My mother passed away a few weeks before Mother’s Day in 2005. At the time, a friend recommended that I read a little book called In Memoriam by the twentieth century spiritual writer Henri Nouwen. Nouwen was born in the Netherlands, but as a priest and a teacher he spent most of his life in other countries, including the United States and Canada. The book was a tribute to his own mother, whom he said was so secure in her love for her children, that she did not need for them to be physically close. He wrote about how freeing his mother’s love was, enabling him to leave the country and accept opportunities and invitations as they presented themselves, without being burdened by guilt.

The book is a wonderful tribute to his mother, but I couldn’t relate. My mother was a lot more clingy than that; though I will say she did very well, considering how super-clingy her own mother was. Whenever anyone threatened to leave her orbit, if only for a few days, my grandmother’s immediate response was “Just don’t go.”  For family vacations, which never lasted more than three days, we would drive by my grandparents’ house on the way out of town to let them know. With a few days advance notice, my grandmother would be too sick for anyone to leave town.

A mother’s love, like all love, can be complex and contradictory. Human love is often generous and possessive at the same time. Even Jesus’ mother Mary had to learn to let go of her son—first when he was twelve and interacting with the scholars in the Temple and again during his public ministry when she had to remain outside while Jesus spoke to his followers. Surely one of her great agonies was that she was unable to protect him from the false accusations hurled at him, the injustices done to him, and the cruel passion and death that he suffered. The truth is that most of us learn about love from our mothers—not by telling us about love, but by seeing and experiencing them doing unselfish and loving things for us and for others. They help us appreciate that we are loved, even when we fail, and by so doing, help us understand the love of God. Mother’s Day is a wonderful day to honor our mouthers—whether they were n-n-clingy, moderately clingy, or super-clingy.

The effort to make Mother’s Day a national holiday dates back to the aftermath of the Civil War. It was meant to be a call to action, led by Anna Jarvis and Julia Ward Howe (who penned The Battle Hymn of the Republis). More than 600,000 American had died in the Civil War, leaving behind many grieving mothers. Women did not have the right to vote, but they could exercise their moral authority to come together on Mother’s Day to rally for peace. The central mural on the ceiling of our church is of Our Lady of Sorrows, reminding us that Mary herself lost a son to violence. Although the number of American casualties in this present war has been small, wherever there is war and violence throughout the world, there will be grieving mothers. We see them sometime on the local news, weeping for a son or daughter lost to street violence. They are soon replaced on television by other grieving mothers, but the wound that they carry never goes away. When President Wilson officially proclaimed Mother’s Day a national observance in 1915, he encouraged families to display the flag on Mother’s Day to honor grieving mothers. As Mother’s Day became more commercialized, the original purpose of the holiday has faded. I also recall another tradition that has faded. On Mother’s Day, one wore a white flower if your mother was deceased, a red flower if your mother was living.

And, so, on Mother’s Day we honor our mothers for their love and sacrifices, for their sorrows and their joys. And maybe we should add one more thing about mothers. They worry about us a lot. Erma Bombeck was a syndicated newspaper columnist who for over thirty years wrote about the trials of motherhood and family life. Speaking about a mother’s worries, she wrote,’ All mothers worry about their children. Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.” And she also offered this thought: “I brought children into this lousy mixed- up world, because when you love someone and they love you back, the world doesn’t look that lousy or seem that mixed up.”

                            Fr. Joe