Mums, Daffodils, and the Rest of the Cosmos

What I used to know as Mothering Sunday, and which the British call ‘Mother’s Day’, is looming. This coming Sunday, in fact. I was reminded of this as I walked to work this morning and got visually assaulted by a billboard telling me to remember to buy flowers.

The Mother’s Days of my youth I fondly remember as days on which the mothers of our parish were given daffodils. The servers would be dispersed from the sanctuary to hand them out, and would inevitably become flustered when faced by the one young woman whose maternal status was unknown. After church, we would proceed as a family to my grandparents’ home, where we would give my grandma the daffodil we had collected for her, and gorge ourselves on all the food her and my grandfather would lay out.

This day, coming as it does at the approximate midway point of Lent, symbolizes a great many things concerning mothers. In fact, I would go so far as to say that on this day, it is almost possible to say more about the whole Christian worldview than on any other single day of the Liturgical year. This is because Mother’s Day, (also called Mothering Sunday, and more anciently, Laetare Sunday), points us beyond the here and now, beyond our earthly mothers, through various levels, to our Holy Mother above.

The Epistle Reading appointed for the day, (at least according to the Canadian Book of Common Prayer, and I assume according to earlier tradition), is taken from the fourth chapter of St Paul’s epistle to the Galatians. In it is contained the words: ‘Jerusalem which is above is free; which is the mother of us all’.

These words give us our theme. On this day around the middle of Lent, just when we are worn down by our fasting and feeling quite discouraged, we are given a glimpse beyond the horizon. It is only a glimpse, mind you, but it is enough to spur us on for the rest of the journey. What that glimpse tells us is that beyond our sight is a city, the heavenly Jerusalem, the place where God dwells, which beckons us on. At the same time as it is the dwelling place of God, it is also our Mother, for it is the place from which we emerge, and it is the place we spend our lives seeking to return to.

But why daffodils? What does all of this have to do with our mothers here on earth; the ones we spend our time visiting therapists to get over?

Well, because our earthly mothers are icons.

Begin with the notion of heaven. 1) Heaven, the dwelling place of God, is too big a concept for us to perceive daily and all the time. 2) We are therefore given a tanglible image of heaven in Mary. Mary became the second dwelling place of God, and equally served to show us the way to follow him when he was among us as a man. But for all Mary’s greatness, from our perspective she is still an historical figure dwelling with the saints above. Because we no longer see her in the flesh, we are given a further image. 3) The Church is the place where God dwells now. It is the meeting place between God and humanity, and it is one step closer to us in our earthly experience. And yet it is still beyond our normal perception. 4) Our diocese, however, is not. The mother church of our diocese is the cathedral, and so traditionally, people would make an annual pilgrimage to visit their cathedral on this day. But we don’t exactly see the cathedral every day either. 5) So we have the parish church. We can well imagine at least seeing the building and being reminded of our heavenly destination, even if we can not get to the daily Mass. 6) Then again, when we can not make it, we have a mother at home, and she is around all the time. 7) Finally, even beyond having a mother, there is every woman: a potential mother, and an image of Mary, the new Eve, just for being woman.

I often illustrate this with a set of Ukrainian matrioshka dolls. With seven in the set, I begin with the largest and open it up, unveiling the next, identical doll, continuing until only the tiny one is left. Yet as small as it is, its appearance is just the same as the biggest, if less detailed for its size.

On Mothering Sunday, the Church has the opportunity to present the world with a picture of where it comes from, where it is going to, and the role all of us - and especially women - have to play in getting us there. This is less obvious than it once was (see my entry ‘Missing the ‘gesimas’ for more on that), but it is still within our scope to preach this profound and invigorating side of the Gospel.

After all I have said, I don’t resent this morning’s billboard for assaulting me as it did. Rather, in light of it all, I only hope I can afford the flowers.