I was not a particularly rebellious child, but I caused my mother plenty of grief anyway. Mostly I caused her grief by being something of an airhead.

I recall a summer day when I went downtown to the library. We only had one car, so we often rode the bus. I had been to town on the bus with my older sister lots of times. I was probably eight or nine years old and, in my mind, plenty old enough to go all by myself. I had finished reading my library books and wanted to go check out new ones. My mother finally relented on the condition that I call her from the library as soon as I got there. (This was in prehistoric times before every kid had a cell phone.) I had been to the library lots of times. I knew right where the pay phone was. I made sure I had a nickel for the call.

I left home and confidently walked down to the bus stop and waited for the bus. I hopped on and rode downtown, feeling very independent and mature. I paid attention and made sure I rang the bell to get off at the right corner downtown. I walked the block to the old library that had two small elephant statues in the front. The old library in downtown San Antonio was a marvelous place. It had this fabulous collection of circus books and a model circus under glass up on the top floor.

It was great to be at the library all by myself without my older sister. Ah, freedom! I returned my books at the desk. I went into the children’s section and over to the familiar shelves with adventure stories. Eventually I picked out a couple of books to check out. I wandered up to the circus exhibit and found a fascinating book of pictures of circus freaks. I can still remember old black and white pictures of one guy over eight feet tall and of another guy that weighed over 900 pounds. Neat stuff. What a great day!

Finally I decided to go home. I went to the bus stop, waited for the right bus, got off at the bus stop, and walked the few blocks to my house. As I walked up the sidewalk I could hear my mother inside talking and crying. She was distraught. I walked up to the door. She was talking to my father on the phone, telling him that I had left for town several hours ago and now she had no idea where I was. She had called the library, but they had not found me. (I had probably been upstairs looking at circus freaks.) My mother feared the worst.

Suddenly it hit me: I had forgotten to call home. I had completely spaced it. The coin for the call was still in my pocket. My mother was certain I had been run over or was lost or kidnapped or that some other horrible thing had happened.

I opened the screen door. She looked at me, library books in hand. I could see her vacillating between giving me a big tear-drenched hug or beating me to death. Luckily, her maternal instincts won out. Once more, like mothers everywhere, she decided to cut me some slack.

It is truly fitting that a sermon on cutting some slack be delivered on Mothers Day. Mothers are the world’s great slack cutters. It’s a good thing. Our species wouldn’t survive otherwise. Every precious cute kid that we dedicate in our child dedications today is going to bring his or her mother to end of her patience. Every one of these little darlings, every kid in this congregation, is going to need for mom and dad and teachers and grandparents and family friends to cut them some slack—just as every one of us has needed for others to cut us some slack.

Cutting each other some slack is what makes life possible. Cutting each other some slack is what makes all human relationships possible. Cutting each other some slack is how love expresses itself. Cutting each other some slack is simply another way of saying forgiveness. In this morning’s reading, poet Wendell Berry speaks of his mother’s forgiveness— a forgiveness that came not after the fact, but a forgiveness that forgave before he could act. Recall those wonderful words, “So complete has your forgiveness been I wonder sometimes if it did not precede my wrong.”

Think for a minute about what happens when we cut each other little or no slack. We have all been in a relationship where the other person cut us almost no slack. It might have been an over demanding parent or a perfectionist teacher. Maybe it was a coach, a friend, a boss, or a lover. Such relationships are hell. We feel like we are walking on eggs. We are terrified of making the slightest mistake. Imagine what it is like for another person if you and I are the ones who cut no slack. We create a reign of terror. Perfectionism creates anxiety and fear. Ultimately, cutting no slack is stifling. People need space to make a few mistakes, space in which to be free and creative.

Ah, but that is only part of the story. Cutting each other some slack is good, but is there such a thing as cutting too much slack? You bet there is. And this is where things get really difficult. Simply to cut each other some slack is just the beginning. Real love and real wisdom demand that we cut each other just the right amount of slack.

After I left home my parents got a new dog. They got a small black poodle they named Pierre. We had had a couple of dogs when I grew up. They were well trained and well behaved. Pierre was not. He was spoiled rotten. And, truth to tell, Pierre could be pretty tiresome. Once when I was visiting my parents a friend of my mother mentioned that my mother must really love this dog. My mother, in a moment of clarity and honesty, admitted to her friend that Pierre was spoiled not because she loved him, but because she was too lazy to train him. It wasn’t love, she said; it was laziness.

How often in rearing our children do we allow laziness to masquerade as love? How often do we indulge our children by cutting them too much slack rather than take the time and trouble to discipline and correct them? How often do we just let something destructive slide in a relationship because we simply don’t want to take the trouble to deal with the issue?

There isn’t much difference between cutting someone way too much slack and just cutting them off. There isn’t much difference between permissiveness and indifference. At the other end of the relationship permissiveness and indifference feel the same. Being given limitless freedom is the same as being cut off. As the old pop song says, sometimes freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.

The truth is that we are connected. We are tied together; we are tethered. Love demands forgiveness. Love demands allowing each other some freedom. Love demands that we cut each other some slack.

Love also demands that we cut each other the right amount of slack. Love means that we hold each other accountable, too. Love means that we care enough about the relationship to make promises and to abide by them. Love is about commitment, not complete freedom. In fact, to love someone means willingly giving up some freedom. Who is less free than the mother of an infant?

When I think about the images of God in the Hebrew and Christian scriptures, it seems like God is often like a frustrated parent trying to figure out just how much slack to cut his rebellious children. The Hebrew scriptures can be read as a long series of stories about God throwing temper tantrums and punishing his rebellious brood—only to give them one more chance. Adam and Eve don’t follow the rules and he throws them out of Eden. He angrily drowns everyone but Noah and his family in a flood. He destroys a whole series of cities: Sodom, Gomorra and Jericho. He punishes the children of Israel by sending them into exile in Babylon. And yet he keeps giving them one more chance.
In the Christian scriptures the image shifts to that of a patient, loving father. Jesus describes God as caring for every single person, offering love and forgiveness. It seems that even the almighty struggles with knowing just how much slack to cut. It isn’t easy.

The truth is, we need to adjust the slack we cut each other all the time. Every good parent knows this. As a child grows, he or she needs more freedom. And, as every parent also knows, almost every adolescent will want more freedom than he or she is ready to handle. Every relationship that really matters involves regularly readjusting how much slack we cut each other.

Finally, you and I need to think about how much slack we cut our selves. This, too, is really tough. Just like our children and our partners need us to cut them some slack, you and I need to learn how to cut our selves the right amount of slack.

Each one of us knows people who just beat themselves up for every mistake they make. Nothing they ever do seems good enough. Ironically, it is often very bright and gifted people who are the hardest on themselves. Gifted children, especially, are very often too critical of themselves.

And you and I also know people we wish were more self critical, people who seem to have no standards at all, people who are full of excuses.

One of the surprising things I learned in my early years as a supervisor was that my best employees were typically the most self critical. As a supervisor my job was often to tell them I thought they were doing a terrific job. Conversely, some very mediocre employees thought they were wonderful. My job was to cut them less slack.

Each one of us must ask our selves: “Do I need to cut myself a little slack? Do I need to lighten up on myself a little? Or do I need to give myself a little yank? Am I being too hard on myself, or am I not being hard enough?” It takes a lot of honesty to cut our selves just the right amount of slack. It takes a lot of self knowledge. I suspect most of the people in this room today could use to cut themselves a bit more slack. Pretend you are your own mother today. See the good in yourself.

You see, cutting slack is how we create a heaven on earth. Cutting slack is how we show that we care for each other. Cutting slack is how move beyond our imperfections. Cutting slack is how we give each other enough space to grow, to change, to flower. Cutting just the right amount of slack is how we stay connected, how we remind each other that there is someone at the other end, someone who cares and who is holding on.

Cut me some slack today. I need it. And cut some for yourself. You need it, too. Not too much, but just enough. And I’ll cut you some. I’ll even save a bit for myself. On this Mothers Day, let’s cut each other as much as our moms would cut for us. That seems like a good place to start.

The slack we cut is a profound act of love. Let’s cut each other some slack. Let’s create a little heaven on earth.

Amen.