c. 2003 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant, managing large-scale database implementations. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C.)

(UNDATED) Expressions of love flew across telephone lines and the Internet, not to mention old-fashioned hugs and child-made cards.

In our household, two sons conspired on a surprise dinner for their mother. That left her wondering all day if anyone remembered, but in the end, the sight of our oldest son waiting in the driveway for our return from a soccer game cast doubt away. So did the lovely Mother’s Day poem composed by our youngest son. So did our middle son’s telephone call from his mission trip to western North Carolina. So perhaps did my gift.

While preparing dessert, first-born son broke a plate from our wedding china. It was the first plate broken in 26 years. We moved right on from it, for this dinner wasn’t about china.

In all of the hugs, smiles, telephone calls and tears, I didn’t hear a single reference to parental “commandments.” No one remembered a maternal “should” from infancy, childhood, adolescence or emerging adulthood.

Parents issue plenty of rules, of course, for children need to be guided. But in the end, the rules are momentary. What lingers is the person behind the rules.

What did their mother say about crossing the street? Or about cleaning up their own messes? Or about turning off lights? Or about fighting or not fighting? Or about answering the telephone? I doubt that my boys could remember. Some lessons became ingrained; some lessons they will need to learn on their own.

In the end, what they remember _ or know from a depth of being beyond memory _ is that their mother loved them beyond measure, beyond any infraction or shortcoming, beyond annoyance, beyond weariness, beyond doubt, beyond anything they could produce for themselves.

What they celebrated on Mother’s Day, therefore, wasn’t a rulebook, but a person. What they celebrated, and what I celebrated in telephoning my mother, was the gift of life itself. And a safe place to do the hard work of growing up. And a safe harbor for the times when storms grow fierce.

Yes, Jesus did say, “If you love me, keep my commandments.” Religious legalists have a field day with those words, as if the entire Christian enterprise were grounded in rules, as if faithfulness meant scouring the Scriptures for rules, or sayings that can be codified as rules, and enforcing them through guilt, shame, fire and sword.

Since Jesus himself didn’t issue any commandments _ other than the ancient words, “Love God, love your neighbor” _ finding the rules has meant probing disparate sources such as Leviticus and the Pauline Epistles, and then putting those words into Jesus’ mouth, along with whatever contemporary strictures seem urgent to the lawmaker.

Legalists can be marvelously inventive when it comes to shaping rules for Jesus to have said. But their effort is tragic.

It is tragic in that it draws attention away from what Jesus really said, which was “love me.” Know the person of Jesus, remember who he was, remember the sound of his voice, remember the hands _ beckoning, holding, feeding, suffering _ remember the mercy and forgiveness, remember the eyes that met, not in shame or judgment, but in recognition.

It is tragic that the kindness of Jesus, the gentleness, the hospitality and the inclusiveness have all been shelved in favor of rules primly defined and sternly enforced. For what is it that gives hope: rules or recognition, laws or love, punishments or penitence, catechism or compassion? What truly raises the child: an icon or a person?

If all that we remembered were the rules and the shame, how could we call home? If all that we dared speak were official words _ vetted, documented and ritualized _ how could we write poems to the one who sang us to sleep? If we were afraid of judgment, what child would cook a meal for Mom?

If God were portrayed as unattainable except by obeisance, and as unknowable except through official channels, what child would wait patiently for the one who waited patiently for him?

If God stood beyond a fastidiously maintained screen of laws, commandments, rules and rituals, what adult would yearn to hug the one who sheltered his smallness?

DEA END EHRICH