Today I went hopefully to my 14 week ultrasound, looking forward to seeing our third baby squirming, kicking, sucking thumbs and waving at the camera. Our second glimpse at the baby... the first was 7 weeks ago, we saw him/her with a fluttering heart, a peanut-like shape, but a clearly identifiable head and body. It was already a cutie. After finishing a rough trimester of sickness and exhaustion, about to enter the "glory days" of pregnancy, finding a doctor who would let me do a VBAC and not another c-section, things were looking up and this appointment was going to be almost as exciting as the one next month when we would find out if were were having a boy or a girl.
Instead of all this, we saw a baby, 12 weeks in size, lying still and lifeless on his/her side, looking at us quietly. A minute passed, the doctor scrutinized the screen, moved the ultrasound wand looking for a heart that wouldn't beat. Everything was silent and it stayed that way for the rest of the visit. Using the internal ultrasound produced the same results. A lifeless little baby with a heart that had stopped beating two weeks ago.
Today, I went to Holy Thursday Mass. Still carrying the baby, but I sensed vacancy and emptiness even though his/her body was still there. I received communion. I thought about Jairus' daughter who was so clearly dead but Jesus, almost non-chalantly said, "She's just sleeping" and brought her back to life (as if that were a really easy mistake to make). Or Peter who healed Tabitha...Peter, whose power comes from Christ, the same Christ I just received in communion. I thought, "Lord, if this baby comes to back to life and it's a girl, we'll name her Tabitha! Wouldn't that be an amazing story to tell! Her very name will be a way to spread the glory of God." And if it's a boy, we'll name him Lazarus! Or maybe, just his middle name...Lazarus as a first name is kind of weird. But a middle name will still get the point across. Lazarus, the man dead for days and Jesus brought him back from the dead! The same Jesus I just received in communion! The very same person! I believe He is the same! No less powerful, no less capable of miracles! How can Jesus get any closer to touch my baby's body than receiving communion?
At the procession of the Blessed Sacrament, the priest passed us by, carrying the Eucharist. He passed us right by, like Peter's shadow healing the people in Acts...people were healed..because of Peter! But someone greater than Peter is here, passing by, and not just his shadow, but His real presence!
Lord! You can do it! It would be so cool! What a neat story! What makes these people, Tabitha, Lazarus, Jairus' daughter more important than my baby? My baby can grow to spread the gospel too..He or she can give you glory. He or she can make a difference! You can do it!
Yes, He can.
But Holy Thursday never ends without seamlessly flowing into Good Friday. Good Friday the day when Jesus' power, his ability, his resolve and purpose are put to the test. "Get down from the cross." He can! But He doesn't...yet. "Save yourself and us" He can! But He doesn't...yet. God can do all these things, He can bring this baby back to life, He can perform any miracle and answer any and every person who petitions Him for His display of power. But sometimes He does and sometimes He doesn't...yet.
And though I want to hold it against him for letting some live or some walk, or some see...but not everyone, how can I when He withheld His miraculous demonstration of strength and power even from Himself?
I'm running off to the bathroom crying and whining to a God who not only understands, but dealt himself a far worse hand than He's dealt me.
And when I run off and cry to this God insisting that he should do it, leveling reason after reason why it would be amazing if he did do it, I can't help but laugh at my smallness of mind when I realize I'm talking to a God that is notorious for
having bigger plans. He knows what He's doing. He knew what He was doing when he didn't come off that cross. He knew something better would follow.
And if I can spend my whole life following this God and believing in Him...if I can spend Lent after Lent, Good Friday after Good Friday and still not learn my lesson that
God has his reasons and those reasons are good, those reasons demonstrate His power more than my reasons would, that those reasons are for a greater good, well, then, it's a good thing there's next year so I can have a chance to try to learn the lesson all over again.
Oh...Good Friday. I wish you didn't come. Because if you didn't, I could whine guiltlessly to a Savior I just didn't think understood suffering. I could bargain endlessly about why it's always better to just make suffering and sadness go away and dispel with the Cross. If you didn't exist, you ironically named Day, then I could bend the ear as one of your "little people" who you don't know what it is to be like.
Oh...Easter Sunday. Some days, when I like to wallow in my pity. I even sometimes wish you didn't come. Because if you didn't, I could boldly suggest that my idea is better. I could say that suffering isn't worth it. I could talk about how great it would be to settle for a lesser kind of good and a lesser kind of glory.
But Good Friday. Here you are. You've already begun. And on this night when I suffer, I can look and see this confusing image of my Savior who suffered. Who saves me not from the suffering, but saves me
in the suffering.
And Easter Sunday. I know you are coming. You come every year, because you came on that First Year. And I am glad you are coming. Because when I play it all out in my head about amazing miracles, and death-defying rescues, I still feel the emptiness. I still remember the stillness on that ultrasound screen. I know when you come, you'll be bright, and joyful and full of sunshine and Alleluias. And the part of me that wants to cry and fuss and convince you that my way is better, will think about another kind of emptiness: The emptiness of that tomb.
And I know Your way is better, and even more amazing and more miraculous than mine.