An Open Letter to My Mother

1 Peter 2:2–10

May 14, 2017
Easter 5A
Good Shepherd United Methodist Church, Dale City, VA
The First Epistle of Peter

Dear Mom,

— I mean, Umma. (Who am I kidding? I never call you “mom.”)

You may already know that I am writing this letter to you not because of my desire to make known my appreciation, gratitude, and love for you. You probably know that already because I have never done this before. I am sorry.

Instead, I am writing to you on this Mother’s Day Sunday, in order to proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ to whomever that stumbles upon this open letter. By the way, did you know that the most attended Sunday in the United States is neither Easter nor Christmas, but Mother’s Day? They say children flock to church on this day so that they can please their mothers. Just so you know, I also made it to church on time this morning. I hope you are pleased.

Umma, you have sacrificed everything to support your husband’s calling and your children’s dreams. In order to do so, you have left behind everything to be in this foreign country — left behind your parents, your friends, your comfort zone, your aspirations, and even your youth.

You have been an immigrant, living in an unfamiliar place where you could not communicate freely and where you could not fully be yourself. In a way, you have been a nobody in this country.

Maybe church was a place where you could be somebody, since you are a pastor’s wife after all. Yet, even at church, you’ve remained behind-the-scene. You’ve sat behind the organ, providing tunes. You’ve stood behind the sanctuary, greeting people in the margins. You’ve worked behind the kitchen door, washing dishes and cleaning sinks. You’ve prayed behind closed doors, providing spiritual support to those who are bent and broken. You were always there at church as a nobody.

Umma, you might have been a nobody, yet you still are my mother. Your words and deeds have deeply impacted me. I still remember the one phrase you often told me before I left for school. You said,

“Remember who you are.”

As a teenage boy trying to figure out his own identity, that phrase stuck with me for whatever reason. I often wondered what you were trying to imply by saying that phrase. I often asked myself the questions, “Who am I?” and “What does remembering who-I-am accomplish?”

To be honest, it took me some time to figure out these questions. At first, I thought you were trying to pressure me by reminding me of my status as a pastor’s kid. “I am a pastor’s kid; thus I must not get in trouble. I represent my father’s ministry and my church’s teaching; thus I must act accordingly.” I initially thought that was what you were trying to convey.

Now I know that was not what you meant. However, I think my initial assumption was not entirely inaccurate. Even if I thought of myself as a child of God and a follower of Christ, I would still have obligations to live accordingly to my Christian faith — that is what I learned in my youth group. Often such obligations were interpreted as what not to say and what not to do. Often our Christian duties were understood as what not to engage in and what not to support.

I slowly realized that what you were trying to convey to me was not a sense of impediment, but rather a sense of empowerment. I slowly learned that our Christian obligations were more than what not to say and what not to do; more than what not to engage in and what not to support. I slowly figured out that our Christian walk was more than cultural & family pressure; more than a sense of fear, guilt, and shame.

As Christians, we were to “live as free people” (1 Pet. 2:16). This was Peter’s message to the exiled Christians in Asia Minor: Live boldly and freely without fear, and be eager to do what is good (cf. 3:13–22). Umma, I believe this was your message to me as well.

In the same letter from Peter which was read today, three different images are presented describing the nature of the Christian life.

First is the image of newborn babies. Newborn babies are often seen in their mothers’ bosoms, sucking milk out of them or from a bottle. Babies have no idea what they are being fed, yet they know that it is good. So whenever they become hungry, they cry aloud so that they may be spoon-fed again in their mothers’ bosoms. Newborn babies are like selfish, useless leeches. Umma, I guess I too was once your selfish, useless leech. Maybe I still am.

Peter says we are like newborn babies. If we are God’s children, I guess we can also call ourselves God’s babies. In fact, Scripture talks about God being like our nursing mother. In Psalm 131, we are described as “the weaned child with its mother” (v. 2). In Isaiah 49, the Lord says (v. 15):

Can a woman forget her nursing child,
or show no compassion for the child of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget.

And if we are God’s babies after all, we are to “long for the pure, spiritual milk” (v. 2a) — which is the Word of the Lord. Newborn babies are fed so that they may grow and live fully. Similarly, we receive the pure, spiritual milk so that we may grow and live life fully — ultimately towards salvation (v. 2b). And we keep thirst and cry for the pure, spiritual milk, because we have tasted that the Lord is good (v. 3).

I think many Christians do not like to identify themselves as newborn babies, or selfish, useless leeches. Such image as infants makes us look weak and vulnerable, whereas our culture adores the concept of self-autonomy, self-reliance, and self-sufficiency. We often glamorize the moment of graduating from being milk-fed, and hurriedly move on to the “next” stage of eating solid food on our own (See also: 1 Cor. 3:1–4).

But Umma, as I will always be your baby, I think all Christians are also to always be God’s babies. As newborn babies cannot feed themselves with what is good, we too cannot feed ourselves with what is truly good. We must be fed by others with the pure, spiritual milk.

How can we possibly feed ourselves with what is good when we behave according to our human inclinations? Even as a grown-up, I still need you, Umma, to remind me that fast food is actually bad for my body. Just like I still need doctors to remind me that too much salt and sugar is actually bad for my health.

As God’s babies, we are to be spoon-fed by others with what is good. And these others who spoon-feed us are driven by the Holy Spirit; for only through the Holy Spirit, we know what is truly good. This is why it is important for us to be part of a community of the Holy Spirit. And this is why it is significant for a church to be a community of the Holy Spirit.

This leads to the second image: Living stones.

Peter quotes Psalm 118:2,

The stone that the builders rejected
has become the chief cornerstone.

Accordingly, Jesus was rejected by the builders of the human world, yet “chosen and precious in God’s sight” (v. 4). Now, God has laid Jesus — the stone that has been tested, rejected, crucified, and resurrected — as the sure foundation of our salvation (v. 6). This precious cornerstone is “alive forever and ever” (Rev. 1:18).

Thus, Christ is the living stone. And this makes us living stones — since Christians are called to be like Christ. Peter writes that we as living stones are to gather on and around the cornerstone to “let ourselves be built into a spiritual house” (v. 5).

In other words, what makes us alive is when we join together as members of the household of God (cf. Eph. 2:19–22). To be Christians is to be Christ-like; to be Christ-like is to be living stones; and to be living stones is to be part of a community of the Holy Spirit built upon Christ the cornerstone.

In short, Christians are to be attached, included, fed, and nurtured in a real church community — just like babies entrusted to the bosom of their mothers, or the bosom of their fathers, grandparents, other relatives, siblings, friends, caretakers, supporters, etc.

We are to long for the pure, spiritual milk so that we may live and grow into salvation. “Salvation is not just a promise to individuals, offering individual hope. Rather, salvation is a call to community.”[1]

And this leads to the third and last image: We, as a community of the Holy Spirit, are a chosen people. Well, to be more exact, those who gathered upon the precious cornerstone are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, and God’s own people” (v. 9a).

We are not a pressured, constrained, and guilt-induced people. Rather, we are a chosen, royal, and holy people. And this is so that we “may proclaim the mighty acts of [God] who called [us] out of darkness into His marvelous light” (v. 9b). For Christians, our obligation is not about what not to engage in and what not to support; rather, it is about proclaiming God’s mighty acts as a gathered and assembled people. Our Christian walk is about giving back to others what we have already tasted and received from the God of grace and mercy.

Umma, I wonder if you knew that the phrase “Remember who you are” is a famous quote from the movie The Lion King.

When Simba was wandering in the lost, Rafiki led Simba to a pond of water. There, Simba looked down and saw a reflection of his father, Mufasa. Then, the spirit of Mufasa appeared, saying, “You have forgotten me.” Simba disagreed. Mufasa insisted, saying, “You have forgotten who you are, so have forgotten me… You are more than what you have become.” Simba asked, “How can I go back?” Mufasa replied, “Remember who you are. You are my son.”

Umma, I want to thank you for always pushing me to remember who I am, so that I can always be more than whom I intend to be; so that I can be fully alive and grow into salvation; and so that I do not have to forget whose I am.

I am not only your son, but also God’s baby entrusted to the community of the Holy Spirit. There, I am one of the many living stones. And together, we are God’s precious, chosen, royal, and holy people. By remembering who I am, I know whose I am. By remembering who I am, I know what kind of rock I am standing on and what kind of stones I am surrounded with. By remembering who I am, I know what I am called to do as I go out into the world.

Umma, the way you said, “Remember who you are” before I left the house was an act of commission, exhortation, and benediction. You wanted me to go into the world with confidence, strength, and purpose. So I thank you.

Umma, as I look back, it is kind of ironic how you’ve continued to empower me while you’ve always remained as a nobody. In this foreign soil, you have been set aside and rejected. You have remained behind-the-scene, both voluntarily and involuntarily. Even at home, the last thing you think of is yourself. I wonder where you get the energy to keep making those sacrifices for not only us but also for many others, despite your status as a nobody.

In fact, I wonder what is the source of all mothers’ loving sacrifices is — always giving up themselves for others while always sustaining themselves with the least meat, or “the back of the chicken” as I once heard at my church. I wonder where mothers get their energy to make sacrifices over and over again, while living in a world that has been so unforgiving to them.

Helen Steiner Rice writes in her poem titled “A Mother’s Love”:

A Mother’s love is something
that no one can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may,
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away…

I agree with the poem that a mother’s love is something I cannot explain. Yet, I continue to wonder.

Umma, I wonder if the way you make loving sacrifices is your way of proclaiming the mighty acts of God; your way of offering “spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (v. 5).

Umma, I wonder if the way you can continue to give while being a nobody is rooted in the sure foundation that is Christ — the stone that the builders rejected.

Umma, I wonder if the way you can sustain yourself with the back of the chicken is because you always long for the pure, spiritual milk; and because you always quench your thirst with what is good as you faithfully attend worship services, Bible studies, prayer meetings, small groups, and various church community fellowships.

Umma, I wonder if you can be who you are as a mother because you have tasted and received mercy, and know exactly who you are — God’s daughter chosen and precious.

Lastly, Umma, I wonder if the kind of sacrificial and loving motherhood is what all Christians are called to live out — whether male or female, single or married, with or without children.

Maybe as a church — a community of the Holy Spirit, a gathering of living stones, and a family of rejected yet chosen people… Maybe we are called to live out the motherhood constantly and persistently, boldly and freely —

Embracing others with love and mercy,
feeding others with the best milk,
interceding for others through prayers,
disciplining others with loving, nagging voices,
reminding others to remember who they are,
and offering ourselves as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God.

Perhaps that is what Christians are called to do. Perhaps that is how Christians are to proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ — God’s undeserving mercy we have received and tasted.

Thank you, Umma,
for showing me and teaching me how to be the church.

Love,

Your Leech,
Minoo

[1] William Loader, “First Thoughts on Year A Epistle Passages from the Lectionary,” Bill Loader’s Home Page.