We are within 2 weeks of meeting Liam, one way or another. We have an induction estimated for March 21 and the potential exists for an early delivery, either naturally or through an emergency induction. Will this be the end of the story or a new chapter?
As I sit down to write, to bring our community into the past 6 weeks or so, it’s difficult to come up with the words. We have so much to say and yet nothing at all. We have gratitude towards our community for the steadfast support. We have fear at the short-term uncertainty and long-term certainty. We have hope for time and the joy that is sure to accompany. We have need for things that we don’t even know. We have desperation for more control, peace that God has control, and confusion about what He’s doing with the control.
At this juncture it feels like the Fellowship of the Ring in the tomb of Moria. I’m not so much of a nerd that this immediately is a metaphor that comes to mind, but I watched it recently and right now it’s easy to make just about anything a metaphor for our lives. As the fellowship moves through the city, they come across the scene of a slaughter in an enclosed tomb. Gandalf reads the narrative of what took place – being written as it was happening, “We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. The shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming.” I feel trapped. Temporarily safe, but with no escape. A darkness is on the other side of the gates so deep that it feels impossible to overcome. Time pushes on the gate. We barricade the gate with everything we have – planning, prayer, hope – but time cannot be stopped, will not be stopped. The darkness will come rushing in when the gate fails, when the time is up. We will surely be overcome, for who can endure burying their child?
When faced with these feelings, we need to remember. Let’s turn to another story, found in Daniel 3. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, faithful followers of God, choose to suffer for His glory. As King Nebuchadnezzar commands all his subjects to bow to an idol he makes, the three men boldly defy him at the punishment of death by burning alive. And it’s with great faith do they face their punishment, “King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand.” But while they believe they’ll be delivered, they know it’s not in their control. How do they face that possibility? “But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” Pray for that faithfulness for us. The king, furious at their defiance, throws them into the raging fire. They chose that, to be thrown into the fire. They willingly suffered, surrendered to suffering. That’s something you see in the heroes of faith, choosing suffering for God’s glory. The martyrs of the early church like Stephen in Acts 7 or Old Testament titans like Daniel in Daniel 6.
As I’ve gone through life I’ve wondered what I would do if faced with similar situations – if I had an opportunity to stand firm in my faith and it was costly or required suffering. I’ve felt prepared, that I would answer that call, and be willing to suffer if needed. After all, we hear how important it is from Jesus’ mouth in Matthew 5: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” I think now I realize how I would fare with such a choice. I would choose the suffering if it was limited to me, for I know I can take the pain. But to subject my family, or my children, to that suffering is something I would not choose. The injustice feels too intense for that. Nevertheless, here we are.
When I said it’s easy to see yourself if any story as a metaphor in the current moment, you as the reader probably didn’t expect to just be in a series of bible stories. Yet here we are, embarking on another story. One in which the protagonist does choose suffering not only for himself but also his children. We begin in Genesis 22, where God tells Abraham, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.” That’s where the story would have ended if it were me, but Abraham responds with immediate obedience. Early the next morning is when he starts the journey. And here’s where I think the devil can be in the details, often in brief sentences or verses that we quickly look past. Verse 4 tells us that it was on the third day that Abraham looks up and sees Mt. Moriah. For three days Abraham walked with his son Isaac that he knew he was going to sacrifice. Can you imagine that walk? Miles and miles through the desert. Was it in silence as Abraham couldn’t bear to speak? Were they talking and joking, enjoying the final moments together? The sorrow would have been piercing. Even if Abraham believed that God wouldn’t make him follow through with it, we know from the rest of Abraham’s story that he is no stranger to doubting God, and taking matters into his own hands. Surely on a 70 mile walk, fear and doubt crept in. Oh how his sorrow was redeemed and turned to joy when Abraham looked up and saw a ram in the thicket, taking Isaac’s place as a sacrifice.
God was not destroying Isaac and breaking his promises, we was painting a picture of the pain of the sacrifice, pain God himself chose to take on for us. For God knew even before Jesus was born that he was headed to this result, it wasn’t asked later on. Yet God chose to still send Jesus, walk with him on the long journey, bind him on the cross. Only there was no ram in the thicket to deliver him from death. Instead, he endured it, and in doing so ended the need for sacrifices. And this because of God’s love for us, that He would watch His son die, so we can be with Him.
This giving up of a son is what brings us hope. Hope that we can be redeemed from the wickedness of the world. Hope that we can see our Creator, hope for an age without pain or death.
These last 6 weeks have been trying times. It’s a strange thing to attempt to prepare for something you can’t imagine. Lots of hard conversations, lots of sadness.
Within 2 weeks, we will start our journey to Mt. Moriah. Only this time, there won’t be a ram in the thicket. We will have to say goodbye to our son. But also this time, there is hope for a reunion. For Jesus is the ram in the thicket, the substitute that each of us can receive for the death we deserve. So when Liam’s death comes, it’s not the end.
Abraham endured a long, sorrowful journey and finished it rejoicing. We pray that our journey will be long and joyful, filled with snuggles and love and memories and celebration. We know the at the end of the journey, we will be thrown into the fire. What we know is that we won’t be alone in it. For our God “is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit”.
“Then King Nebuchadnezzar leaped to his feet in amazement and asked his advisers, “Weren’t there three men that we tied up and threw into the fire?” They replied, “Certainly, Your Majesty.” He said, “Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.”
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