Joseph and Mary Among us in Disguise

 

Sometimes things are not as bad as you think they are:  they are worse.  The day I learned that true-fact is the day I almost burst out crying at work almost two decades ago.  I also learned the important lesson that you ONLY learn by experience, regardless of how many times people say to you, “Don’t judge.”  (which I hate by the way.  By default, when someone says, “Don’t judge,” they have already judged you, and that doesn’t feel good either).  I don’t remember their names, but I remember the day I met them in person.  I always think of them as Mary and Joseph now.  Yes, that Mary and Joseph.  They were young.  They were in distress.  And they were fighting a System that doesn’t always see the situation in entirety before it passes judgment.

I received a phone call from a young man asking that I produce proof of his attending a birthing class with his fiancée.  The urgency in his voice was palpable.  I became suspicious.  I presumed this was some attempt at fighting the young woman for custody of the baby.  He said his lawyer told him it would help to prove he was a good father if he could get written proof of attending the classes.  When I hear the word “lawyer” my ears perk up.  People never seem to have lawyers engaged when things are going well or are uncomplicated.  I wasn’t sure if I could find the information he needed and I wasn’t breaking any speed records to get it.  Again, I presumed he was making this young mother’s life miserable in some way. I deferred him.  But he just called back again, pleading for the proof that he attended the five classes, that were two hours each. 

The next week, the couple walked into my office.  The young woman then personally asked me for the proof that he attended the classes.  The feel of something being “off” was in the air, but I had never felt this kind of OFF before.  I asked her why they needed proof for attendance for the lawyer.  She looked at me with deep pain and said, “you don’t know?”  No. 

You can understand what rain is being inside the house and looking out the window to watch it rain.

You can understand what rain is being under an umbrella and seeing it rain around you.

But you only can truly understand rain when you are standing IN THE RAIN, outside Noah’s ark, and getting soaking wet.

I was about to get rained-on.

She told me the baby had been ill in the middle of the night and needed a decongestant.  The good young father had gotten up so that she could rest and gave the baby cough syrup.  Only … he accidentally gave the baby too much.  That is easy to do no matter what age you are.  I reflected later that I had made a similar mistake with a non-lethal medication once and was very unnerved.  But what happened to this couple is … the baby died.  And so they had some part of the Institution of our society trying to put him in jail for manslaughter when it was a very tragic accident. 

How do you know someone is innocent in a case like this?  Perhaps I would make a poor juror, but I could see his innocence with my own eyes:  as she spoke, the pain that went across his face was even painful to watch.  He dropped his chin down as if his life would be “over” no matter which way the court went with the data.  And I get that.  Haven’t we all done things in life, even much less serious, that haunt our memories?  We may be the only one who remembers the mis-placed word, the unkind event, whatever it was, that torments us?  We want forgiveness, but we cannot forgive ourselves.  In his case, I sensed his struggle would be indefinite.  And she stood by him when I handed them the proof of class attendance and I wished them healing and peace.  How I wanted to wrap my arms around both of them to show them how deeply I felt for them … Mary and Joseph seeking a place of shelter from this terrible sadness – the loss of their beloved child.

At this time of year when we celebrate the birth of The Baby in Bethlehem, let us remember in a special way all those who have lost children … in all of the many and sad ways people lose children.  Let us grieve with those who grieve, so that we may hasten the time of rejoicing to return.