Sunday morning was cold at Inner City Pastoral Ministry -- and everywhere else. We opened the doors early to let people in for hot coffee or tea before our Sunday service, and shared the few warm clothing items we had. We're completely out of gloves, so some of our people put socks on their hands, better than nothing.
After the service and handing out our usual 200 cups of coffee and lunches (and double the fruit because yours truly made a mistake in my contact with the groups donating on Sunday) there were two people who refused to leave the main room where we have our worship. Our pastor, Quinn, patiently explained that they had to leave because we had to lock up, but they refused, several times, and finally he told them that if they didn't go, he'd have to call the cops to take them out. It was a tense situation.
The young man who had dug in his heels the hardest, cursing and lashing out, complained that he had no gloves (even though Quinn had given him some when he first came in) and when Quinn brought them to him a second time, he made a show of not being able to get his hands into them (stalling so he wouldn't have to go out in the cold with the others). Somehow, I flipped into "mother mode" and helped him like you would help a toddler who hasn't quite mastered their mittens, commenting that it seemed like he needed a bit of "mother love."
Of course he did. Don't we all when we're struggling? As the words came out of my mouth, they went straight to my heart. I looked him in the eye as I set the toque on his head and gently turned back the brim, and my heart was filled with tenderness, like he was my own child. He left without further struggle or comment.
Then we turned to the young woman in tights and t-shirt who was sitting on the floor in front of a pile of clothing she had just pulled out of a dryer in the back corner of the room. She had her hands over her ears and was rocking back and forth, sobbing and saying, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"
I stood near and watched her for a few moments, and when she quieted, my best mom voice said, "You're having a hard time. Is there a way I can help you?" Something shifted, and she looked up, holding out her hands, which were chapped and bleeding. "I don't want to get blood on my clean clothes." She got up and put on a pair of the sanitary rubber gloves we use because of covid-19, and started to dress herself, but couldn't do up zippers or buttons because of the loose fitting gloves.
Once again, "mother mode" took over, but her fly button was a bit tight. "Suck it in there, girl," I said, and immediately we were both giggling for as long as it took me to button her up. When she finished dressing, I helped her put the remainder of her clothes in a bag, and as she went out the door she said, "Can I help you? Would you like me to take out the garbage?"
We all need mother love. And right now, our world definitely needs mother love. Ukraine and Russia need mother love... the love that extends patience, calms anxiety, settles fights, and tells bullies to step down from their posturing and aggression. I feel like someone needs to take Vladimir Putin and his Duma by the ears and say, "Smarten up, you're not the only pebble on the beach," a phrase my mom used on me, and that I've used on my kids many times.
But the world doesn't always work like that (if they haven't killed their own mothers, I wouldn't put it past them), so all we can do is pray for Mother Love to find a way.
Mothering God,
fill our hearts with love like yours.
Remind us that we are all your children,
equally beloved,
and equally responsible for one another's well being.
Help us to behave like family members
who really love one another
and who seek the good of each other
rather than our own narrow agendas.
Reach into the hearts of those doing wrong
and remind them to change their ways.
Give us mothering hearts
because we all need love
above all other things.
+Amen.
