By Amanda Alexander
Some weeks ago, I heard a parish pastor preach a very good homily in which he reminded men – fathers specifically – that, like it or not, they would shape how their children imagined God. It is the duty of a father to reflect God’s tender love, mercy and compassion. This made me wonder: if fathers become the basis of our image of God, what about mothers? To answer this question, I had to reflect not only on my experience of being a mother, but also on what I know that my children look for from me, based on biology and developmental psychology.
Most newborn babies have an instinctive drive to seek out and latch onto their mothers to nurse. Breastfeeding, however, does more than satisfy a baby’s hunger. Nursing causes a cascade of chemical reactions in the brain of both the baby and the mother. The most important of these is the release of oxytocin, the love hormone. The act of nursing literally makes a baby fall in love with its mother and helps the mother to fall in love with her child. This same hormonal cascade helps relieve pain and regulate emotions, which is why teething babies and babies in distress instinctively search for their mothers.
Of course, not all mothers are able to breastfeed their children. Nature, thankfully, has a backup mechanism (which fathers and other caregivers can also take advantage of): sustained eye contact. Newborn babies can only see about eight inches in front of their face, but this is the perfect distance to enable them to lock focus on their caregiver’s eyes as they are fed. Sustained eye contact with a baby will, just like breastfeeding, stimulate the release of oxytocin and create a powerful bond of love between the baby and the one who cares for it.
My own experience has taught me, however, that the profound attachment between a mother and child may not form immediately. My responsibility as a mother is to pursue that attachment intentionally and relentlessly. For me, it has meant nursing through pain, illness and sleep deprivation. It has meant putting down my phone to gaze into my child’s eyes. It has meant holding my child to the point where my wrists and back nearly gave out with exhaustion, through colicky cries and toddler tantrums. For other mothers, the pursuit of this loving attachment that nourishes, nurtures, soothes and heals may look different. We don’t do it because it is natural or easy. We do it because it is what our child needs from us.
That need for secure attachment and love never goes away. Older children still desire – even demand – attention and connection from their parents, often their mother. I know that my children look to me to be their anchor, their safe harbor, their place of safety, warmth and acceptance. Sometimes, they express this in quiet cuddles that I wish would last forever. Other times, they express their need through outbursts and actions that embarrass, anger and sometimes even frighten me. My responsibility as a mother is to look beyond the behavior itself to the anxiety, confusion or hurt that has led to it and to offer my unconditional presence and love as a soothing, correcting, healing balm.
Those who have not experienced this kind of mothering speak later in life about their “mother-wound.” Interestingly, many who participated in synodal listening sessions during the Synod on Synodality, used this same language to describe their experience of the Church. They look to the Church as to a mother and suffer as a child does when the Church does not respond to their needs, when it seems to reject them out of embarrassment, anger or fear.
If our fathers shape our image of God, then mothers can shape our image of Church. As a Church, we ought to reflect on the lived reality of mothers who struggle through pain, exhaustion, and their own emotional confusion to sustain the loving connection their children need to flourish.
When a person is baptized, we believe that they are reborn as Children of God. Holy Mother Church is then given the responsibility to nurture and support the faith of this child of God. This she must do, intentionally and relentlessly, finding a way no matter what the circumstances. She must be the one who labors and sacrifices to establish and maintain a life-giving connection with the children of God entrusted to her. She must be the one who responds to cries of distress, who soothes and comforts, who refuses to walk away even as God’s child cries out, “I hate you.” Her love, like that of a mother, cannot have limits or conditions. She must always be the anchor, the safe harbor, the place of welcome, warmth and acceptance.
Amanda Alexander is currently the Director of the Department of Ministry Formation Institute for the Diocese and a parishioner of St. Adelaide in Highland. She has a Ph.D. in systematic theology and has taught at numerous Catholic universities.