May 14th, 2012
When I was a child, my mother cut red roses from her garden and pinned them on our church clothes. We, her five children, wore red roses, and she wore a white one. She explained the wearing of roses was to honor our mothers both living and deceased. As an elementary-aged child, I did not question this tradition of wearing roses to church.
When I was in seminary, roses on Mother’s Day led to an emotionally charged moment in worship. On that fateful morning the young children of the congregation went to the front of the sanctuary to be handed a rose to give to their moms. Gleeful little faces ran back to moms with calls of “This is for you, Mommy.” What a sweet moment until a woman in the front started yelling, “I want one. I want a rose.” This woman was a special needs adult who attended regularly. We all knew her, or so we thought. Turns out, she was yelling because she wanted to be a mother. She had asked her parents and her caregivers if she could have a child. She had been told, “No.” When those roses were passed out, her heart collapsed into pleas of wanting a rose, or as I now know, a child. The quick thinking, compassionate person seated next to her procured a rose just for her. In that moment, I began to question celebrating Mother’s Day as a part of corporate worship.
Later on, I served as a staff minister for another church. As we were planning worship for May, the music minister listed the hymns adoring godly families and loving mothers that he had chosen, and the pastor asked if the floral committee was doing the arrangement of roses. Remembering the cry of the lady who so wanted to be a mother, I asked, “Why are we celebrating mothers when so many families are blended? When there are people who are alienated from their mothers? When there are families struggling with fertility issues? Why not just celebrate worship as usual?” I was told by the other church staff, “Our congregation will expect us to celebrate Mother’s Day. There will be angry voice messages and curt comments later in the week if we ignore mothers. We can’t ignore Mother’s Day. Therefore, we will do as we have always done.”
It is easy to fall into the pattern of doing as we have always done while ignoring the real lives of our congregants. It is easy to forget that motherhood, either being a mother, wanting to be a mother, or losing a part of the mothering role, is complicated. Mother’s Day while joyous and sentimental for many congregants is a reminder of unhealed hurts and unfulfilled desires for others. My question is “Should we honor mothers during corporate worship when doing so causes discomfort to those for whom mother is not a joyous, sentimental role?” I come from a long tradition of honoring mothers at church, but I also value the stories of friends and family who feel the pain of attending worship and feeling singled out because they do not have a good relationship with their moms or because of fertility issues. I believe worship should be a place of welcome and healing for all. Therefore, I now question whether Mother’s Day should have a spot in corporate worship.
Tammy Abee Blom is an ordained Baptist minister, regular contributor to BWIM’s blog, mother of two amazing daughters, teacher for children’s Sunday School, and lives in Columbia, South Carolina.
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April 27th, 2012
“You cannot make her eat,” said the pediatrician. I am certain I looked at her as if she had grown a second head. With my toddler, Eve, in tow, I had come for my well child visit and just rattled off a laundry list of ways I was trying to prompt a defiant toddler to eat. Dr. Y repeated her comment, “Tammy. You cannot make her eat. There are some things we cannot make children do. You can set up appropriate boundaries for when she says, ‘no’ to all proffered foods but you cannot control when she chews and swallows.”
For several weeks, my toddler had been using her newfound sense of “no” in regards to her food choices. She would either eat nothing or only certain foods. I was convinced her nutrition was poor, and therefore, her health at risk. I was sure that as her mom, I was supposed to make Eve eat. The words from Dr. Y opened up a new world to me, a world where I could create opportunities but could not force the outcome.
Now as a pre-adolescent, Eve has found a new focus for her steadfast, “no.” Eve does not want to attend church. The daughter of a minister, Eve has been attending church since she was six weeks old. She has been given freedom of choice about participating in children’s choir or in children’s ministry events. She has not been given a choice about attending Sunday school and worship. However, she is consistent in her Sunday morning whine and protest. She lists all the things other kids (and adults) list as reasons for not attending church. She can be quite convincing, almost.
Eve is nine years old, and I take her to church despite her protests. I struggle with her dislike of church. As a minister, participation in a faith community is vital for me. Firmly I believe in the community of the saints, and I believe the saints sit next to you in the pews. I believe in the church universal. I believe that Christians all over the world gather to worship, and I want to be counted as one of their number. Attending church is bigger than whether or not I want to show up. I can explain that to an adult, but what do I say to a nine year old?
Currently, I tell her, “We attend church as a family and you are part of this family. Get dressed, and be ready on time.” As of now, I can take her to church but soon, the decision will be hers. Will my heart accept it if she chooses to not be a church goer? I know she is growing in her faith journey. She is learning the faith stories and has made a profession of faith. I am not worried about her loving God. I am worried about her turning away from something I value and hold dear. I guess this is a part of becoming an adult, part of casting parent as other so you can form your identity. But every Sunday, when she whines, “But I don’t want to go to church” my heart catches in my throat, and I wonder if I can accept that I can’t make her love church.
Tammy Abee Blom is an ordained Baptist minister, regular contributor to BWIM’s blog, mother of two amazing daughters, teacher for children’s Sunday School, and lives in Columbia, South Carolina.
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April 20th, 2012
The best part of my Easter celebration was the meal with my immediate family. Earlier we had worshipped with our church family and exchanged greetings of “Happy Easter,” but somehow participating in worship felt like work. Even though we were garbed in our new Easter dresses, the day did not feel festive.
Once we were home, I put the rolls in the oven while the girls set the table with the wedding china. I poured icy glasses of sweet tea and filled with table with food. We sat together, held hands, and started sharing. In that moment, I recognized the joy of Easter. I felt the presence of community and the connectedness of people who know me. All day I had longed for the revelation of community, and here it was.
Like most churches, our gospel lesson for the Sunday after Easter was Luke’s account of the road to Emmaus. Still trying to reconcile why I did not experience the risen Christ in our worship at church, I began preparing my Sunday school lesson plan. As I read the passage, I commiserated with the two friends on the road to Emmaus. They were friends of Jesus who had dressed up and shown up. They had been in Jerusalem for Passover and then present for Jesus’ death and burial. They had hoped for Jesus to be the Messiah. On the third day after his death, they decided to seek community and condolences elsewhere, particularly Emmaus.
The friends wanted to experience the risen Christ just as I had hoped for a joyous experience of abundant life. They had looked for Jesus in the place where they expected him to be and not finding him, they decided to move on. Even though Jesus had shared the journey with the friends, they did not recognize him until he sat at table with them.
Like the friends, I looked and looked for the risen Lord on Easter morning in the place I expected him. Then I gave up and headed out. I had marked the day up to “an Easter that just didn’t connect with me.” And then I sat down with Doug, Eve, and Audrey, and we asked the blessing, passed the rolls, and shared our stories. In that moment, I recognized the joy of the risen Christ. An immense peace settled over me as I shared food with the ones I love and who love me. Jesus was at table with us and I recognized him.
Tammy Abee Blom is an ordained Baptist minister, regular contributor to BWIM’s blog, mother of two amazing daughters, teacher for children’s Sunday School, and lives in Columbia, South Carolina.
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March 26th, 2012
Sometimes a simple task is the hardest to accomplish. Recently, I wrote about “hands off my happy bucket” and how I have the power to decide who can drain my happiness. I have attempted to live out this belief. I read the words of a spiritual director who talks about redeeming your time, peace, and life. I began to focus on redeeming my peace. When I started paying attention to who owned my peace, I was in for a shock.
Relatives who called to complain only to share the complaint as gossip about another family member disturbed my peace. Children, in particular MY children, who did not follow directions robbed me of my morning happiness. And the slow cashier who answered the phone as she inaccurately tallied my order sent my peace into outer space. Apparently I am not the owner of my peace at all but I can redeem my peace. I can reclaim it.
While deep breathing over some disturbance of peace, I was bemoaning the already rising temperatures in our state where summers reach the 100s and stay there. I pondered floating. What would it feel like to just relax into the refreshing waters of God’s grace and float? What would it feel like to not struggle against the aggravations of the moment, to not deep breathe and bemoan how I should be redeeming my peace? What if I could just float?
A member of a women in ministry peer group in Tennessee introduced me to this poem by Denise Levertov. I do not recall which minister shared the poem but I remembered the joy of hearing these words.
The Avowal
As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.
Avowal, meaning to make a statement of truth, is a good word for Oprah’s “what I know to be true.” Levertov asserts that she can dare to float, and God’s grace will support her. She can dare to glide, and the Spirit will sustain her. What I hear in this poem is I can stop treading water. I can stop flapping my wings of redemption for a while. I can float or glide and God will redeem my peace. God will hold that which is disturbing my happiness. Grace can redeem my peace. I can float.
I suspect I will return to my old habits of swimming against the current and trying to fly too far too fast, but for today, I relax into the “all surrounding grace.”
Tammy Abee Blom is an ordained Baptist minister, regular contributor to BWIM’s blog, mother of two amazing daughters, teacher for children’s Sunday School, and lives in Columbia, South Carolina. Avowal may be found at http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-avowal/
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March 7th, 2012
While volunteering in Audrey’s kindergarten classroom, her teacher mentioned, “Audrey is good at filling buckets.” Knowing Audrey’s love of all things organized, I quipped, “She does love a good storage container.” The teacher said, “No. I mean happy buckets. We talk about them in kindergarten. You come to school with a bucket of happy, and some people fill up your bucket and others empty your bucket. Audrey helped Shane pick up all the papers that fell out of his folder this morning. She filled his bucket.”
Since this conversation with her teacher, I have noticed Audrey using her happy bucket language. Sometimes she will get in the van and say, “Amanda taunted me on the playground. She emptied my bucket.” Another time, she shared, “Sam dropped his tray at lunch. I helped him pick it all up. I filled his bucket.” I like the duality of recognizing when someone is filling or emptying your bucket as well as being responsible for filling or emptying other people’s buckets. I like the concrete imagery of the happy bucket.
Recently, I encountered a person who was determined to empty my happy bucket and shake out every last drop. According to her, I had not met her expectations, and she needed to vent her frustration at me. I heard her. I reassured her. I apologized. It didn’t matter what I said or did, she was determined to ruin my day with her attitude. There was no end to her anger, angst, and annoyance. I heard my brain scream, “Hands off my happy bucket.” In that instant I was able to step away from the emotion of the situation and decide who had the power to upset me. Why was I giving my happy away? I have a choice about who empties my happy bucket and I can choose to say, “Hands off.”
Jesus had an opinion about people who were unwelcoming to the disciples and unwilling to hear their words. In three of the four gospels (Matthew10:14, Mark6:11, and Luke 9:5), Jesus tells the disciples to abide with people who are welcoming of their words and their gifts. I like the Matthew passage where Jesus says, “As you enter a house, greet it and let your peace come upon it; but if the house is not welcoming to you, let your peace return to you.”
In our ministries, we want to exhibit the grace of God to all. We want to hear and value people. Yet, there are those who cannot hear us or value our giftedness. Rather than giving away all of our happy to them, we can sense where the peace is and if needed, walk away. Let our peace return to us. We are not called to be all things to all people. Jesus charged his disciples to abide in the places where there was welcoming peace. The next time you are in a situation where someone is determined to take all your happy, or you find yourself thinking, “I spend time with this person but she never offers happy back to me”, discern if this is a place of peace for you, a place where you feel welcomed. If there is no peace, there are two ways of handling it. You can declare, “Hands off my happy bucket” or you can “shake the dust off your feet.”
Tammy Abee Blom is an ordained Baptist minister, regular contributor to BWIM’s blog, mother of two amazing daughters, teacher for children’s Sunday School, and lives in Columbia, South Carolina.
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When I was a child, my mother cut red roses from her garden and pinned them on our church clothes. We, her five children, wore red roses, and she wore a white one. She explained the wearing of roses was to honor our mothers both living and deceased. As an elementary-aged child, I did not question this tradition of wearing roses to church.
