It’s Holy Saturday. A day often marked by quiet, grief, and waiting. It is the first time in fifteen years I haven’t been leading a congregation through some part of the triduum and resurrection story. It feels strange and also right. Today I am 34 weeks and 2 days pregnant. As we inch closer to welcoming a tiny and vulnerable human into this broken, brutal, and beautiful world, I am taking lots of naps, definitely not fasting, and contemplating the sacred circles and stories that will help our child know the value of their own life. As well as their responsibility to the valuable community of humans and more-than-humans we’re a part of.
Wednesday night I had the privilege of sitting at Seder table with my in-laws and some good family friends. As a prelude, our host asked my father-in-law to read a letter written by his father on March 29, 1945, to commemorate the first Seder in Germany, celebrated amongst the ruins of war. Grandpa Bob Press was on active duty at the time and noted the power of the interfaith ritual, even without a white tablecloth. In the midst of war, they took time to honor the sacred truth that no one people could destroy another just because they willed to.
For the rest of the evening, The Bronfman Haggadah was our guide through the story of the Passover. Weaving the words of Frederick Douglass and other historical freedom fighters with the story of the Exodus, we were reminded that the price of freedom in community is moral responsibility to one another. We aren’t made free for selfishness and greed, let alone to harm others physically (much as my interpretation of Pharaoh in the reader’s theatre portion of the evening would have argued for it).
It is strange and beautiful to enjoy good food, generous hospitality, and warm companionship while also sharing the story of enslavement, escape to freedom, and communal responsibility. When the evening was over, we walked out under the light of a full moon to make our way home, hearts, minds, bellies, and spirits filled with so many good things.
I was especially grateful for this sacred circle and biblical story in the midst of this first Holy Week without a congregation. This time of year asks so much of pastors and preachers, ministers and worship leaders, really anyone employed by or volunteering for a church. So, I’ve been grateful for the space to do only what I have energy for while praying for friends and colleagues around the country. I’ve been giving thanks for the sanctuary within walking distance from our home that sated my longing to wave a palm branch and sing Hosanna! and Were You There? on Sunday. And I’ve been contemplating the themes of this week: love and solidarity nurtured through shared meals, forgiveness offered even before betrayal, the treacherous power of the state when inflicted on the most vulnerable, the invitation to care for bodies and hold hope in the midst of grief, and what conditions support new life.
A few weeks ago, I received some tangible answers to those last wonderings—how to care for bodies, hold hope, and support new life—through a new-to-me sacred circle: a Mother Blessing. Months previously, Anne, one of my dear book club women invited me to tea to ask me if I’d be interested in such a thing. Admitting my ignorance, I said, “Tell me about it.”
So, she started describing it to me. “A Mother Blessing is not a baby shower. Baby Showers are great, and we can throw one of those, too. But the focus of a Mother Blessing is not on a registry or stuff and not even really on the baby. The focus is on the mother, the mother-to-be. It’s a chance for women to gather to name and honor the transition that is happening for her; to call on the lineages of women that brought them to this sacred circle; to name both the fear and the power that can accompany the transitions through pregnancy, labor, birth, and parenthood; to affirm the woman in her own power, offer her support, and pour out blessing on her for the new life she is bringing into the world.”
When Anne finished describing all this, my answer was very clear. “Yes. I want that.” Who wouldn’t? So, Anne and Kelli and Kelcee—my amazing book club companions in the Cliterates—went about planning. They asked me questions about my preferences and for a guest list, but otherwise they kept their plans secret so I would both be surprised and relieved of any responsibility for the day.
And what a day it was. Both my curiosity and my expectations were high, because I know the creative genius of my friends. But any expectations were easily exceeded.
The founders of this feast of blessing, back L-R: Kelli, Anne, Kelcee, still pouring their love out on me.
It was the last Sunday in March and snowflakes were gently falling here in Des Moines. As we approached the Jay Spence Shelter House (a kind of a four-season comfortable shelter, glassed in with all you need) women were already gathering. Soft music undergirded our chatter. There was a station for our shoes: we were standing on holy ground and there were beautiful quilts stitched by the hands of grandmothers past laying on the floor to mark our circle. There was a station with rocks for women to write a word of encouragement and blessing for me, a station with markers and a receiving blanket for folks to trace their handprints on (so many hands reached out in love for our babú already), origami paper for blessings for babú (these will be folded into a mobile), flowers on every chair, name tags already prepared, a basket for cards and gifts I hadn’t even known to expect (including a self-care fund!), food laid out for after.
The sacred circle for the Mother Blessing set with beauty and care.
When all were gathered, Anne rang a singing bowl to call us to the circle. We were twelve. We found our seats and grounded ourselves in the words of the meditation Anne shared. A dear friend who was not able to be present in person sent a video message that nearly knocked me out of my chair.
Kelcee invited all in the circle to call out the names of the women who had helped, formed, and encouraged us—reaching back across generations and bloodlines to summon the strength of matriarchs. Then she invited me to place the few slips of paper on which I had written my fears about labor, birth, and mothering into the bottom of a clear vase. When I had done this, she poured water into the jar of the woman sitting next to her. Each woman in our circle had a jar. And one by one, that water was passed from woman to woman, jar to jar, until it got to me and my vase full of fears and apprehensions. When the waters poured over my fears, they dissolved. Turned into nothing but a little schmutz. And then Kelcee took the vase from my hands and one by one, the women passed it around the circle and built a bouquet—new life springing from the detritus of my fears.
Kelli then invited the women to share what they had written on their rocks for me and why—words like TRUST and SWEETNESS and BALANCE and CUDDLES and MAGIC and JOY and WAGENI and YALTHA (stories within stories on these stones). There was one more video, this one a stop-motion animation sent from my 11-year-old goddaughter entitled “The Saga of Lindsey-bird and Lucas-bird.” One friend led us in song. Another offered words of prayer and blessing for a laying on of hands. Tissues were placed around the circle and used liberally throughout. There was plenty of laughter, too, amidst the naming and blessing and sharing. After about an hour, the sacred circle closed and we moved to hugs and chatter and cupcakes and other kinds of sharing.
Rocks decorated with words of encouragement and affirmation for birthing and beyond.
When I got home and started going through all of the collected pieces from the day, I found notes and cards and blessings for babú sent from women in other parts of the country, too. People who couldn’t be there in person but who had wanted to participate from afar. The circle of blessing and power drawn wider to include them, too.
I was (and am) in awe of the gifts my friends shared with me that day. Vulnerable and empowered. Ready to turn more inward as we near the end of this pregnancy. Trusting the lineages I come from and the Spirit that enlivens us all.
One of the women present said, “This was wonderful! Everyone who becomes a mother should have this opportunity!” I wholeheartedly agree and am becoming a bit of a Mother Blessing evangelist. If you know anyone who is expecting a child, this is an extraordinary way to bless them (and all the women who gather in the circle). I’m happy to answer questions and share more details! Ancient wisdom and blessing shared in new ways.
The gathering, minus our photographer. What a powerful group of women.
On this day when the women in Jesus’ life were already turning over in their minds the practical ways they could care for his body with the rising of the sun, it feels right and good to give thanks for all the people, especially women, doing practical care work for bodies in need. Treating them (us) with dignity and honor. Midwifing change from death to new life. From one end to a new beginning. Holding space for the Spirit in the midst of it all.
Much love,
Lindsey
To be reminded of the love from Mothers ... to be cared for and loved unconditionally. xo
Blessings upon you expecting mother Lindsey and Babu!! What beautiful gifts and ways. Thanks for sharing!! Hugs! Jared