monuments of Summum’s precepts next to the Ten Commandments. The cases were won on the grounds that Summum’s right to freedom of speech was denied and the governments had engaged in discrimination. Instead of allowing Summum to erect its monument, the local governments chose to remove their Ten Commandments.

I can’t resist telling you that Summum is a religion and a philosophy that began in 1975 as a result of a fellow named Claude “Corky” Nowell’s encounter with beings he describes as “Summa Individuals.” I will attempt to speak of this faith with respect, but it challenges my ideals. I hope to become a better person as I live on. Summum’s faith story says these beings presented Nowell with concepts regarding the nature of creation, concepts which are continually re-introduced to humankind by advanced beings who work along the pathways of creation. As a result of his experience, Nowell founded Summum in order to share what he received with others. In 1980, as a reflection of his new found path, he changed his name to Summum Bonum Amen Ra, but apparently he just goes by Corky Ra. Here is what the sign would have said: “The grand principle of creation is: ‘Nothing and possibility come in and out of bond infinite times in a finite moment.'”

Are the Ten Commandments at the foundation of our morality? Well, we teach our children not to lie, cheat, or steal, but we also teach freedom of religion, which goes against “Thou shalt have no other Gods before me,” and our whole advertizing industry is built on coveting, or wishing for, what our neighbors have. . A capitalist, consumer driven, democratic culture is antithetical to the holiness codes of the Hebrew Scriptures. This is why there is such tension between people with the values of our culture and fundamentalists of the Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) who want to base a culture on the Commandments. Democracy was unknown in Moses’ time. We believe in religious freedom, free speech, and the rights of the individual, disestablishment of a state religion. All of those go against the Ten Commandments, and all were insisted upon by the framers of the Constitution.

Historian Richard Carrier suggests that, if we are looking for the foundation of our democracy we look to the ethical precepts of Solon the Athenian. Solon was born, we believe, around 638 B.C.E., and lived until approximately 558. He was elected to create a constitution for Athens in 594 B.C.E. Solon is the founder of Western democracy and the first man in history to articulate ideas of equal rights for all. Solon was the first man in Western history to publicly record a civil constitution in writing Solon advocated not only the right but even the duty of every citizen to bear arms in the defense of the state, set up laws defending the principles and importance of private property, state encouragement of economic trades and crafts, and a strong middle class. Those ideals lie at the heart of American culture, but none of them is found in the Law of Moses. Do you wonder why those who follow the Bible deeply feel themselves at cross-purposes with American culture?

Diogenes listed the Ten Commandments of Solon (Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, 1.60):

1. Trust good character more than promises.

2. Do not speak falsely.

3. Do good things.

4. Do not be hasty in making friends, but do not abandon them once made.

5. Learn to obey before you command.

6. When giving advice, do not recommend what is most pleasing, but what is most useful.

7. Make reason your supreme commander.

8. Do not associate with people who do bad things.

9. Honor the gods.

10. Have regard for your parents.

What would your ten be? What are bottom line rules for you? Do they come from experience, from Stephen Covey’s “Seven Habits of Highly Effective People,” from scripture, from habit? I like Solon’s, but for me, I would add “Don’t be boring.” How about you?

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Rev. Meg Barnhouse

June 3, 2012

Carl Jung spoke of the “shadow side” of personalities and concepts. In the shadow are all of the elements we would rather not acknowledge. If we believe that pride makes us bad, our pride will be in the shadow side of our personality. If we believe that leisure is lazy, our resting self will be in the despised and hidden shadow. There is much value to be gained by being aware of one’s shadow side.

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Rev. Meg Barnhouse

May 13, 2012

Mama had a particular view of the world, shaped by her strong Christian faith, her love for children, her growing up as a missionary kid in India. Spiders in the house’s windows? No problem. Twelve cats? Fine. Missing a tithe payment to the church? Very Dangerous!

Reading: Joy in Ordinary Time

My Mama was a second grade teacher at the Gladwyne Elementary School in the rich suburbs of Philadelphia. She loved the children, but she was shy with the parents, who were financiers, pro ball players and attorneys, members of the Junior League, cricket clubs, fox- hunting clubs. For Christmas she would get amazing presents. One year she got a bottle of Joy perfume, then 150 dollars an ounce. I don’t know that she ever wore it. She was keeping it for a special occasion. She kept it so long that it finally evaporated.

About other things she was more openhanded. We had grandfather’s china and silver, which she often used. “That’s what they are meant for, to be used, she said. no sense in saving them. you’d never see them at all that way.”

That openhandedness didn’t extend to her own person. She wore sensible clothes, comfortable shoes, white cotton underwear. She had grown up the child of missionaries, and, whether she wanted it or not, that background was deep in her. She looked respectable and kind. She was cute and cheerful and funny.

Joy perfume didn’t fit who she seemed to be. A daughter never sees all the sides of her mother, though. It makes me smile to think that she harbored a hope that there would come an occasion where it could be her, where she might walk into a room smelling rich and sophisticated, cherished and valued, where it would be just the thing for her to wear. She let my sister and me smell it whenever we wanted to. The bottle sat like an honored but intimidating guest on her dresser. Whenever we smelled it we marveled at how much it had cost. I don’t remember it ever occurring to me to wear it.

I want to let his lesson deep into me. Celebrate the body, the trooper of a body that carries you through life, that pleasures you and lets you dance. Celebrate your body now, before you have lost the weight, before you get your muscle definition, before you feel justified by the harsh eyes of your expectations.

Celebrate being alive, drawing breath, celebrate that you are achingly sad today and that it will pass. It is good to be able to feel feelings. Celebrate that there was a love so big and good that it hurts to lose it. That there was a time so sweet that you ache, remembering. Celebrate those things. Honor the flowering of the tomato plants, the opening of the day lilies, the lemon smell of magnolias. Honor the ache of your heart and the tears falling. Life is mostly ordinary time. Ordinary time, shot through with light and pain and love. Lavish joy on ordinary time. Hope is a wonderful thing, but not if it makes you put off splashing yourself with Joy.

Sermon: What I Learned From My Mother

Happy Mother’s Day. I want to talk to you this morning about my mother, Katherine Pressly Hamilton. She grew up in India until the age of 16. Missionary kid. Her parents were missionaries to the Hindus and Muslims who at that time lived mixed together in and around the town of Lahore, now in Pakistan. When she got to high school she hung out with the other international students, as she didn’t fit with the boys and girls who were raised in the States. When I knew her, she remembered a little Hindi, a little Urdu from those years. I heard it when we were washing dishes; she would sing hymns in Urdu. One year in seminary I invited an Ethiopian student and a Pakistani student named Sam home for Thanksgiving and he cried when she spoke to him. He said she had such a village accent it made him terribly homesick. The Ethiopian Marxist priest from Moscow we had invited converted to Capitalism while playing Monopoly, but that’s another story.

When they were children they would come from India on the boat for furlough. Grandfather would preach and the children would sing. They had a good sense of mischief, and they would change the words to: “Please pass the beer.” Their parents’ Hindi and Urdu wasn’t good enough to catch it. Mama said her aunts would always cry when the children got off the boat. It wasn’t until she was grown that one of them finally told her it was because the children all looked so pitiful in their clothes that had come from the “missionary barrel.” The kids didn’t know the clothes were ten years out of style and that not everyone wore things with some little stain or tear. Whenever something I had on had a little spot on the front or had a safety pin holding up the hem or needed ironing, she would always say “Just throw back your shoulders, smile big and no one will notice.” Mama was a believer in smiling. She preferred to stay happy. Part of how she stayed happy was to see things in the most positive possible way. “The say I had you children was the happiest of my life. Every minute of it was wonderful. Wonderful. “Willfully positive” is how I would describe the style she taught me. Even about her marriage. She and my father didn’t live together from the time I was three years old. They stayed married, though. She would say, “Your father is a difficult man. But I love him.” Then I found a survey in a Readers Digest she had left lying on the floor in her bathroom. One question asked “If you had it to do over again, would you get married?” She had checked. “No” I was shocked. He came to supper every night and stayed the evening before going home to his apartment in town. Children get used to how their family does things. If I had thought about it I wouldn’t have been shocked, I just didn’t really have to think about it because she threw her shoulders back and smiled. We all did. Smiled and didn’t think about it. She smiled big about teaching second grade. She said she loved it. Loved it.

She never complained, and she told funny stories at the dinner table about what happened with the children. She had to have a nap when she came home. I used to tease her about that until one day when I was fourteen I went with her to class and came home exhausted after a day of trying to keep up with 24 8 year olds. I had to take a BIG nap. She would tell elephant jokes and knock-knock jokes and we would groan. When we were camping she would lay out the plastic plates, which were in four bright colors, saying, “Purple, green, yellow, red.” “Ma, we know our colors, we’re not in second grade.” She took us camping for six weeks at a time and smiled. Three teenage girls in a VW camper: my sister, me and a friend. I learned adventuring from her. She would just go without a plan, without a clue as to what was going to happen. My little sister and I alternated being able to take a friend with us. We would get an NEA chartered red-eye to Europe and drive our white VW camper bus all over, finding campsites at night. We girls would set up the tent and sleep in it, and she would sleep in the camper. Whenever we got to a campsite she would look for boys for us. The way you find boys is by looking for pup tents. We would drive around until we spotted one with an empty site next door, and then we’d set up in the empty spot. She would put on a pot of spaghetti and then go next door and knock, and ask if we could run a line for laundry from our site to theirs, and by the way, would they like to join us for supper? We’d get out the guitar and sing after supper and flirt and have a wonderful time. If there weren’t any boys we’d have belching contests. Mama was a lady in so many ways, she taught me to drive with admonitions to drive gracefully, moving my hands over the steering wheel with wrists held limply, but she could win any belching contest. I’ve done my best to learn that from her too. Be a lady when you need to be, but don’t take it camping. She always paid a tithe, a tenth of her salary to the church. One summer we broke down crossing the Mohave Desert. The car cost a couple of hundred dollars to repair. “I know God was joking with me,” she said. That was exactly what my tithe was, and I held it back this month because of our trip. He was telling me not to do that.”

She was virtuous in her schedule. She woke up every morning at 5 and prayed until 6. It’s what she did instead of confronting us when she was worried. So she prayed until 6 and then practiced her violin. She wasn’t very good, but she played in the Main Line symphony in the back row. And she kept it up. She practiced. She taught me that a thing worth doing is worth doing badly if it gives you joy. She kept smiling when she got a lump in her breast. First she tried to not confront it. I’m sure she prayed. The lump didn’t go away. She waited a year to go to the doctor. He performed a mastectomy and radiation. Then another mastectomy. She was in and out of the hospital for the next five years. We kept hearing the cancer was gone and then it would come back. I learned not to hope. She always did, though. She said, “Meggie, everything that happens to me is good, because God is good.” I remember arguing with her one time about that, and then deciding that someone’s faith was more important to them in a situation like that than arguing the truth of what they believed. If believing that was comforting to her, then I needed to support her in it. It had already done its harm – kept her from going to the doctor early enough. Let her enjoy its benefits.

She also went to faith healers. They said she wasn’t healed because there was an un-confessed sin in her life. This saintly childlike woman searched her soul for what the sin might be. It infuriated me that she was loving and believing in a god who would sit up with arms crossed and say “I could heal you but I’m not going to because you have an un-confessed sin in your life and I’m not even going to tell you what that is.” That helped make me a Unitarian Universalist, because it was one of the many things that made no sense, and that wasn’t even their worst offense.

Mama was excruciatingly honest in most things. Once we drove all the way out of a drive-in movie because she had paid the under-twelve price for my sister, who had just turned twelve. I came home from school one day to find her crying at the kitchen table. She was feeling horrible because a postcard had come for me and she had read it.

Her cancer made her honest about the rest. She was in Kings Mountain with her sister and her mother, and her mother gave her some advice and she responded, disagreeing. Her mother sighed in a martyred tone, “How sharper then a serpent’s tooth is an ungrateful child.” Mama spoke sharply to her mother for the first time and said “Mother, I am NOT your child. I am forty six years old. ” When she was telling me this story she teared up and said, Meggie, I know I have treated you like a child and you’re not one, and I apologize. Well, I was about 21 and I thought I WASN’T a child at that point, so I said something gracious like “Oh, Mom, you’ve never really done that…. but she wasn’t finished. She said “If I had it all to do over again, I believe I’d say “no” to you less when you were little. We said “no, no” all the time. I remembered that when I was raising my boys.

Mama never did tell the truth, though, about dying. She was always claiming that she was really healed this time. Her faith won out over her experience and common sense. She didn’t talk about dying until right at the end. She called where I was in seminary and said “I think the Lord is taking me. ” A kind student drove me the hour and a half home and I got to sleep by her sofa through that last night. She would drift and we would call her name, and she’d say “Just a minute, I’ll be right back.” She died the next morning early. I value all the things I learned from her. I value choosing to be positive. I value music and laughter and wanting to make a difference in people’s lives. I’m glad for what I learned to do from watching her do it and what I learned NOT to do from watching her do it. My values are different from hers, but I carry her with me. I know you all carry your mothers too.

It is my hope that, on this Mothers’ Day, we can all bless our mothers for what they have given us and let go of the things they tried to give us that aren’t workable in our lives. May we forgive them their faults, if we can afford to. May we understand that we don’t have to become just like them if we think about it and live with intention.

It is my hope that those of us who are parents can remember that we have given our children many treasures, and that we also have given them things they will let go of as unworkable for them, and that is how it should be.