Reflection on Motherhood, updated

Reflection by Megan Sorensen

December 22, 2019: Lessons and Carols, Celebration of Mary

One year ago, on this very Sunday, I stood here and gave a reflection on motherhood.  That reflection was themed “Perfect Love in Imperfect Circumstances” and I am going to read you an excerpt.  You see, without the context of that, this would not exist. My words from a year ago….

“No experience brings such clarity to this hope as the one we have been through personally in the past weeks. In the midst of imperfect circumstances 26 years ago, Chris and his partner decided to give a child up for adoption. Perfect love in imperfect circumstances. Perfect love that put the needs of another above their own. Pain and grief that then waited in hope in preparation. Life moved on. Marriages, children, careers, but still hope and patience. In the perseverance and the hope, God was there. Several weeks ago, we received word of a son. A 26 year old, now man, with blond hair and an affinity for all things sports. A son who is seeking to connect with his birth parents. After a lifetime of patience and guilt and hope and grief, we see that glimpse of perfect love. In a matter of seconds the possibility of a step son became a reality and the depth of that love was instant. Perfect love in imperfect circumstances.”

(If you would like to read it in its entirety, it is posted here on the Urban Abbey blog dated December 24, 2018)   

One year ago, I stood here full of excitement, anticipation, and anxiety.  I had no idea that in a few short weeks, we would meet that child. I was surprised when, in an effort to better understand my husband’s experience as well as empathize as a mother, I began to have ongoing conversations with his birth mom.  And I was joyful when those conversations went from mutual respect to understanding to love and friendship. A year ago I never would have imagined that 6 months later we would, along with Jennifer and her husband, host a “baby shower” complete with “It’s a Boy” balloons and lots of great aunts.  A year ago, I could only pray that my children would be understanding and welcoming of their brother and I rejoice now when I hear their interactions and they include phrases like “finally, a brother” and “I am so proud to be your sister.” My chest aches with gratitude when they tell him they love him as he heads toward the airport or at the end of a phone call.  A year ago, the things we have shared; baseball games, hockey games, concerts, picnics, family trips, even a weekend with his adoptive parents, existed only in hope. How fitting that this journey started in advent. We hoped and prepared and in time felt the reality of that first Christmas. Behold, I bring you glad tidings of a great joy. We have experienced, first hand, great joy at the end of a hopeful wait.  

We have all told this story several times.  It is our reality and our normal now, but when people hear it, especially for the first time, they are often overcome with emotion.  If I had a dollar for every time someone says to me, “this story could be a movie…” It is Hallmark channel material if I do say so myself.  

As I considered this service and how we take time to honor Mary’s story and consider other vulnerable parents, I have been trying to be honest with myself.  You see, in this movie, as beautiful as it is, I tend to see myself enjoying it from the front row rather than as a character. Please don’t get me wrong, I love this new chapter of our story and I love that child with every fiber of my being…the way I love my own children…I make him text me when he’s traveling so I know he arrived safely.  It’s that depth of love. But admitting now how I feel on the outside of the story is the most honest I have been with anyone about me. I have coordinated and supported and checked in and pried and make sure everyone has the opportunity to say and feel exactly what is on their heart and mind. I have been downright pushy with my husband and kids…demanding they tell me 10 times “I’m fine…I promise”  before I believe them. I rarely, and definitely not to the main characters, say what I feel. In the past year I have done a lot of pondering. More than anyone around me knows. 

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”  Does it not sound beautiful? A radiant new mother soaking up the wonder of the Nativity, the beauty of this story she is living.  The Good News translation of Luke 2:19 reads “Mary remembered all these things and thought deeply about them.” That language seems more realistic to me.  In his Advent devotional, Low, John Pavlovitz writes
“We tend to sanitize the birth story of Jesus, fashioning it into a pristine, shimmering nativity scene adorned with gold accents and residing comfortably on a hallway table or atop a fireplace mantel.  It all becomes so benign and serene that we forget the visceral reality of the moment, that it was as loud and chaotic and messy as childbirth is. Jesus was pushed through Mary’s birth canal and into a strange world.  To miss this fact is to cheapen the event by trying to soften it into something neat and orderly, when in truth (as with all births) there was surely mess and chaos in the moment. “  

In this season, and especially on this Sunday, as we honor the vulnerability found in the holiest of events, I need to honor the vulnerability of my own experiences.  And to honor it, I need to share it. When people gush over this amazing and life changing story am I doing them and it a disservice by not acknowledging that with every new development I have also felt profound insecurity?  In each moment of new and exciting and complex, I feel a pang of grief for the simple. As our family crosses into the nontraditional, I worry and I pray it is stronger than the confines of tradition. Deep down I know it is, but the complexities of living still feed my insecurity.  In acknowledging my vulnerability, I hope I honor the vulnerability of Mary and of every mother.   

In all of my conversations, our story is perfect.  But that’s not reality is it? It wasn’t reality for Mary and it isn’t for any of us in any story.  Advent is a time of preparation for the incarnate God. Emmanuel. God WITH us. God became flesh and walked among us.  Truly human. Advent is not a preparation to elevate humanity toward heaven but for heaven to come down. In acknowledging the humanity of our shared experience we can recognize and honor the holiness of it all.  

In only pondering quietly the messier parts of my story, I have not honored the vulnerability of others.  The exact place where Jesus meets us. Pavlovitz continues…” We do this with spiritual journeys too, wanting them to be comfortable and clean, desiring something attractive that we can easily accessorize our lives with-but that isn’t reality is it? Life comes with the collateral damage of living, with failed plans and relational collapse, with internal struggle and existential crises, and we carry these things with us into this season.  The good news is we don’t need to discard our messiness to step into this season, and we couldn’t even if we wanted to. Bring every bit of your flawed self and all your chaotic circumstances into this day. Welcome to the mess.”  

For me, acknowledging the complexities of my personal story over the past year does not lessen the joy and excitement.  It simply reminds me that, in the holiest of seasons, there is still chaos and uncertainty. It’s just in that place where I see Jesus and maybe, in the messiest parts of my story, others will too. 

Hard Earned Hope

Rev. Debra McKnight's Sermon on December 8, 2019

Matthew 1: 18-20

When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 20But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife.

Joseph is having a rough holiday season. He may not know about Christmas yet, but his Christmas is not the kind of story you put in a Christmas card. His fiancée is pregnant, and since this news is a surprise…we can imagine it’s not good news. Mary is pregnant and she shouldn’t be, at least by cultural standards, and there has never been a time in history where people would have said, “Oh Mary how wonderful!” and meant it whole heartedly. Mary is pregnant she shouldn’t be, and it doesn’t matter if it’s assault or a passionate affair, she is not marriage material any more, at least not for a righteous man. Any plans Mary and Joseph might have imagined together are just not an option. Her punishment is more than side eye from a self-righteous aunt, snide remarks at a baby shower and heavy social sigma; she can be killed or dismissed quietly.

Joseph, according to the scripture, is a righteous man. And for his context, a righteous man doesn’t marry his pregnant finance, even if he wanted to. When I hear Joseph is a righteous man, my mind goes to self-righteous. Perhaps it is the difference in context because we don’t use righteous very often and rarely in a positive way. I hear the word righteous and I think of arrogance and judgement, someone who places himself above at the expense of others, delighting in their pain…somebody who goes to church, obviously not this one, and has his life organized perfectly. Maybe it’s not fair or maybe it’s in part being able to imagine Mary’s fears, but when I hear Joseph is a righteous man, I imagine him as a self-righteous man, deciding Mary’s fate. Of course, when the author of Matthew wrote, “Joseph was a righteous man,” it was grounded in an understanding of righteous that links into a deep rooted faith in justice and compassion. It is a care that is well beyond self - perhaps that is why Joseph hears the whispers of angels in his dream. Joseph had the kind of dream that Dr. King had; a profound justice seeking dream; A dream that tells him that this child and this moment are filled with God’s spirit and divine purpose. Joseph is asked the impossible by this dreamy whispering and he says, “Yes.”

I once thought, “Well sure, an angel in a dream tells you and what else would you say but yes.” Of course I say that as someone who has never had this experience and someone from a very different context. Joseph didn’t living in a culture organized around nuclear families, his “yes” wasn’t just about him and Mary and a sweet little baby. His “yes” was hard news to a whole lot of people. He lived in a culture of honor and shame. You can imagine an invisible ledger tracking how you bring shame and honor to your family. Joseph choosing to follow the nudge of the Holy Spirit brought Mary’s shame into his family…his whole family. I imagine if his Grandma was something like mine, she would have said, “You had a dream...it was just one dream! It might have been something you ate…I think the hummus was bad.” His uncles probably tried to talk him out of it, there were folks whispering, “how could he throw his life away on this woman…oh he had so much promise…he was president of his senior class and the captain of the football team” (so not literally that but you get my point). And his Dad probably made that face he makes when he gets angry. The Angels ask the impossible and Joseph said, “yes.” This is the real miracle of the story and I suspect it is the fruit of being a “righteous man.”

The Angel gave Joseph a name, a sacred name and a nudge toward a sacred act. Naming a child means you claim that child as your own; Joseph does this and the name points towards divine purpose. The name Jesus is the Greek translation of Joshua, meaning “God Saves." Joshua, you may remember, brought the people out of the wilderness and into the promise land. Joseph listened to the divine wishers, picked up the baby, calmed his crying, cared for his needs, drew him out of danger and gave him a name for the ages and this “yes” will never be easy.

The Christmas Story is supposed to be good news, even the Angels say, "behold I bring you good news of great joy." Except the news is never what most of us would consider Good News. Mary, “good news, you are pregnant” - folks might stone you! Joseph, “good news, your fiancé is pregnant and King Herod finds this baby so threatening you will have to run for your lives!” It is such a hard story it makes me wonder if God understands what humans really consider to be Good News. Most of us would prefer Good News like, “Mary, good news you won the lottery and perfect health and the Romans are leaving your homeland and there is justice for all and women can vote now!” “Joseph, good news, your carpentry company is generating 30% more revenue than last year and your town voted you citizen of the year!” Good News here is a new home or a new farm or the sick friend is well or at least here is an easier path. There are so many options that are not a part of the Christmas story.

The Christmas story is full of hard news; maybe your story is too. Maybe this is a hard Christmas where you miss someone at your family table, maybe there is a relationship that is ending or one that you wish you had, maybe work is hard or maybe it’s not challenging enough, maybe there is some deep longing that you carry into this season or some deep grief weighing heavy. In his devotional, AlI Really Want: Readings for a Modern Christmas, Quinn Caldwell shares the story decorating for Christmas as his father was dying. “That year, every little glass ball I put on the tree felt like an act of defiance. As I hung each ornament, it was like I was shouting, “Take that, misery!” “Eat it, addiction!” Bite me, cancer!” If you’re having the suckiest Christmas ever, just remember that’s how Christmas started. It was born in defiance of all that stalks the world and tries to snuff its light.”

His story reminded me of my own Christmas story. I was 26 and my five year marriage to my high school sweetheart was ending. I was living, like a champ, in my parent’s basement and substitute teaching at my old high school. This was not my idea, not my plan, and I had no sense of a possible future and no sense of a promise I couldn’t see. The movie, Love Actually came out in theaters and I was sure that he would be filled with Christmas Spirit and show up outside in the snow, boom box playing and cards in hand naming a new heart-felt commitment. I waited, I put up the tree a bit, I waited, I wound the lights around each branch and I waited. What I wanted that Christmas never happened. It was a season of tears but it was also a season of support, it was a season of struggle but it was also a season of learning. Maybe you have had a Christmas full of hard news, maybe you have had several.

Everything about the Christmas story is hard; none of it is bright and shiny. Not one moment is light hearted like the refrains of jolly carols. It’s not easy or fun. It does not smell like warm sugar cookies or feel like a warm hug. It smells like a manger and feels like a long road trip on a donkey while you are about to have a baby. It is hard.


The season is dappled with light and dark, laughter and tears, grief and joy; even the Christmas tree has dark recesses and brilliant points of light. Everyone in the Christmas narrative must face their worst fears, deepest worries and most profound loss. That’s why angels whisper, “Fear not.” Christmas is a hard earned hope; every single person in the story calls on their deepest reliance and grasps on to life. It is a pregnant woman, refusing the world’s shame, who dives deep into to her faith and sings an old, old song, “I help you see God.” “My soul magnifies the Lord." Christmas is a man, a righteous man who has a righteous dream and he risks everything to name a baby for divine purpose. All of them call to us today, to look at our great fears, our deepest anxieties and our profound grief and be not afraid. May we have the courage to grasp onto a hard earned hope. May it be so. Amen.