Sermon Preached at Northbrae Community Church, May 8, 2005 … Mother’s Day

by Ron Sebring

We enjoyed our trip to Minnesota. It was an experience in contrasts. We left San Francisco in 65 degree weather, under a blue sky, and landed in Minneapolis in 33 degree weather, and it was snowing. We had much fun – my son Daniel, his wife, Melonie, and our two grandchildren, Colin (6) and Brendon (2 ½). I learned several things.

Adults can never match children in playing video games.

I learned all I ever want to know about "Sponge Bob."

We went to the IMAX to watch a documentary on a climb up Mt. Kilimanjaro. I sat next to Colin who became quite restless. On the way out, his hand in mine, he looked up and said, "That’s a movie for big people. It’s not for kids." When you’re with children, it becomes a child’s world.

We went to the science museum where they have a display of dinosaur bones. It is a hands-on place that is engineered to be "child-friendly."

Dinosaur stomachs that children can crawl through.

A huge sandbox where children can excavate dinosaur-shaped bones.

And a most unusual animated display.

For $1, a child can push buttons to animate a huge dinosaur skeleton.

Push a button and make its tail go back and forth.

Push a button and make its head swing from side to side.

Push a button and make its head tilt … 12 feet high, looking down at you.

And push the red button and make the dinosaur roar … a deep, low, bellowing roar … the kind you can feel in your stomach.

Brendon, 2 ½ years old, innocently walked under this dinosaur as older children were playing with the controls. The dinosaur tilted its head and looked down at Brendon. It opened its mouth, teeth as big as your fingers, and let out its low, guttural roar. Brendon jumped this high off the ground. You could see daylight under his feet. Much to the delight of the children playing with the controls, Brendon yelped and took off running. Disappeared in the crowd. We had a little trouble finding him. We found him hiding behind a sign. And he was scared.

Daniel, my son, picked him up with a loving, motherly embrace. Brendon’s arms too, a vice-grip around his neck. And Daniel immediately talked to him about not being afraid. We walked toward the dinosaur, but Brendon didn’t want anything to do with it. We happened upon the idea of asking Brendon to roar back at the dinosaur. Bear your teeth. Make little claws with your fist. Roar back. Which he did! Grrrrrrrr! Each time Brendon roared back at the dinosaur, we managed to take a step closer. Eventually, Brendon overcame his fear and was having fun.

In the life of all of us, at some time or another, we will all hear the dinosaur roar. The dinosaur roared for me when I was diagnosed with cancer. The whole of life comes down to an instant. We rethink our priorities. We want to run off and hide in a cave, somewhere. And we’ll get stuck there, or we’ll learn to come out and roar back.

In our Joy’s and Concerns, each Sunday morning, we often hear the dinosaur roar. Sometimes it is a loud roar. Sometimes it is just a low, warning growl. We feel ourselves before something ominous.

A loved one facing a crisis. A marriage threatened or falling apart.

Our precarious political world. Wars and rumors of war.

A son or a daughter in Iraq, or some other precarious situation.

What is it that enables us to get a grip of a situation, and roar back? What is it that allows us to change our perspective and face into our challenges? It’s feeling the embrace of the Universe. Some would call it feeling the "Love of God." And that language works. In Christianity, it is called "GRACE." This is fundamentally what Christianity is all about

Not believing this creed or that doctrine.

Not belonging to one denomination or another,

Not going through certain rituals or obeying certain commandments.

Not in any verbal architecture claiming truth.

Christianity is about KNOWING, down deep inside, God’s GRACE.

For some, it may be just a quiet walk along the beach. Sitting on a rock and staring into a sunset. Feeling how well our bodies are engineered and how so perfectly the world is set in place … and having a deep, quiet assurance that things beyond our understanding are basically OK. No one needs to know the word "Grace" to know what it’s all about.

Whatever our language … to be able to hear the dinosaur roar and roar back requires that we feel ourselves held by the Divine Mother. The Psalms are rich with this kind of imagery.

"He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge."

We get a picture of a mother hen. And all her chicks are playing in the barnyard. Suddenly

the shadow of the hawk slithers over the ground, and in their hearts, they hear the dinosaur

roar. The chicks scramble to get under their mother’s wings. They snuggle in the warmth

of her feathers. A mysterious, primordial sense of security, being there!

The mother hen, of course, is vulnerable to the hawk. But that mother will stand there and give her life if necessary, to protect her chicks. So strong is a mother’s love! And the Psalmist says …

"He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge."

This is a repeated image throughout the Bible. God’s love for us is like the wings of a mother.

The Jewish Kabbalah recognizes two pillars of Divine Force tugging at the world. They seem like opposites, but they are in a dialectical relationship with one another. Each keeps the other in balance.

One is "Chesed" and the other is "Gaburah."

One is "Love," sometimes translated "Mercy," and the other is "Justice."

One is expanding, and life giving, and nurturing, the other is contracting, limiting, disciplining, and the setting of consequences.

The two sides of the menorah, and while they seem at odds, both are necessary. Both are Emanations of God and felt in the universe. And, both are good. In Kabbalah, these are the feminine and masculine dynamics of God. In Kabbalah, evil is understood as when these two sets of "Sefiroth," or "Divine Emanations," become out of balance … Too much compassion with no boundaries, or too much controlling structure with no compassion.

I like this emphasis, for it suggests that there is no such thing as a bad person. Just good people who get out of balance, sometimes. Good people, whose God given goodness is distorted and who sometimes need to discover the other side of their own nature.

Mother’s Day and Father’s Day provide us with just this invitation. There is a story told about the Bel Shem Tov, the founder of the Hasidic movement. An evil monster lived in the surrounding woods and haunted a village.

Screams from the dark forest betrayed its presence.

People stayed in their homes as much as possible.

Children ran home from school.

Their gardens were plundered, their livestock raided.

People had nightmares.

The villagers appealed to the Bel Shem Tov to rid the forest of this evil presence. The Bel Shem Tov meditated, and reminded himself of a few stories. When ready, he ventured into the wilderness to confront the monster. And there it was, off in the distance, a huge ominous charcoal cloud, growling and roaring, and spitting curses. He approached. And the cloud, taller than the trees, drifted closer. With some hesitation but restored resolution, the Bel Shem Tov reached out his hand. He reached for the darkness, and drove his hand deep into the evil. He wrapped his fist around a tiny spark of glowing goodness. He yanked it forth. Once the goodness was released, the evil cloud disappeared. And peace was restored to the village.

The restoration of love-justice balance is such a beautiful thing! It is in this way, releasing the sparks, that we will heal the world. It is in this way that there will be peace on earth, and good will among all people.

The home of my children is wonderful. Brand new, in a brand new neighborhood. Acres of open space behind them, with five ponds of water and lots of cattails. Wood grain doors and trim. Fresh new carpet. We instinctively took off our shoes when we entered the front door. The kitchen is designed for convenience and ease of use. Melonie fixed us a casserole for supper one evening. And we all gathered around the dining room table—steamy casserole, side dishes, iced tea. Colin was watching the "Incredibles" on television. And Brendon not to be ignored! No one was paying any attention to Brendon … so he went over and got one of Daniel’s shoes, and threw it up on the table, splash, in the middle of the casserole.

Now when something like that happens, something reacts in me. My stomach knots up … I mobilize to explode. But being a guest in the home, I quickly checked that feeling. Daniel did it for me. He was on his feet in an instant, towering over all of us, finger pointing toward the living room, and with a voice not to be denied. "Brendon, go sit on the couch!" And off he went, lower lip drawn up toward his nose. He sat on the couch for a little "time out."

Brendon’s mother, being the exemplar of a mother that she is, sat quietly. And that evening, she tucked him into bed. Hugged him. Kissed him. It didn’t matter what he did all day long; this was a special moment of affirmation. A growing sponge for love and discipline, that little lad felt the pinions of Motherhood wings. I felt proud of the balance.

Certainly, the Universe has us sitting on the couch from time to time. And if we can muster the humility to accept it, wisdom is the byproduct. Wisdom is born of its opposite, honed by our trials and tribulations, a character made strong by the strength of our adversaries.

But at the same time, the Universe offers us something else. GRACE. GRACE is God’s good-night kiss. No matter what our day. An unconditional positive embrace, no strings attached, just as we are.

Salvation is learning to trust that this embrace is always present. [Ephesians 2:8]