The Big Ten: Parents

A community that neglects its elders has lost its soul. It has no weight, no depth, offers no glory to God.

I am not going to lie—it's a real blessing to have our oldest child here with us today.

Not just because we get to keep on celebrating her birthday a few more days, but because we get to celebrate who we are as well. After all, Fiona is the one who made Kathleen a mother and me a father.
 
If you get our newsletter, you know that we’ve experienced some big changes over the last few weeks.

​Without going into all the pros and cons of being empty nesters, I can confidently say it’s nice to watch our kids leave the nest and find their way in the world.

When Fiona went off to college, it was in the middle of the pandemic. We hoped that we had given her all that she needed to survive. But deep down, we knew in her heart she carried her family and the rhythms of home as she stepped into an unfamiliar wilderness, full of challenges and promise.
 
As we continue our journey through the Big Ten Commandments, we walk with the Israelites, who left the only world they’d ever known. Yes, life in Egypt had been harsh and oppressive. (I’m sure Fiona thought the same about living with us.) But despite the suffering there was some comfort in what they knew.
 
Leaving home, like our children discovered, was full of promise and challenges for God’s children. The difference, of course, is that the Israelites didn’t walk away from their parents. They took them—carrying the wisdom, the memories, and stories of the generations with them. Which brings us to today’s passage in our series on the Big Ten.

Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.                      
                   ​                   ​                   ​                        ​- Exodus 20:12

At first glance, this sounds like a lesson in good manners. Be polite. Respect your elders. Don’t get sassy when dad asks you to take out the trash.

For those who first received these words, this wasn’t about being polite or sentimental. Honoring was pure survival. There weren’t IRAs, pensions, or retirement homes that took care of you. Your kids were your safety net. So you protected them and raised them for this purpose, hoping those lessons stuck.
 
The Talmud teaches, honoring parents isn’t simply a command. It’s doing, it’s action: feed them, clothe them, help them walk, listen patiently as they repeat the same story you’ve heard a thousand times.

It was also a common opinion that the way you treated your parents was a direct reflection on how you honored and respected God. Which should be the wake up call for us all.
 
Now, the Hebrew word translated as honor—kābēd—literally means “to give weight.”  To honor someone is to say: you matter, your life carries real depth and gravity. And so you respect that person’s weight honoring all the wisdom and history they carry.
 
It’s worth mentioning that kābēd has the same root for the word glory—as in the glory of God, whose weight in the world gives everything its measure. So when we honor our parents, we’re not just being polite. We’re recognizing God’s own glory in them.
 
Later in Israel’s story, the prophets tie this commandment to social justice. Isaiah warn us to care for the most vulnerable in our society: the widows and orphans, the marginalized and rejected.

​Today, he might warn us: if Grandma’s fridge is empty while your sanctuary is full, you’re nullifying this commandment.

A community that neglects its elders has lost its soul. It has no weight, no depth, offers no glory to God.
 
I remember driving with my friend Jeff when we got stuck behind an elderly couple. I joked, “We should just send every old person to a tropical island to live out the rest of their lives, so the rest of us can get on with ours.”
 
Jeff didn’t think it was funny. He just said, “Who would we learn from?”
 
Honoring our elders wasn’t just about caring for them in the last leg of life. It’s also about receiving what they have to offer—making sure their wisdom isn’t tossed aside because it moves a little slower or skips over a few details.
 
More than simply saying “yes ma’am” or “no sir”  honoring parents is the glue that holds a community together across generations.
 
A few years back, I met a women during my Knowvember challenge. She was dealing with a difficult breakup. When I asked how she was getting through it, she said, “My grandmother who raised me didn’t have much, but she gave me the one thing I would need most for times like this. She gave me courage.”
 
That’s the weight our elders offer—the steady presence that holds us together in the wilderness of life. It’s in this holding and honoring, God’s glory shines through.

Henri Nouwen put it this way: “When we remember with gratitude those who gave us life, we taste God’s faithfulness that stretches across generations.”
 
There’s a passage in Mark 7, where Jesus called out the Pharisees for inventing loopholes to avoid caring for their parents. They called it “Corban”—a way of dedicating resources to the temple instead of using them for their family. Jesus doesn’t mince words. He said: “You have voided the word of God through your traditions that you pass down” (Mark 7:9-13).
 
He will go on to show us what obedience to this commandment really looks like. On the cross, agonizing in pain, Jesus takes the time to make sure his mother will be cared for—entrusting her to his beloved disciple. For Jesus, honoring wasn’t about sending flowers on Mother’s Day. It’s about presence. Being there. Showing up with love no matter the cost (John 19:26-27).
 
I’ll admit, this can be a challenge for those of us with good parents. So, I’m sure it feels down-right impossible for those whose parents merely gave you life but not love.

Some parents were absent. Some parents caused harm. Some are too toxic to have a meaningful or healthy relationship with. Does God really ask us to honor that? The short answer is no.
 
Honoring doesn’t mean tolerating abuse. Or pretending it didn’t happen. Sometimes the most faithful way we can show honor (and give glory to God) is to break those vicious cycles—to choose love instead of continuing to harm.

And sometimes honor is about opening your heart to receive love from others who step in where our parents could not.
 
Because honoring is bigger than biology. It’s about building a community where love is passed down, whether by blood or by grace. In the center of that community is God, who nurtures and parents us into wholeness. And knits us together to be a family for each other.

So, even if our parents couldn’t give us what we needed, we can still honor God together, as a community, by choosing love over hate, joy over bitterness, and making sure no one is without.
 
I have witnessed this kind of love in action, when elders are forgotten. At the retirement community where I serve every week, there are a lot of  folks who feel abandoned by their kids. An out of sight out of mind reality. 

But I’ve witness the power of deep kinship whenever love shows up. For eight years I’ve helped form a small community—a mini-Anamesa—where we practice loving God, loving others, and serving both.
 
This is how their story and our church live on well into the future: by building a community of love in the space between the generations. Inside the fifth commandment is a promise: “Honor your mom and dad so that your days may be long in the land.”
 
More than adding years to our lives. It’s about adding life to our years. Time passes, sometimes quicker than we want. But love lingers, carrying our memories forward.

When we use love to honor the ones who gave us our life, the church comes to life. And so do we.
 
With all this said, I’ll admit this particular commandment is hitting a little too close to home. My parents are aging, and their memories are fading. And I’m struggling to pick up the phone and call them more than I do.
 
It’s heartbreaking to watch the two people who taught me to tie my shoes, write my name, and make sense of the world now struggle to remember where they are. Or who I am.

Thankfully, honoring isn’t about having a perfect memory. It’s about holding onto the love that shaped me—and paying their love forward—even when memory frays at the edges.
 
And even if your parents couldn’t give that love you needed, you can still honor them by passing on what heals instead of harms. This is how we glorify God, by loving one another no matter what for each one of us bears God’s image.

Like Jesus said, “Just as you do to the least of these, who are members of my family, you do also to me” (Matt 25:40).
 
So, when we honor the weight of one another—like the Israelites who carried their parents into the wilderness, like our kids carrying pieces of our home into their future—we take God’s glory with us, into the space between the generations into the next. Amen.

Work Cited
Henri J. M. Nouwen, The Road to Peace: Meditations on Loving God and Neighbor (New York: Convergent Books, 1994), 67.