A Universal Vocation of Maternity
St. Augustine and Cardinal Sarah on spiritual motherhood
Happy day-after-Mother’s Day. I really enjoyed this essay by Liz Bruenig, on becoming a young mother. And this Thursday, I’ll share excerpts from your discussion of being open to interruptions, from children or anyone else.
In the wake of Mother’s Day, I thought I’d share this passage from Robert Cardinal Sarah’s The Day Is Now Far Spent on the special dignity of women. (My husband and I always have a readaloud book for Sunday spiritual reading, and we’re about halfway through Day).
Indeed, woman has a natural superiority over man, for it is from her that every man comes into the world. This link to the origin gives her a special subtlety and depth in everything concerned with the order of life. […] Her ability to welcome life in her womb predisposes her to receive the mystery of grace, in other words, the divine coming to hide itself and to germinate in our soul.
This is why in the Bible, God is presented as the Bridegroom and asks us to learn from woman to receive him. Every soul must learn to enter into this mystery of the Bride. […] This is why women have historically been the first to discover the mystery of consecrated life, of religious life. […] From the Virgin Mary on, they are the ones through whom God passes. They know how to welcome and guard his presence.
Sarah begins with the experience of maternity as the distinctive womanly trait, but it’s clear he doesn’t see it as the exclusive calling for women. Biological maternity is a image of spiritual maternity—a calling open to everyone, regardless of fertility, age, or even sex.
In a sermon by St. Augustine (which I first encountered in the Liturgy of the Hours), he offers a similarly universal call to motherhood.
Now having said that all of you are brothers of Christ, shall I not dare to call you his mother? Much less would I dare to deny his own words. Tell me how Mary became the mother of Christ, if it was not by giving birth to the members of Christ?
You, to whom I am speaking, are the members of Christ. Of whom were you born? “Of Mother Church,” I hear the reply of your hearts. You became sons of this mother at your baptism, you came to birth then as members of Christ. Now you in your turn must draw to the font of baptism as many as you possibly can.
You became sons when you were born there yourselves, and now by bringing others to birth in the same way, you have it in your power to become the mothers of Christ.
We welcomed Beatrice last year, but, before we conceived her, we conceived and lost six children. It was a big comfort to me, the Mother’s Day after we lost our first baby, that two of our friends invited us to spend the day with them and their children. They invited me into their maternity.
They and other friends offered us a pledge that, no matter what, our love had a purpose and would find an outlet, whether in our own family or spilling over into theirs.
Thank you, Leah, for another beautiful post. This is very encouraging and affirming. Although I hope we keep celebrating biological motherhood and the real sacrifices it does imply, I'm glad that the definition of "motherhood" seems to be expanding in public discourse. As a childless woman by circumstance (I'm single and believe marriage to be a necessary prereq to conceiving children), Mother's Day is poignant: both a beautiful chance to appreciate my own mother and other mothers in my life, and a reminder of the beauty that is not mine. I know I'm far from unique in this.
But I am lucky enough to live in a Christian community where friends do let me into their parenthood. I spend a lot of time with some childhood friends and their four children. I'm "tía" to the kids who shower much more affection on me than I could ever shower on them. One might think that being with other people's kids might be yet another reminder of what I don't have, but I have found it to be healing. I think you put your finger on why: it's an outlet for my love which is always more than reciprocated by the unconditional love of children, a love that doesn't spring from what I can do or have accomplished or how I look or how popular I am (or am not), but rather for the simple reason that I'm someone who they know and, therefore, belong in their world.
I'm also using my availability as a single to "mother" elderly neighbors who need care, and mentor some young friends. It's a very different type of motherhood, though: the hands-off, companionship type. In fact, to avoid annoying those I'm trying to encourage, I find it more helpful to see these roles as caregiver and friend than "mother." No one likes to be treated like a small child, even if it's done unintentionally! Still, it is a form of motherhood. A biological mother's relationship to her children also changes as they grow and go through their own life experiences. (Maybe that's material for another post: the changing face of motherhood, and the tremendous love it takes to let go of someone dear to you.)
Anyways, I'm glad for these chances to give of myself so that the love that God put in me doesn't go to waste. Singles need to be loved, accepted and welcomed. But they also need spaces where they can be the ones to give, not just always being on the receiving ends as if we haven't grown up yet. What we especially seem to lack is a place to give of who we truly are, not just our skills and time, brains and muscles. And my friends allow me into such a space.
I love this image of grace: "the divine coming to hide itself and to germinate in our soul." I've joined a local gardening group that does great work in the community. Last night we had a call about our work with local public schools to foster creativity and compassion by teaching kiddos about plants. Most of my fellow volunteers are retired, and we're all committing to a few hours a week of working with kids outside the classroom, in small gardens on campus. I'm so excited to see kids faces light up as we plant seeds, watch them grow, nurture them, and realize how we each can be a force for good in the world.