First United Methodist Church of Reno

¹When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. ²And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. ³Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. ⁴All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

⁵Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. ⁶And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. ⁷Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? ⁸And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? ⁹Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, ¹⁰Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, ¹¹Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” ¹²All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” ¹³But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

¹⁴But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. ¹⁵Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. ¹⁶No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

This blessing is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers saying, "It's OK honey; Mommy's here."

This blessing is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they may never see -- and the mothers who took those babies, forever, to be their own children.

This blessing is for all the mothers who attended ball games, recitals, rehearsals, etc. etc. and who said, "I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and meant it.

This blessing is for all the mothers of Darfur who fled in the night and can't find their children or can’t feed their children.

Creator God, what makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Firmness? A soft lap?

Or is mothering what is in her heart?

Is it the ache she feels when she watches her child disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes her from sleep to dread, and from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put her hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The need to flee from wherever she is and hug her child when she hears news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, …a baby dying?

Yes it is so.

So this blessing is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies…and for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.

This blessing is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store with frustration and despair.

This blessing is for the mothers who show up at work with milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

This blessing is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to speak up with pride.

This blessing is for mothers who put pinwheels, teddy bears, or flowers on their children's graves.

This blessing is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who haven’t the words to reach them, and yet have never put them out of their heart.

This blessing is for new mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation, and mature mothers learning to let go…for working mothers and stay-at-home mothers…single mothers and married mothers.

And this blessing is for all of us who will move beyond sentiment into actions which support mothers and mothering persons in all of their life-giving and life-nurturing roles. Amen

*MOTHERS ARE BEHAVIORS*
A Mother’s Day Paean
An “Acts of God” ® original script
by Jennifer Weil

Cast: Speaker/Pastor
Child
Teacher
Mother
Mordecai
Father
King Ahasuerus
Sister
Friend
Playing Time: 2 minutes
Theme Words: Honor, Love, Mother

NOTE: The characters act out the scenario as the Speaker performs the poem. While the narrator recites, all the roles are mimed by four people. Action should be choreographed to create a fluid tableau, always in motion. It is possible to cast each part separately; if choosing to do it this way, modify the stage directions to allow for smooth movements on and off the stage. Entrances and exits should not detract from the reading. Plan to end the piece with all the players back on stage. Suggested blocking is shown in italics.

(At the beginning: A mother sits in a chair, holding a baby. The “baby” is a bundle made of a shawl, which she will use for the second stanza.)

Oh, child, enveloped in a cloud of Mother Love
containing all your fears and needs,
snuggled on a lap, safe in a circle of arms,
tender eyes a benediction on your sleepy face.

(The woman rises, unfolds the shawl and places it over her head and shoulders. As she does this, another woman enters, stage right, walking with a cane. She is greeted by the woman with the shawl, who takes her arm and leads her stage left. They move in a circle back to the chair, where the woman leans her cane.)

We yield to this simple mother and child tableau,
then bend our eyes around it, go
beyond the clothes and food, the dreams and lessons
carried from mothers ages past to mothers new and now.

(The shawl becomes an apron; the woman sits in a chair. The second woman sits on the floor, her head in her friend’s lap.)

And we awaken to see Motherhood as devotion made, not born,
so Mother is the friend with an ear to another’s heart,
Holding the one whose pain she sits beside,
whose wounds she prays to heal, whose temper seeks to calm.

(The woman on the floor rises, exits L., the woman with the shawl rises, hesitates, then follows.)

We speak of love, not lineage, in Ruth’s loyal soul,
foreswearing her Moab mother to follow Naomi
to Bethlehem, sentient herself that a daughter
is more than flesh from flesh; a mother, more than womb.

(The woman following reaches out, the woman ahead seems to “feel” this gesture, turns and goes back to take the outstretched hand. As the words are spoken below, the following actions occur: the weeping cousin becomes a teacher who awaits the entrance of a troubled youth, who enters arms crossed, sullen, defying her. She reaches out to touch his shoulder, he drops his head. A man enters, obviously angry, and joins his “son” who is with the teacher. The teacher becomes the pastor, welcoming the father and the son, inviting them to sit. The father must sit in the chair that has the cane leaning against it. The pastor mimes pouring tea. If this is too difficult, a real tea pot may be pre-set beside one of the chairs, but should not be visible until called for in the poem.)

She is the cousin holding her weeping cousin’s hand,
this teacher believing in a troubled youth,
that pastor making a cup of tea to sweeten
the ministry of a bitter conversation--

(The teacher becomes Esther, the son becomes Mordecai, the father rises, takes the cane, becomes King Ahasuérus, who uses the cane as scepter/weapon. Esther blocks the king’s raised arm from striking Mordecai. Then she enfolds the king in her embrace. He sobs against her.)

She is Esther rescuing Mordecai from the gallows of
King Ahasuérus--igniting love with wit and wisdom,
honoring proud men’s noble minds--become
mother to the child who drove their tantrum passions.

(The king becomes the father, the son becomes a gentle spectator to the baby in his father’s lap, which may be mimed or be fashioned from the father’s sweater or jacket.)

And Father with a lullaby, and Brother with a tender touch,
both summon the mighty grace of a mother essence,
God’s love incarnate, seeking where to settle blessing,
so like a summer rain softening the dry and harsh, uneven plain.

(At the end, father is sitting, son is standing nearby, the two women flank them. One may be seated.)

[The first part of this homily – on the different experiences of mother and nurturing – was delivered by Jennifer Edenborough.]

And so in litany and scripture, in poetry and song, in motherhood and Pentecost, we have gathered to celebrate the birth of new beginnings this morning. In the opening lines of Psalm 104 we’re reminded of this celebration of creation:

“O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. … When you send forth your spirit, they are created; and you renew the face of the ground.”^²

We have only to look around us to see the manifestations of this creative Spirit in our world. We’re especially blessed, of course, to live in a corner where the natural beauty of our environment sometimes takes our breath away. But even those who may not live in the Bay Area can still appreciate the presence of the Creator in smaller signs of life around them.

To me those sparks of God’s Spirit are all the more precious because their vitality and vibrancy stand in stark contrast to all that is dullness, and of death and decay. With Martha just the other day, I remember hearing through the window by our patio the exquisite sounds of a songbird, singing his heart out as he flitted about looking for a place to nest. One moment I was distracted by mundane things, and the next I was transported by this bird’s thoroughly joyful song! It was a Pentecostal moment – one of the Spirit pouring out from the heart of a little bird into my own.

Whether we’ve ever had children or grandchildren of our own, on this day of our celebrating both Pentecost and Mothers’ Day, I think that all of us recognize that one of the greatest manifestations of the Spirit is the moment of birth. It’s so magical that even people whose work brings them into daily contact with “birthing moments” never seem to lose their sense of awe. Whether the life that they welcome into the world is a seedling, an animal or a human being, all who are present at such moments truly experience the Spirit and a profound connection to everything that lives on this earth.

I’m reminded of the story, told as a dream, in which a dreamer entered a huge store where all of the gifts of God were kept. Behind the counter was an angel – one of God’s messengers.^³ In his dream the would-be purchaser said, “I have run out of the fruits of the Spirit. Can you restock me?” When the angel seemed about to refuse, the dreamer angrily burst out, “In place of war, injustice, lying, hate, tyranny, I want peace, compassion, integrity, love, joy …. Without these I shall be lost.” But the angel behind the counter replied, “I’m sorry. We do not stock fruits. We only keep seed. The rest is up to you.”^⁴

Every single one of us, as newborns drawing our first breath years ago, we’re filled with the life-giving Spirit of God who for nine months had been skillfully knitting us together in our mothers’ wombs.^⁵ This gift of the very breath of God remains with us still, sustaining our lives while working inside of us to sanctify us and make holy everything that we do. The creativity that renews all things remains one of the most powerful, although quiet, experiences of Pentecost.

Hildegard of Bingen captured the essence of this manifestation of the Spirit by using the Latin word viriditas, “greening power.” Viriditas is a germinating force that makes moist and green those things that only just before had been dry, brittle and lifeless. It’s active when the desert blooms after rain or when spring arrives after the bitter cold of winter.^⁷ Yet another poet, Anne Higgins, recognized this renewing power while visiting Yellowstone National Park a year after much of it had been devastated by forest fire. Touched by the presence of small, brightly colored wildflowers that were growing “through the charcoal,” she concluded her poem with the insightful phrase: “In the heart of the fired wood, something new blooms.”^⁸

Whether the Pentecost we experience is in violent wind and fire or in gentle breath and greening, we are here to be witnesses of that sacred power, just as those reinvigorated first apostles did. Cleansed, refreshed and healed, we too are invited to embrace a transformation of creation. We, too, are empowered to continue the work of that Spirit of Creation in our own lives, in our families, in our communities, and throughout the rest of the cosmos. Like those first disciples, may we carry on the work of sharing shalom with all whom we meet, offering new life and new beginnings in the name of Jesus, the Christ.

1Without a doubt the “focal” reading for today is Luke’s description of events on Pentecost – in fact it’s his chronology that determines the structure of the Great Fifty Days of the Easter Season, between Pesach and Shavuot, events that other gospel writers condense into one or two days. Shavuot (Pentecost, Weeks) got its name because it falls fifty days (or seven weeks) after Pesach. It’s also called Atzeret in the Talmud, a name implying a concluding festival of Passover. Set at the last grain harvest of the season in Israel, and the beginning of the fruit harvest, this pilgrimage festival was a time for bringing the first fruits to the Temple as an offering of thanksgiving. What’s more, because the arrival at Sinai followed the exodus from Egypt by about fifty days (cf. Exodus 19: 1), this harvest festival fifty days after Passover became the time to commemorate the gift of the Torah at Sinai.

3The word first had nothing at all to do with winged beings – those creatures of myth and story – but is derived from the Greek word angelos, which literally means, simply, “messenger.”

4This is but one version of the story first told by Leslie D. Weatherhead in Key Next Door (London: Holder & Stoughton, 1960) p. 169) and derived from the insights of that renowned professor of pastoral psychology, Howard Clinebell.

5This imagery is taken from Psalm 139: 13 – “For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” And the very next verse concludes: “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

7B. Newman, Ed., Voice of the Living Light: Hildegard of Bingen and Her World (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1998), pp. 211-212.

8Anne Higgins, “Smoke and Fire,” Sisters Today, March 1977 (found also in At the Year’s Elbow (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen Poetry Press, 2000).

The First United Methodist Church of Napa, CA

May 11, 2008