The phrase that's the title of my reflections this morning is often used to describe something that's so universally acceptable, engendering such positive feelings, that there can be no debate about it. Just let it roll over you for a moment,

... motherhood and apple pie ...

... and you probably feel a little warmer and more comfortable than before. Ah, the miraculous power of words! Phrases like this are very, very powerful. My purpose in exploring this particular phrase with you is a delicate one: I don't want in the least to put down either motherhood or apple pie, but I do want to suggest, very strongly, that it's a disservice to any value if we fail to see all its dimensions, including its shadow side. I hope you can keep that in mind as we muse together, and know that my goal is to illuminate some of the little-recognized aspects of this subject, and of the day on which we celebrate them. Maybe some of us will even be eating apple pie for dinner ... perhaps its flavour will be heightened by some of our thinking together this morning.

Let's start with the first part of the phrase, because the two don't necessarily go together: let's start with motherhood, just as we actually did all start out with a mother. Even Jesus and most of the others said to have been miraculously born of virgins and therefore without human fathers -- even they were born of mothers; only Adam and Eve, I suppose were orphans from their very first existence -- perhaps that was their problem! And perhaps that goes a long way to explaining the almost universal reverence for the idea of motherhood -- which is not just a North American invention, even if it's not linked with apple pie all over the world. It may be that deep in every one of us, no matter what kind of mothering we actually experienced, or our lack of it, deep in everyone may be an innate consciousness of what mothers are meant to be in relation to their children, and a yearning for that perfect meant-to-be, a yearning that's very, very vulnerable to disappointment. Because the truth is that mothering is always done by a human being, and guess what -- no human being is perfect! The state of motherhood and the act of mothering have not just one but many shadow sides. Here are just two:

First, mothering always falls short of even its own ideals, let alone ours and our children's. Even if you can deliver a child, on your own or with help -- even if the child just delivers itself like a self-propelled package -- at some point thereafter the mother (or mother-figure, teacher, relative, guardian whatever) the mother can't deliver. The Canadian writer Jacqueline McLeod Rogers, writing in the anthology Dropped Threads, says

When I was thirty and my mother died suddenly, I had to struggle to accept that important things can't be controlled or changed. It felt like biting stone to learn that sometimes there's no healing. As a mother, too, I have learned not to forget the limits of my control. These limits are brought home to me whenever I look at the perfect ease of my sleeping children and know that I cannot secure with permanence their safety and happiness. Recognizing the fragility of our hold on those we value must compel us either to build illusions of permanence or to figure out how to live with some form of trust.

Perhaps there's not, in fact, an absolute difference between those illusions of permanence and some form of trust. I suggest that one of the shadow sides of motherhood is that it rests on illusion -- the illusion that the mother-figure can and will keep us safe. She (or he) can't always do that, you know. When the bomb falls, or the speeding car collides with another, or a new and unknown or old and familiar disease strikes, mother can't save you; mother can't deliver. As we keep Mother's Day, let's recognize that we're celebrating one wonderful truth about the world -- that we're cared for and nurtured! -- but that it may not work, despite mother's efforts.

Let's reflect quietly for a few moments on the many ways in which each one of us, no matter what our situation, has cause to be grateful for nurturing:

for the fact that we're able to be here today, which means that our health right now is much better than it might be; we have been protected from so many ills ...

for having enough to eat ... we are grateful for being nurtured with food ...

for having a home, a shelter from the elements ... we are grateful to be protected from cold and rain and wind, every day ...

We celebrate on this Mothers Day that we are nurtured in these ways.

Even deeper in the shadow than the inevitable, shared limitations of our mother-figures are their personal imperfections. One of the painful things about this day for many people is the memory of the inadequate, neglectful or outright abusive mothering they received. How to celebrate motherhood when your experience of it has been unhappy? Perhaps it can't be done until we realize what an amazing leap we make when we assume that mothering comes naturally, or easily, or well, to those who find themselves loaded with responsibility for nurturing another human being. Giving birth to a baby does not automatically equip anyone to take care of that baby or the person they will become. And whatever the reasons for a shortfall in nurturing capacity, whatever our theories about personal responsibility, there's little doubt that no one's choices are completely free. Perhaps our most fitting celebration of motherhood is in the form of forgiveness, if we can stretch towards it.

There are some words I've used before from Wanting Everything, by Dorothy Rowe, about the forgiveness we need to bring to the mothering we've received and the mothering we've given. Let's reflect quietly on them now, remembering that the words "mother," "parents," and children are by no means limited to biological relationships.

Acknowledge that what happened, happened and accept that your parents [and your] children see and interpret things differently from you. They are not bad, crazy or illogical -- just different.

Accept your parents' [and your] children's bad feelings, even when they are directed at you. If you have spent a lifetime being frightened of their anger, now you have to find the courage to accept and discuss it.

Accept that you didn't have Perfect Parents. Don't take this personally. They'd have treated the same any child who'd arrived when you did.

Accept that you are not and never were the Perfect Mother. If a child is to become an independent adult, the mother must fail to meet all the child's needs. A mother's place is in the wrong.

Gratefully accept that no one stays the same. Parents get wiser and children grow up.

We celebrate on this Mothers Day that we have the capacity to redeem relationships by our acceptance, and that this is truly a nurturing, mothering quality.

Now let's sing together a favourite song about all the paradoxes and complexities which motherhood represents, like so many aspects of life, and then I'll pick up the second part of my reflections.

...

How can there possibly be a shadow side to apple pie? It's one of my (many) favourite desserts, and the kind my mother made is my personal measure of apple-pie excellence! I suppose that it represents for many of us those very things I've been talking about already -- nurturing, sustenance, happy times, family times, good old-fashioned pleasure. What could the shadow side be? I suggest that there are indeed shadows in this symbol of motherhood, and once again I'll explore just two of them with you.

First (and you can certainly laugh at this; in fact I hope you will because we need all the laughter we can possibly get these days), first of all, apple pie is not very good for your health. Uh, oh, just another downer, you're thinking -- next thing you know she'll be telling us that families themselves are detrimental ... I wouldn't be the first one, but that's not my intention. What I want to do is suggest that like just about anything else we can think of, apple pie is not simple, not simply good or simply bad, sweetness and light or sinister shadow. It's the usual mixture of things, crowded with the usual suspects and the familiar feelings -- a wonderful symbol, in fact, for all the delights of life whose very deliciousness is bound up, like motherhood, with their imperfection.

The one excellent ingredient in apple pie is apples -- unless you make one of the fake kind which uses Ritz crackers soaked in water and lemon juice as a substitute for apples. (Some of you believe me, especially some of you of a certain age -- others of you I can see looking at me as if you can hardly imagine what kind of a warped mind I have.) And that's about where the wholesomeness ends, with the apples. Other than that, there's white flour (a no-no), butter or shortening (no-nos except in very small quantities) and sugar (a no-no). I suppose cinnamon and other optional extras could be considered neutral, but really apple pie is not recommended as a regular part of a healthy diet. Don't you long for the days when "healthy food" was food that schmecked and stuck to the ribs and gave you energy for a day's work? But those days are long gone and now we know that generally speaking the more delicious a food is, the less of it we should be eating. Perhaps in time our grandchildren's grandchildren will break the mental link between apple pie and appetizing wholesomeness, but we're stuck with what's called "cognitive dissonance," -- something that's good and not good at the same time.

There's an ancient scripture which says we don't live by food alone but by less tangible things. Closer to our own time, Antoine St. Exupery wrote that "We live not by things but by the meaning of things," which I believe is profoundly true. Apple pie may not be the best for your cholesterol, but what it means to you can be the best for your spirit. And that's true of so many words and objects that are quite neutral in themselves -- we give them their meaning and value. Listen for a few moments now, perhaps with your eyes closed, as I speak some phrases whose meaning comes almost entirely from you as you listen. Allow your thoughts and mental pictures to flow freely; some of your thoughts and images may be pleasant, others not. There's no right or wrong to how you react; it's simply a small way of becoming more aware of our own images, more in touch with our feelings. So let the meanings and associations flow.

Down home ... The old familiar faces ... Family values. ... Mother Church. ... The mother of all wars. ... All-natural ingredients ... Mother Nature ... Family farm

Now open your eyes. I hope that was enough to suggest the power of word-association to influence our feelings, in case you weren't convinced already! Motherhood and apple pie are almost unassailable, not in themselves so much as in the way they have come to represent the things we all yearn for. Knowing that is a hugely important step towards being less conditioned, freer beings. We may still go on enjoying our favourite empty-calorie treats, and it's good that we can and do enjoy deliciousness, I think, but we'll do it in at least a slightly less-slavish way.

And the second shadow side of apple pie that I want to suggest is that we've allowed it to be so scarce! Oh, not actual, literal apple pie, but the nutritional abundance which it stands for. We in the developed world gorge ourselves on foods stuffed with calories, while most people in the world are undernourished if not actually hungry. Last week I spoke satirically of the impossible demand that we not allow ourselves to sleep while there are starving children in the world; this week I want to suggest that most of us are in more danger of sleeping too soundly while there are starving children in the world. If we enjoy our apple pie or its equivalent without ever a thought of those starving children in our own human family, we have a lot to answer for, I think. May we always be conscious of our great good fortune -- not only do we have more than enough to eat, we have more than enough choices. How lucky we are!

Wise people sometimes say that every preacher has only one basic sermon, which comes out in different forms, and I think there's some truth to that idea. My basic sermon, or talk, or reflection, comes in one form or another into almost every service I lead, and today's no exception. The message is this: I hope this congregation is not only, or always, perceived as a place of safety, or of warm fuzziness, but also as a place of adventure and risk and the courage to face a life which isn't all motherhood and apple pie. About 12 years ago, in Boston, I went with friends to see Stephen Sondheim's show, Into the Woods. It's based on almost all the fairy tales you ever were told -- there's Rapunzel and Little Red Riding Hood and Jack of beanstalk fame, and Cinderella and a host of others. There's some great music in the show, and almost at the end there's one of my favourite songs, which might make a good UU theme song because its title is "No One Is Alone". The "woods" in the title of the show are a metaphor for life, and because I think the song captures all the paradox and possibility of an adventurous journeying through a life full of risks, alone and yet supported and nurtured, I offer this song from Into the Woods for you now. ...

Let's face the dangerous woods of life with courage. Let's not settle for cliched statements or simplistic values such as motherhood and apple pie without giving some really careful thought to whether we really believe in them, and how, and what that means for our lives. Let's think about the mothering we've given and received, and the nourishment we've given and received, and do two things: first, celebrate what's good and the people we appreciate, and the glorious fact that we are not alone; second, commit ourselves to being more nurturing and sustaining of our own lives and those of others -- better mother-figures in our own small circles and in the wider, very needy world. And in the words of my colleague Frances Manly,

May these things come to pass:
May your life be filled with questions,
and your heart strong to follow where they lead;
May your days be filled with children,
and your heart sing with the freshness and wonder of childhood;
May the obstacles in your path become your stepping stones,
and your arm strong to steady those who stumble;
May you be a lightning catcher in the inner sky,
and the light of your soul a steady beacon to all you meet ...

On this Mother's Day, may our hearts be open to all who need mothering, including ourselves. So may it be, and a happy Mother's Day to all of you, however you spend it.