Where do you fit in the story of Mothering Sunday?

I remember the first time my husband and I chose not to go to church on Mother’s Day. The decision we made that Sunday in March was different to the familiar last minute impulse on a Sunday morning to hit snooze just once more, because this time we’d planned it. 

I’d like to say this was the only time we didn’t go to church on Mother’s Day, but it wasn’t. We intentionally avoided church that one Sunday in March for three years; the same three years my husband spent training to be a vicar. As a future vicar and vicar’s wife, our deliberate avoidance of church on this one Sunday a year didn’t exactly set the best example, but during those three years of vicar-training I’d also had my fourth, fifth and sixth miscarriage and everything had changed. Not attending church isn’t exactly my most radical rebellion, but my decision to stay at home on Mothering Sunday was far more significant to me and my faith than it may have appeared from the outside.  I knew God loved me, but that one day filled with daffodils and the celebration of motherhood told me my story and my pain didn’t belong in church.

Until I became the carrier of a story that didn’t fit within the Christian or societal norm I’d never given much thought to those who might struggle to attend church or those who deliberately choose to stay away, but my grief has changed me. At first I thought I was the only person to skip church when it hurt too much, but, when I started to share my story I realised I wasn’t alone.  Every year there are people all over the country who decide not to go to church on Mothering Sunday and other Sundays because they believe their story doesn’t belong there. I know the history of Mothering Sunday, I know it has nothing to do with fertility or daffodils but it doesn’t make the day any less painful and it often doesn’t seem to have much impact on the message preached by churches either. Instead, every year, those grieving the loss of a mother, those living through the struggle of infertility, those who’ve lost children, those who are single and long to be married with a family, and those who were hurt by or never met their mothers won’t be at church on Mothering Sunday. 

We’re all characters in search of a story and when life doesn’t go to plan, it can be really hard to work out where you fit in the world and in God’s story. But here’s the wonderful and glorious truth; no matter what your life looks like, or how different it is to the lives of those around you, it still has great value and purpose in God’s Kingdom and in his church.

Four years ago I started a service with a vicar friend called Mother’s Day Runaways. It’s a service for those who normally avoid church on Mothering Sunday, held on the Saturday evening before Mother’s Day in Liverpool Cathedral, it’s an opportunity to acknowledge the pain felt around this day and find God in that space. The idea behind the service isn’t to separate the church on Mother’s Day, but the hope is that by offering a grieving space, those who attend the service will then be able to re-engage with their wider community. In many ways I wish we didn’t have to hold this service, I wish there wasn’t a day in the church calendar that caused people pain, but I’m glad we’ve been able to create something that shows every story has value, even on the days that make you feel like you don’t fit.

It’s been five years since my sixth miscarriage and I still don’t have children. My life still doesn’t match that of a stereotypical vicar’s wife or that of the majority of my peers, but I don’t skip church on Mother’s Day. Part of this is because I now run a church with my husband so it wouldn’t look good if we didn’t show up! We’ve also decided not to celebrate Mother’s Day in church, those who are mothers will still get cards and gifts from their children, but in church we choose to celebrate every church member and the roles and relationships they have in their families and in our community.

At the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel there’s a long list of names. His meticulous list starts with Abraham and includes great kings like Dave, as well as prostitutes and adulterers, and ends with Jesus. At the announcement of Jesus’ birth there are no more lists recording parents or lineage because they didn’t matter anymore. Jesus’ birth means my childlessness no longer matters – not because it’s not significant, but because it can no longer define my worth. No matter what your story looks like, the birth of Jesus declares this truth over you as well. Jesus didn’t come to fix you or me or the church, he came to invite us into a new story and it’s a far bigger story than marriage and kids. It’s a story that goes beyond our days on earth and each and every person has a role in it.

 If you're interested in running your own Mother's Day Runaways Service then email [email protected] for a service pack.

Lizzie has spent years perfecting the art of ‘going for coffee’, it’s a skill she’s proud of and one that she loves to share with anyone who’s willing to join her for a flat white. She lives in Liverpool with her husband Dave, and Betsy the dog. Lizzie spends her days writing, feeding people, exploring new coffee shops and working for the Diocese of Liverpool as a Local Missional Leader. She loves being part of the Saltwater and Honey family and is currently writing her first book, a memoir about her experience of recurrent miscarriage and how it helped her find her voice.

You can order her book Saltwater & Honey today. 

March 2nd, 2020 - Posted & Written by The Editor

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