Your God Killed Our Baby

Dear Leaders Chosen of God,

“Frankly Reverend we are going through enough already. We don’t need to add you to the mix.” Anger

“Frankly Reverend we are going through enough already. We don’t need to add you to the mix.” Anger exploded through every word he said.  He paused to regain some composure.  The attempt was unsuccessful.  “Your God killed our baby”!

“I’m SO SORRY,” I responded. “I can’t imagine the pain you folks are going through right now. I’m just calling as a friend.”

“Thanks,” and he hung up. His tone of voice had not changed.

exploded through every word he said.  He paused to regain some composure.  The attempt was unsuccessful.  “Your God killed our baby”!

“I’m SO SORRY,” I responded. “I can’t imagine the pain you folks are going through right now. I’m just calling as a friend.”

“Thanks,” and he hung up. His tone of voice had not changed.

Bob was in law enforcement. He and Mary had recently moved to our area. The baby had been their first child; a son.  They had held him in their arms for three months.  Then suddenly he died. 

To my surprise he called back the next day. “Uh, Pastor, we have to have a service. We don’t know anybody.  Would you say a few words for us?”

The Grandfather met me at the front door when I went to their house to make arrangements. His eyes were blazing. There was no “Hello”; no “Come on in” or “Thank you for coming”.

His first words to me were, “What kind of God would kill a baby? Tell me that sir! Though I had braced myself for the call his confrontation was so intense that I could not conceal my shock. His face softened ever so slightly.  “I’m sorry Preacher.  But that’s how I feel.” It was barely an apology. 

The service was in a mortuary not a church. The family was ushered into a room and, as is my practice, I met with them privately for a few moments. Until that afternoon I had always been able help the family face what was coming. Not this time.  The extended family was tight-lipped, staring straight ahead.  If my words had any affect at all it was to make them even harder.

“Oh Father,” I prayed, “Is there any way to get through to this hurting, angry family?”

“Let’s bow in prayer,” I suggested. Most, looking through me, refused to bow their heads or close their eyes. When I lifted my head Bob and Mary were staring at the floor.  Pure agony was in their eyes.

Overcome with compassion I stepped forward and put my hands on their shoulders. The moment I did the dam broke loose. They began to sob uncontrollably. Within seconds everybody in the room was crying.  All I did; all I could do, was weep with them.

Everything had changed. All hostility had melted away. They hungrily drank in everything I said in the message.  When I told them that their baby was safe with Jesus and how much He loved them and wanted them to come to Him, they wept openly.  After the service they embraced me, thanking me again and again.

Bob and Mary became good friends of ours. When their next baby came they wanted to give him to God but first they gave themselves to Jesus Christ. Bob become an important leader in our fledgling church.

My mind travels back to when Jesus faced the family of His friend Lazarus who had died.

“When Jesus therefor saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, He was deeply moved in spirit and was troubled, and said, ‘Where have you laid him?’  They said to Him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ Jesus wept.  So the Jews were saying, ‘See how He loved him!’” (John11:33-36)

Sometimes all you can do is weep with those who have lost.  There are times when your tears do more than words.

That scene ends with, “Therefor many of the Jews who came to Mary, and saw what He had done, believed in Him” (11:45). 

The loss of the baby ended with Bob and Mary no longer being lost. But I had to pick up the phone and call. I had to experience the angry outbursts of men who were mad at God. Then I had to respond rightly to a hurting family.  Finally it was a compassionate touch and tears that melted angry hearts.

 

In His love,

Pastor Jack