Originally Preached May 13, 2012 at First Church of Christ, Congregational, UCC in Redding, CT
Our scripture today says this: “Honor your father and your mother.” Itʼs a pretty simple, straight forward statement. Some days it may be easier than others. Itʼs a little easier to honor mom and dad when they make you delicious pancakes or grilled cheese sandwiches. Right? Itʼs a little harder to honor mom and dad when they give you lengthy stern lectures about the cleanliness of your room or when they start dancing in front of all your friends. My dad does this dance he calls “the pony.” Itʼs something. Anyway, thatʼs another story.
Today, I wanted to honor my parents by telling you all about how they helped me understand God.
First is my father, John W Davidson. I can still picture him sitting at the foot of my bed. I can still see the 101 Dalmations red comforter on the bed. I can still see the way he has to duck a little bit to avoid the metal bars on the bunk bed above us. I can still picture him explaining fractions to me, and that I was 5 and a quarter years old, and that half was a big deal when youʼre 5 and a quarter. I also remember him sitting there, teaching me a new line every night. First night, he taught me, “Our Father, who art in Heaven...” the next night, he taught me, “hallowed be thy name.” And that was our nightly bed time ritual. He would sit there night after night and teach me line after line of the Lordʼs prayer. And thatʼs kind of how I think of God. A patient, loving father, sitting at the foot of my bed, on my 101 Dalmatians red comforter, teaching me all the right words to say. God is like a father, teaching us all the right words to say.
If you’re a father reading this, give yourself a pat on the back. Fathers, the work you do is hard. It is honorable. It is holy. God is like a Father, teaching us all the right words to say.
Then thereʼs my mother, Eleanor K. Davidson. Everyone called her Kay. She was from rural Mississippi, and she used to call us “Yʼall Kids.” When she married my father, she had the straightest hair that could be, so long it went all the way down her backside, right down to her hips. But I never got to see that hair, because when I was 2 years old my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I donʼt remember being told about it. I was so young, her cancer was just always a part of who I was. My older sisters just recently told me that our parents flew us out to St. Louis to our grandmotherʼs house to tell us about her diagnosis. Apparently, that was where she received her first treatment, in St. Louis. Back then, chemotherapy was still in experimental stages. I donʼt remember much about it, but I know it was nasty. I know it does more damage to your body than the actual cancer itself. I know it made her so fragile she had to wear a neck brace. I know it made her lose all of that gorgeous hair. She used to wear these colorful, floral pattern scarves on her head. I would tie those same scarves around my neck and use them as super hero capes. She made it 5 years more with the chemo. She died when I was 7 years old. She had this dream she would be there for my high school graduation. She had this fear that she would die too early and I wouldnʼt be able to remember her because I was so young. Thatʼs why she went through chemo, thatʼs why she went through so much torture, to make sure she was around a little longer, to make sure I had a chance to get to know her a little better. And thatʼs kind of how I think of God. God is like a mother who put herself through hell so that I could know just a little bit more about her, and yet still I can never fully know her. Doesnʼt that sound like God? Doesnʼt that sound like the crucifixion? God put herself through torture and death so that we could know just a little bit more about her, and yet still we can never fully know her. God is like a mother who sacrificed everything just to have a little more time with us.
If you’re a mother reading this, give yourself a pat on the back. Mothers, the work you do is hard, it is honorable, it is holy. God is like a Mother who sacrificed everything just to have a little more time with us.
3 years later, at the age of 10, I found myself in a tuxedo, standing at the front of the chapel at Manhattenville College. It is a beautiful spot for a wedding. Thatʼs where my dad married Barbara Quinn Davidson, my step-mom.
Barbara made me eat lima beans. It was terrible. I would sit at the dinner table for 2 hours refusing to eat them, but she always got them down. Barbara isnʼt just a step-mother. Barbara is my mother. She took me in as her own son. She forced me to eat vegetables like a mother, and she dried my tears like a mother. From the start, she worked hard to make sure we all felt like one solid family, all seven of us. For example, my parents didnʼt take a honeymoon; we took a family-moon. Itʼs not a wedding anniversary; itʼs a family-versary. Barbara is my mother. And thatʼs kind of how I think about God.
We say that Jesus is Godʼs only begotten son, and yet, God takes us all in as her own beloved children. God adopts us, and works hard to make sure we all feel like one solid family. God is like a step-mother, who really feels like a mother.
If you’re a Step-mother or an Adopted mother reading this, give yourselves a pat on the back. Mothers, the work you do is hard, it is honorable, it is holy. God is like a step-mother, who adopts you as her very own.
Honor your father AND your mother. Thatʼs what the scripture says. Thatʼs one of the 10 Commandments. Thatʼs top 10 on the long list of thousands of rules. Honor your Mother. Thatʼs on the same list as Thou Shalt Not Steal. That is given the same amount of importance as Thou Shalt Not Kill. HONOR YOUR FATHER AND YOUR MOTHER. And thatʼs exactly what the Bible does. When the Bible talks about God, when the Bible honors God, it honors God as both Father AND Mother.
Look at our passage from the book of James today. James says: “Every generous act of giving...is from above....from the Father of Lights...he gave us birth.” In the same sentence, James calls God Father AND talks about God giving us birth. In the same sentence James calls God Father AND says God acts like a Mother. Weʼre more used to the Father imagery, so sometimes we overlook the more subtle mother imagery. Other times the mother imagery can make us feel a little uncomfortable because we are so used to Father God. But itʼs there all over the Bible. God even talks about herself as a mother. At various points, God calls herself a mother eagle, a nursing mother, a pregnant mother, the list goes on and on and on. The Bible is filled with tons of female imagery for God. For whatever reason, we tend to skip over those parts of the Bible.
My church is the perfect example. If polled all the members, I would put just about all of them in the theologically progressive category. And yet the words we say do not always reflect that tendency.
Our Church has a beautiful Liturgy. Thereʼs something about the Lordʼs Prayer and the Gloria Patri that moves me to the core. Thereʼs something about our liturgy that makes me feel like Iʼve returned home every Sunday.
This is how liturgy works; it works in two ways: Liturgy says a lot about what we already believe, AND liturgy transforms our faith into new ways of believing. Take a moment to take that in. Liturgy says a lot about what we already believe, AND liturgy transforms our faith into new ways of believing.
If you look at our Liturgy, if you count it up in the bulletin, together as a church we say that God is male 9 times every Sunday. Every week. 9 times. Thatʼs at least 468 times every year that we proclaim together that God is male. Now, throughout the year, if you visit our church, you will probably catch me praying to Mothering God or Womb of Life in my Pastoral Prayers. That’s because every year in our set liturgy we say that God is male 468 times, and in our liturgy, we say God is female exactly 0 times. 468 to 0! That sounds like a pretty one-sided game to me. If that were the score at a basketball game, youʼd probably leave at half-time, right? And some people do leave church at half-time for that very reason. For some people Father God just doesnʼt do it for them. And itʼs not about score-keeping. Itʼs not about making sure we have a one-to-one ratio. Itʼs about making sure we draw upon all the richness and beauty of our tradition. Itʼs about making sure our liturgy reflects what we actually believe and what our God wants for us to believe. We need to make sure EVERY person here has a chance to connect to God through our liturgy, whether youʼre a mother, father, son, daughter, or none of the above. Thatʼs how Jesus talked about God. Jesus made sure everyone had a moment to say, “huh, God is just like me.”
Jesus said, hey woman, remember the other day when you lost your coin, God is just like you. God is like a woman searching for a lost coin. Jesus said, hey woman, remember when you made bread this morning. God is just like you. God is like a woman kneading yeast into a loaf of bread. Hey Father, remember how youʼre a father, God is just like you. God is like a Father, a loving parent.
When we pray each week to our Father, all the Fathers in the audience get a chance to subconsciously think, “huh, God is just like me.” I want all the mothers in the room to have that same moment. Mothers, the work you do as Mothers is hard, and honorable, and holy. You deserve more than one day a year. Amen?
I donʼt use female images of God as Mother because itʼs PC. I donʼt use female images of God because it sounds nice. This image of God as mother comes from a deeply spiritual life experience with my own mothers. This image of God as mother comes from our hymnal. This image of God as mother comes from our scripture. This image of God as mother comes from God herself. I use Mother God, not to make anyone uncomfortable. I use Mother God because I want to enrich our worship together. I use Mother God because I want to take advantage of every part of our tradition. I use Mother God because language is a limited thing to describe an unlimited God, so we need to draw on all the symbols and all the words available.
But it shouldnʼt just be me. I shouldnʼt be the only one up here using these words. This is a conversation we should be having together. This is something we should be integrating into our Liturgy. Liturgy should reflect what we already believe, AND liturgy should expand our faith vocabulary. Not just for our own sake, but for our childrenʼs sake. Because I didnʼt know I could honor my mother in this way until my church growing up decided to change the words to the Doxology to be gender-inclusive. Instead of “Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost,” we sang, “Creator, Christ, and Holy Ghost.” I hated it when they changed the Doxology, but over time it helped me to know God more fully. I hated it when they changed the Doxology because I loved the Doxology, but if they hadnʼt, I would never have been able to think of God as a mother who sacrificed everything just to have a little more time with us.
This is a conversation we need to have together. Itʼs not about answering the question: “What is the gender of God?” Itʼs about expanding, enriching, and transforming the way we talk about God. Itʼs about making our beautiful liturgy even more beautiful than it already is. Itʼs about making sure every person who comes into church has a chance to connect with God. Because for some people “Father God,” doesnʼt connect. For some people “Father God” doesn’t represent the kind of Loving God we preach here. For some people, if the score is 468 to 0, then theyʼre leaving church before half time is over. I want to make sure they know we are not a 468 to 0 kind of church. I want to make sure this is a place where EVERYONE can connect to God.
Our scripture today says this: “Honor your father and your mother.” Itʼs a pretty simple, straight forward statement. Some days it may be easier than others. Itʼs a little easier to honor mom and dad when they make you delicious pancakes or grilled cheese sandwiches. Right? Itʼs a little harder to honor mom and dad when they give you lengthy stern lectures about the cleanliness of your room or when they start dancing in front of all your friends. My dad does this dance he calls “the pony.” Itʼs something. Anyway, thatʼs another story.
Today, I wanted to honor my parents by telling you all about how they helped me understand God.
First is my father, John W Davidson. I can still picture him sitting at the foot of my bed. I can still see the 101 Dalmations red comforter on the bed. I can still see the way he has to duck a little bit to avoid the metal bars on the bunk bed above us. I can still picture him explaining fractions to me, and that I was 5 and a quarter years old, and that half was a big deal when youʼre 5 and a quarter. I also remember him sitting there, teaching me a new line every night. First night, he taught me, “Our Father, who art in Heaven...” the next night, he taught me, “hallowed be thy name.” And that was our nightly bed time ritual. He would sit there night after night and teach me line after line of the Lordʼs prayer. And thatʼs kind of how I think of God. A patient, loving father, sitting at the foot of my bed, on my 101 Dalmatians red comforter, teaching me all the right words to say. God is like a father, teaching us all the right words to say.
If you’re a father reading this, give yourself a pat on the back. Fathers, the work you do is hard. It is honorable. It is holy. God is like a Father, teaching us all the right words to say.
Then thereʼs my mother, Eleanor K. Davidson. Everyone called her Kay. She was from rural Mississippi, and she used to call us “Yʼall Kids.” When she married my father, she had the straightest hair that could be, so long it went all the way down her backside, right down to her hips. But I never got to see that hair, because when I was 2 years old my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I donʼt remember being told about it. I was so young, her cancer was just always a part of who I was. My older sisters just recently told me that our parents flew us out to St. Louis to our grandmotherʼs house to tell us about her diagnosis. Apparently, that was where she received her first treatment, in St. Louis. Back then, chemotherapy was still in experimental stages. I donʼt remember much about it, but I know it was nasty. I know it does more damage to your body than the actual cancer itself. I know it made her so fragile she had to wear a neck brace. I know it made her lose all of that gorgeous hair. She used to wear these colorful, floral pattern scarves on her head. I would tie those same scarves around my neck and use them as super hero capes. She made it 5 years more with the chemo. She died when I was 7 years old. She had this dream she would be there for my high school graduation. She had this fear that she would die too early and I wouldnʼt be able to remember her because I was so young. Thatʼs why she went through chemo, thatʼs why she went through so much torture, to make sure she was around a little longer, to make sure I had a chance to get to know her a little better. And thatʼs kind of how I think of God. God is like a mother who put herself through hell so that I could know just a little bit more about her, and yet still I can never fully know her. Doesnʼt that sound like God? Doesnʼt that sound like the crucifixion? God put herself through torture and death so that we could know just a little bit more about her, and yet still we can never fully know her. God is like a mother who sacrificed everything just to have a little more time with us.
If you’re a mother reading this, give yourself a pat on the back. Mothers, the work you do is hard, it is honorable, it is holy. God is like a Mother who sacrificed everything just to have a little more time with us.
3 years later, at the age of 10, I found myself in a tuxedo, standing at the front of the chapel at Manhattenville College. It is a beautiful spot for a wedding. Thatʼs where my dad married Barbara Quinn Davidson, my step-mom.
Barbara made me eat lima beans. It was terrible. I would sit at the dinner table for 2 hours refusing to eat them, but she always got them down. Barbara isnʼt just a step-mother. Barbara is my mother. She took me in as her own son. She forced me to eat vegetables like a mother, and she dried my tears like a mother. From the start, she worked hard to make sure we all felt like one solid family, all seven of us. For example, my parents didnʼt take a honeymoon; we took a family-moon. Itʼs not a wedding anniversary; itʼs a family-versary. Barbara is my mother. And thatʼs kind of how I think about God.
We say that Jesus is Godʼs only begotten son, and yet, God takes us all in as her own beloved children. God adopts us, and works hard to make sure we all feel like one solid family. God is like a step-mother, who really feels like a mother.
If you’re a Step-mother or an Adopted mother reading this, give yourselves a pat on the back. Mothers, the work you do is hard, it is honorable, it is holy. God is like a step-mother, who adopts you as her very own.
Honor your father AND your mother. Thatʼs what the scripture says. Thatʼs one of the 10 Commandments. Thatʼs top 10 on the long list of thousands of rules. Honor your Mother. Thatʼs on the same list as Thou Shalt Not Steal. That is given the same amount of importance as Thou Shalt Not Kill. HONOR YOUR FATHER AND YOUR MOTHER. And thatʼs exactly what the Bible does. When the Bible talks about God, when the Bible honors God, it honors God as both Father AND Mother.
Look at our passage from the book of James today. James says: “Every generous act of giving...is from above....from the Father of Lights...he gave us birth.” In the same sentence, James calls God Father AND talks about God giving us birth. In the same sentence James calls God Father AND says God acts like a Mother. Weʼre more used to the Father imagery, so sometimes we overlook the more subtle mother imagery. Other times the mother imagery can make us feel a little uncomfortable because we are so used to Father God. But itʼs there all over the Bible. God even talks about herself as a mother. At various points, God calls herself a mother eagle, a nursing mother, a pregnant mother, the list goes on and on and on. The Bible is filled with tons of female imagery for God. For whatever reason, we tend to skip over those parts of the Bible.
My church is the perfect example. If polled all the members, I would put just about all of them in the theologically progressive category. And yet the words we say do not always reflect that tendency.
Our Church has a beautiful Liturgy. Thereʼs something about the Lordʼs Prayer and the Gloria Patri that moves me to the core. Thereʼs something about our liturgy that makes me feel like Iʼve returned home every Sunday.
This is how liturgy works; it works in two ways: Liturgy says a lot about what we already believe, AND liturgy transforms our faith into new ways of believing. Take a moment to take that in. Liturgy says a lot about what we already believe, AND liturgy transforms our faith into new ways of believing.
If you look at our Liturgy, if you count it up in the bulletin, together as a church we say that God is male 9 times every Sunday. Every week. 9 times. Thatʼs at least 468 times every year that we proclaim together that God is male. Now, throughout the year, if you visit our church, you will probably catch me praying to Mothering God or Womb of Life in my Pastoral Prayers. That’s because every year in our set liturgy we say that God is male 468 times, and in our liturgy, we say God is female exactly 0 times. 468 to 0! That sounds like a pretty one-sided game to me. If that were the score at a basketball game, youʼd probably leave at half-time, right? And some people do leave church at half-time for that very reason. For some people Father God just doesnʼt do it for them. And itʼs not about score-keeping. Itʼs not about making sure we have a one-to-one ratio. Itʼs about making sure we draw upon all the richness and beauty of our tradition. Itʼs about making sure our liturgy reflects what we actually believe and what our God wants for us to believe. We need to make sure EVERY person here has a chance to connect to God through our liturgy, whether youʼre a mother, father, son, daughter, or none of the above. Thatʼs how Jesus talked about God. Jesus made sure everyone had a moment to say, “huh, God is just like me.”
Jesus said, hey woman, remember the other day when you lost your coin, God is just like you. God is like a woman searching for a lost coin. Jesus said, hey woman, remember when you made bread this morning. God is just like you. God is like a woman kneading yeast into a loaf of bread. Hey Father, remember how youʼre a father, God is just like you. God is like a Father, a loving parent.
When we pray each week to our Father, all the Fathers in the audience get a chance to subconsciously think, “huh, God is just like me.” I want all the mothers in the room to have that same moment. Mothers, the work you do as Mothers is hard, and honorable, and holy. You deserve more than one day a year. Amen?
I donʼt use female images of God as Mother because itʼs PC. I donʼt use female images of God because it sounds nice. This image of God as mother comes from a deeply spiritual life experience with my own mothers. This image of God as mother comes from our hymnal. This image of God as mother comes from our scripture. This image of God as mother comes from God herself. I use Mother God, not to make anyone uncomfortable. I use Mother God because I want to enrich our worship together. I use Mother God because I want to take advantage of every part of our tradition. I use Mother God because language is a limited thing to describe an unlimited God, so we need to draw on all the symbols and all the words available.
But it shouldnʼt just be me. I shouldnʼt be the only one up here using these words. This is a conversation we should be having together. This is something we should be integrating into our Liturgy. Liturgy should reflect what we already believe, AND liturgy should expand our faith vocabulary. Not just for our own sake, but for our childrenʼs sake. Because I didnʼt know I could honor my mother in this way until my church growing up decided to change the words to the Doxology to be gender-inclusive. Instead of “Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost,” we sang, “Creator, Christ, and Holy Ghost.” I hated it when they changed the Doxology, but over time it helped me to know God more fully. I hated it when they changed the Doxology because I loved the Doxology, but if they hadnʼt, I would never have been able to think of God as a mother who sacrificed everything just to have a little more time with us.
This is a conversation we need to have together. Itʼs not about answering the question: “What is the gender of God?” Itʼs about expanding, enriching, and transforming the way we talk about God. Itʼs about making our beautiful liturgy even more beautiful than it already is. Itʼs about making sure every person who comes into church has a chance to connect with God. Because for some people “Father God,” doesnʼt connect. For some people “Father God” doesn’t represent the kind of Loving God we preach here. For some people, if the score is 468 to 0, then theyʼre leaving church before half time is over. I want to make sure they know we are not a 468 to 0 kind of church. I want to make sure this is a place where EVERYONE can connect to God.