Speaking, Writing, Talking About Any Holiday: the Doom that Cannot be Avoided

Mother’s Day.

Father’s Day.

Christmas.

I am tempted to dodge writing about holidays just now, because no matter what I say . . . I have blown it. (In fact, just this thought: “I have blown it” makes this about me and not about those celebrating or hurting on the holiday.)

Let’s take what would seem to be non-controversial: celebrating motherhood. I have a great mother and any excuse to celebrate her life sounds wonderful. Just as I get ready to write, my social media feed fills up with snark about churches handing out carnations to Mom (Sigh!) or (more important) the hard stories of friends that find Mother’s Day difficult. Some want to be Mom, but cannot be. Some had bad mothers. My own Mom misses her mother, as I miss my grandmother.

I pause.

This is true and I do not want my celebration of my good Mom to hurt others. Perhaps I will write a piece reminding people that this particular Holiday is hard for many of us. 

And then the eye-rolling starts from other parts of the Feed: “Another holiday ruined by those who are so busy forcing us to weep with them that they never rejoice with those who rejoice.” Just as I am about to accuse them of being insensitive to my friend’s pain, someone else asks: “Is there any way I can rejoice in my Mom? I like the carnations!”

She seems right. After all: for humanity to survive we need motherhood in ways we do not need other professions. Motherhood is the existential profession.

“Ha! You are saying all women must be mothers to thrive.”

This would be odd for a member of a church that celebrates virginity to say, but to clarify: “Not all women must be mothers or men fathers.”

“Are you saying a woman cannot be a father?”

Well, yes, I am.

I start to write, speak, or share . . . Careful to qualify . . . And what is left is mush. If I list enough truths to take care of most complaints, then I shall forget one. If I do, I am being even more insensitive to a minority that is small as to already be almost voiceless and the celebration is ruined.

”We gather to celebrate . . . but . . . And remember. . . But recalll. . . And now we celebrate. . . “ may have ruined the party before it starts.

Motherhood matters. Fatherhood matters. The Incarnation is the pivot point of history so Christmas matters. The strain of trying to not offend ends up offending readability even more than my normal turgid prose.

(“Turgid? Not everyone had a chance at college . . .”

”Wait! Are you saying that only the college grads can use ‘turgid? Bigot!”)

And so it goes.

What can a person do who wants to lead, write, think, speak?

I am going to have to witness to what I have experienced. I can be sensitive to the fact that this is not everyone’s story and link and promote other tales.

The truth is I have a great Mother, a wonderful Father, and I love Christmas. I also have family members and friends for whom Mother’s Day is painful, Father’s Day worse, and Christmas depressing. That’s reality too.

I think sanity comes when we all accept that no particular take on a holiday is everyone’s. I have been in churches where the “most” ignored the “least,” because they could not pause, even a moment, in the party to acknowledge that not every good is good for everyone.

That’s too bad.

Stop.

Yet I have also been in churches where the weaker brothers and sisters became tyrants: “How dare you rejoice! Haven’t you heard the story of my pain!” And we sat and listened again. 

Pause and consider: there is a tyranny of the majority and of the minority. Let’s party as we can while being sensitive to our friends as we can.

I need to go get a card.