By Dr. Joe Yelton
Interim Pastor
When I was pastor in another place, a professor in that congregation came to me just before Mother’s Day and explained that she would not be in church the coming Sunday. Her story was a hard one to hear and, I’m certain, a far harder one to experience.
Her mother had been a brutish, angry, belittling, and abusive mom. Her brilliant daughter experienced this throughout her growing up. The split second she was old enough to leave home, she did. There was never an effort to reconnect, either by the mother or her daughter. Her mother, now deceased, was for her a nightmarish memory. At some point, she discovered that it was best to skip church on Mother’s Day rather than hear the accolades being heaped upon mothers and the institution of motherhood. Such remarks were as sandpaper to her heart and salt in her wounds.
To this day I remember the depth of feeling she had for her painful childhood. Yes, I thanked God that my mama was none of those. However, that was not enough. I promised this woman that if she could give Mother’s Day at church just one more try, I’d do my best to make it meaningful and filled with hope.
Mother’s Day morning, she was there. I realized what a risk this was for her. As promised, the service was uplifting without being insensitive to the reality that not all have sweet memories of their mothers. The next morning, she dropped by my office and asked for an hour of my time. Within twenty minutes we were standing at the graveside of her mother. This was the first time she’d visited her mom’s grave. Initially, she spewed her venom at the grave-marker. Tears flowed from both of us. But then, something happened. Quietness overtook us. She said, “God is here.”
For the first time she felt pity for her mother. For the first time she crawled out of the grave of hate and pain she’d grown accustomed to, and looked for God, and found God. Yes, she was already a believer, but for the first time in her life, she felt a cleansing that had been desperately needed all her life. Leaving the graveside, she kissed the tips of her fingers and laid them on the top of the gravestone and said something to the effect, “I’m going to try to learn to love you, mama.”
And she did. It’s never too late to learn to love those who’ve been unlovely to us. She didn’t miss a Mother’s Day service after that. Better than that, years later when a terminal illness was soon to claim her, she purchased a burial plot directly next to her mother’s. It’s never too late to learn to love that deeply, thanks be to God.