Danny & the preacher (1)
Denise, Danny, Sean & the Preacher
"Denise" and "Danny’s" nine year-old boy "Sean" was running and
fell, but not hard, mind you. He didn’t smash into the ground, just,
sort of crumpled, more than fell. He was more puzzled than hurt but he
ended up in hospital where an early diagnosis was confirmed—he had
cancer in the bone. No pain, no warning, none at all, the cancer had
eaten deep into his leg and travelled. What was the unanimous and best
medical opinion? Try to prolong his life by taking off the whole leg,
right up to his groin. There he lay in a private room, get-well cards
everywhere, balloons, streamers, soft toys and busy medical people.
Hyper, fevered, showing off, weeping, frightened, soothed, bled, poked,
petulant, pleading and watched—by his broken-hearted parents who tried
to hide their fear from him. No one had reason to believe that this boy
would live very long after the surgery.
They moved to a side room to let the medical people to do some things
and a preacher joined them. He offered his sympathy; they politely
received it though they weren’t in the mood. The mother was bravely
controlling her weeping and the father was able to hold himself together
a little more effectively—but not much.
"And what do you think of this tragic situation?" the preacher asked after some initial exchanges.
The father tried to keep a lid on his anguish. "In light of the
world’s suffering," he said, "I suppose this is no big deal. Just one
more tragedy."
The preacher asked the mother if she felt that way also but by now
she was weeping too sore to do anything more than say no, shaking her
head.
"What hurts you most about it?" the man said to the father. "Beyond having to watch his pain and sense his fear?"
"That there’s nothing to be done about it. That the only people who care that it’s happening are utterly helpless."
"Do you believe in God?" the man asked.
"No," the father said. "Does anyone really? He nodded in the
direction of his son’s room as he said, "There’s too much of this—and
worse—going on all over the world every day for me to believe in God. I
think debating the matter’s a waste of time."
"What would Jesus say if he were here?"
"Well, he isn’t. And what difference would it make unless he worked a miracle and made our son well?"
"What if he were to tell you that he and your son had a lot in common?"
"What do you mean, ‘a lot in common’?"
"What if he told you that your Sean was part of his Father’s way of healing a world?"
"I don’t understand. How would that have any meaning? That’d make no sense to me."
"Yes, but what if he could persuade you that it was true, even if you
couldn’t grasp the complexities of it all? What if he was able to give
you enough to go on and asked you to trust him the rest of the way? What
if when he was done speaking to you that you could believe that your
son was bearing pain and loss for the healing of the world? Would that
make a difference to how you feel about what’s happening right now?"
"Of course it would. It would give Sean’s pain more significance than it has."
"More than you presently think it has."
"Yes, more than I think it has. I think his death if it comes is as
pointless as his life. I don’t have the comfort people like you do, with
your faith that we’re not here by accident and that when we die there
is more life. I think Sean’s illness is nothing more than bad luck. It
might have been some other child but it was Sean."
"But what if Christ could give you reason to believe that his pain
and loss was filled with significance. That Sean was an instrument of
God to bring life to the world? Would you be glad to be able to believe
that?"
"Yes, I would. But it would have to be true. I would have to think it’s true."
"Then believe! Christ would tell you that when holy love meets a
wayward human family that love suffers. And as Jesus Christ suffered and
died in holy innocence to bring that about so Sean is making his own
contribution to that cosmic enterprise. Sean underlines the sinful
waywardness of humanity and he is an expression of God’s holy loving
resolve to bring it home to life with him. Sean bears the sin of the
world. If he understood what he was going through he would be able to
say, "This is my body, which is given for you."
"But that doesn’t register with me. You’re not suggesting that in some way Sean is Christ?"
"No, never! There’s only one Christ and there’s only one world Redeemer. But Sean and Christ have a lot in common."
"You say that but I don’t understand it. You aren’t offering anything I can hang on to. I need it explained to me."
"The explanation depends on the person and nature of Jesus Christ. If you aren’t able to trust him there is nothing
to hold on to. If you can look to Christ and give him a brave, trustful
hearing, reality changes. When you do that, you change, Sean and life
change and how you see things changes.
"Is that really so?" the father asked.
"Yes. Yes it is. Nothing will remove the pain you and Denise are
enduring right now. The depth of your pain is the measure of your love
for this child. It’s the price of the privilege of knowing and having
him. But later, maybe we can talk about Christ and maybe you’ll be able
to see the glory connected with this awful time, just as you’ll be able
to see the glory when God’s own Son shared the world’s pain to heal it. I
know there’s more to Sean’s heartbreaking trouble than meets the
eye—something profoundly lovely is happening in it.
"Maybe we can talk later," Danny said quietly.