14/03/2026
March 26
This Mothering Sunday, as the shops fill with lavender-scented candles and "Best Mum" mugs, we find ourselves at a strange cultural crossroads. We are told that the antidote to the relentless demands of motherhood is a subscription to a meditation app or a weekend of "mindfulness." We are encouraged to pursue "wellbeing" as if it were a solo sport—a private commodity we can purchase and consume to offset the exhaustion of modern life.
But Mothering Sunday wasn't born from the desire for a spa day. Historically, it was Mothering Sunday, not "Mother’s Day"—a day for people to return to their "mother church," the place that nurtured their faith. It was a celebration of belonging and spiritual kinship, not individualistic pampering.
The popular concept of "wellbeing" often feels like another chore on an already overflowing to-do list. It suggests that if you are feeling overwhelmed, the solution lies within your own ability to breathe correctly or "center" yourself. Mindfulness is seen as an escape and often functions as a psychological band-aid, teaching us to tolerate stressful environments rather than questioning the structures that make us stressed. But we are misled into believing that caring for ourselves is necessary before we care for others. Rest is essential (ordained by God in Genesis), and we do need to care for our health, the commercialized version of self-care often isolates us, turning "wellness" into a luxury we must earn. Most worryingly, wellbeing prioritizes the self as the ultimate project. I do encounter people who are very concerned with ‘mindfulness’ - but it only applies when it works for them.
Mothering, by its very definition, is the undoing of that project of ‘self’. Real mothering—whether biological, adoptive, or communal—is an act of radical self-expenditure. It is messy, inconvenient, and fundamentally outward-facing. It is the complete opposite of the curated "zen" lifestyle promoted on social media.
"To care for another is to acknowledge that we are not self-sufficient. It is a humble admission that we need one another, and that our greatest purpose is found in service, not in the optimization of the self."
When we focus purely on self-focused wellbeing, we miss the transformative power of sacrificial love. There is a unique, gritty joy found in the sleepless nights and the mundane service of others that a "mindfulness retreat" can never replicate. This isn't about martyrdom; it's about the profound human dignity found in being responsible for someone else’s flourishing.
In a parish years ago I encountered a lady who gave up a lot of her time to care for a neighbour. He struggled with mental health, his personal hygiene was lacking and she undertook demeaning and demanding tasks of care. Yet she never told people what she did, and she was an unlikely candidate for this role. Nor was the neighbour a project. She was inspired and energised by her commitment to Jesus.
Let’s use this Lent to abandon the shallow definitions of wellness. Instead of seeking a temporary escape from the "burden" of care, let’s celebrate the strength found in the burden itself. Let’s celebrate ‘Connection over Consumption’ and swap expensive or overpriced gifts for genuine presence. Let’s acknowledge all those who care (of either gender) —the aunts, teachers, and mentors who provide the village of care that secular individualism tries to ignore.Finally, we can recognize that the impulse to care for a child or a neighbor is a reflection of a deeper, divine love that asks us to look up and out, rather than inward at our own "wellness" needs.
Mothering is not a lifestyle brand; it is a vocation. Let’s stop trying to "breathe away" the chaos and instead embrace the beautiful, exhausting, and holy work of caring for one another.
‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
Matthew 25.45
