“Nature, Nurture, whatever…” – Mother’s Day, May 9, 2010
“Nature, Nurture, whatever…”
A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
Mother’s Day Sunday
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
May 9, 2010
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Which came first, the baby or the parent? Which came first, the woman or the man? Well, we all know the answer to this last question. Adam was created from the rib of Eve!
We know too that Eve is the mother of Unitarian Universalism. Who else would refuse to hold back from the prospect of a sumptuous apple offered by one of God’s creatures, each with inherent worth and dignity? Adam followed suit by virtue of the nature transmitted through Eve’s rib and the nurture she imparted once he appeared on the scene. From then on all is history, spotted as it is.
So to the core question of developmental psychology: Is it nature or nurture? Are we human creatures the harvest of what was transmitted genetically or of what was transmitted environmentally? As much time as I spent on this question in graduate academia, I do believe the answer is straightforward. “Yes!” Each of us is an amalgam of our genetic and our environmental legacies. Often it’s hard, if not impossible, to identify those traits biological and psychological that reveal which threads are which. There are surely situations in which it’s helpful to know what our genetic legacy is, however. It’s helpful to have that medical history. Sometimes it’s reassuring, sometimes not; but almost always it’s informative and sometimes, lifesaving. It’s also helpful to be attuned to the cradle of nurture or otherwise from which we have each developed. From neglect and abuse to love and cultivation of caring responsible behavior, we’re each the harvest of how that cradle was rocked.
Many of you know that I have three children—adult daughters. Two are my birth children; one is technically my stepchild, though I’ve raised Lisa since she was nine years old. She still calls me Jan, not Mom, but I commonly refer to her as my daughter. Dan and his first wife, who died when Lisa was 16 months old, adopted Lisa from Korea when she was just four months old. It can be said that Lisa has had three Mothers—a challenge in many ways, a blessing of nurture in others, though the identity of her birth mother is unknown. Mothering and being mothered are in flux for each of us, whether we know the identity of our birth mother or not.
Imagine a stone formed at the mouth of a river. It moves along that river’s course year after year, twisting and turning over rapids and across tranquil pools, tossed and settled and raised and urged on by the inevitable flow. Miles and miles downstream, will that stone be recognizable? In some ways, yes; in some ways, no. It will be the same and different. What transpired upstream and what continues to transpire along the journey matter; but this imperfect metaphor doesn’t account for free will, which is itself exercised in the framework of source and journey.
Were I to ask my own mother—she who gave birth to me and did indeed nurture me— what her opinion is on this matter of nature or nurture, I can only guess what she would say. Her response would emerge from a century of traveling her own life course. In fact, this is my first Mother’s Day without my mother here to ask such questions. I love her and am still not free from the instinct to give her a call, to check in. So what would she say as a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, and a longtime nurse, on this matter? I’ll tell you exactly what she’d say: “Whatever….”
Oh yes, some commentary would follow, but her essential response would be this fluid, resilient expression. Whenever things grew controversial on any issue, this was her response. It’s a response that took shape again when last November, right after Thanksgiving, our entire family gathered at the home of our nephew, Todd, and his family in Vermont. To all her grandchildren, Mom was Gram. To all her great-grandchildren, she was Gigi. To any and all, she was known for that endearing offhand expression that her grandson, Todd, put to music for that evening of remembering and celebrating this remarkable woman, my Mother.
He picked up his guitar, strummed out the melody he’d composed earlier that day, and sang these lyrics:
Whenever I hear the word “whatever”
it makes me think of a blessed life
that we all thought just might last forever
though we all know we all must die
She’d just wave and say “whatever”
and let the strife pass her on by.
In the time it takes to say “whatever”
she’d forgive and forget and resume her smile.
Lake Mistake is a sacred place [Just ask me; I’ll tell you that story later.]
in our thoughts and in our minds;
so let us embrace our immortal disposition
and try to keep that spirit alive.
Well I’ll just wave and say “whatever;”
I feel inspired by her refrain.
Look at all the beauty around us
and count life’s blessings day to day.
It’s up to us now to go further in our experience
and to expand on our horizons,
not just for ourselves and our dear family,
but all who surround us in our lives.
It’s time to wave and say “whatever,”
in our own ways say our goodbyes;
and on the other side of that “whatever”
I’m pretty sure you’ll find her smile.
May each of us continue our life journey assured that nature and nurture affirm a fluidity of travel, resilience for the rapids, grace for grounding, and gratitude for every moment as we move toward the other side of the mystery of “whatever” and behold now and then the assurance of a loving smile.
I love you each and all. Amen.
Sources:
Todd White, “Whatever,” for “Gram” – November, 2009.
