When I was eleven, my parents divorced. Not exactly the cheerful start to a Mother's Day homily. But life isn't always pleasant. It has diapers, screaming infants, screaming teenagers, and a swirling world of expectations and condemnations. Mom had to deal with all of that. And, when I was eleven, in addition to the usual difficulties of life, Mom was also faced with raising me and my three other siblings by herself.
She did it with grace and with foresight.
Mom had endured years being married to an alcoholic narcissist. And, while we had nice things growing up, she new that nice things are not everything. So she gave up the nice things and we moved to a small house, her deceased mother's house, actually, where we were protected from the idolatry of money. She protected us from as much abuse as she could.
Mom had once been a real estate agent; now she had to do that and a full time job in secretarial work. She didn't have a degree. Eventually, she found an opening at Washington University and dropped everything for it so that we could go to college for free -- provided that we would get in. Mom worked there until she retired just a few years ago. And me and my sister are graduates from there.
When she came home, she would make dinner, show me how to do laundry -- I've been able to do it since I was 12 -- and would tell me to feed the dog. She let me have a puppy. And when I wasn't good at taking care of it, she would take care of it without a complaint.
Mom would read to us at bedtime where I was first introduced to Aslan and Lucy and Peter and Tumnus and the entire gang from Narnia. The stories were the adventures -- that, an the occasional drive in a small, white, Cutlass Calais up to Des Moines, Iowa, where we would visit our great aunt. Mom would sing us lullabys, laugh with us, kiss us, and then pray as we went to bed.
When we were older and had unfortunately outgrown the bunkbeds and whatnot, Mom would put rosaries in the glove compartment of the family van that we would all drive. My friends would laugh at me for having rosaries in the car, but that was mom.
Of course, mom would stay up late and would worry about when I would come home. There was no husband there to call her to bed or to assure her everything was fine. So mom would sit and pray.
Mom prayed a lot. After she left dad, and my older brothers were off at college, mom would take us to the Blue Army All-Night Vigil. There was Mass, adoration, confessions, rosary, and hours upon hours of silence. I spent every first friday night on a hard wooden pew, usually sleeping, awaiting the sunrise and the singing of the Tantum Ergo -- which indicated that the vigil was over. My vocation was born during those nights.
And when I did stay up all night, pulling all-nighters in college (I lived at home), there mom was in her prayer room, with her light on, still keeping vigil, praying for me.
Years later, when I was in the seminary, she would tell me how, once in the parish church, she went to the statue of Our Blessed Mother, Mary, and said, "Mary, you be the mother I so often can't be for my kids." And then she would go to Saint Joseph and say, "And you be the father that my husband can't be for them."
She entrusted us to Mary and to Joseph -- and we've been alright since. Sure, ups and downs, but Mary and Joseph have kept their promises to mom.
Towards the end of my dad's life, mom would encourage me to see dad. Of course, I didn't want to, but eventually I did. And, through mom's constant encouragement -- was it nagging? sure -- the relationship between me and my dad was healed just before he died.
I know not everyone has had a mom like I have had. And if there is a hole in your heart there, I want to entrust you to Mary. *Mary, be the mother that my parishioners so greatly desire and need!*
Mothers, I hope you all know the great treasure you are and still can be. You are irreplaceable. If you were missing, dad couldn't replace you. A man, no matter what the culture may say, can never replace you. You possess in your very being and body talents given by the Lord which, in sum, are rightly called the feminine genius.
It was to uphold this treasure, which your beauty and piercing eyes reveal, that men were given their masculinity and strength.
Every mother, then, can find a loving and protecting son in Jesus. Every mother, whether married or single, can always find a calm and steady husband in Joseph. Every mother, whether in the Church or out, I pray, will always be able to find a home here -- for home is where the heart is -- and a parish that will love them and uphold them and celebrate them.
We thank God for you. And we're sorry when we haven't loved you nearly as well as you deserve.
May we all get to heaven in answer to mom's prayers. Whether it was mom here that has been praying for us. Or our Mother *there* who is always loving and praying for us. And for all of our mothers who have passed, we look forward to the day where all is healed and all are reunited as one family again in heaven.
Amen.
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