All Saints Day: A Father's Lament

Today is All Saints Day, the day set aside when we remember and give thanks to God for the faithful who have gone before us, the invisible church triumphant that  parallels into perfection what our church militant still struggles with this side of heaven. 

In the liturgy this morning, I included a series of readings from Scripture and prayers that included this:

And, finally, we remember those who have no one to remember them; those who died in infancy; the miscarried, the aborted, and the stillborn; and those martyred for the sake of Christ.  

I do this ever year for All Saints, and every year, that paragraph catches in my throat. I think of those people, the unnamed, the unremembered, the unknown, and I feel a little less human at how our society treats the least. I've stood in paupers cemeteries filled with graves, most with names but some with name spaces left blank, a far, far cry from the celebrated Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers in Washington DC. No one stands vigil over these people. No one lays wreaths or flowers. No one visits. No one pays any attention, besides the lawn maintenance crew, because no one cares. "Gone...and forgotten."

 

But that paragraph also includes the stillborn, miscarried and aborted, and thats where my voice usually breaks. I think of Baby H, stillborn just days before his scheduled arrival via Cesarean. Sadly, something happened, some medical fluke, that at that late of date, his life ceased. His tombstone has one singular date, his birth-day sadly also his death-day. I buried him two years ago, looking forward to meeting him when Jesus returns. 

And I think of our two children who didn't make it that far into pregnancy, unknown except to us, a few people whom we told, and God. I remember using the ohrase "barely pregnant," trying to ease our sense of loss, as is that made it barely real, barely a loss, barely a death. Was he going to be a handsome son or was she going to be a beautiful daughter? Was one going to be a corporate guru? Was one going to discover the cure to the common paper cut? Would one write the next great American novel? Might one have entertained dozens by mastering the harmonica? Could one have followed in his mother's footsteps to be a teacher? Could one have paved the way for siblings to be in marketing, or a sailor? 

We'll never know. Not this side of heaven, anyway. We didn't even have names yet. To be fair, they were so small that when Laura miscarried, there was no baby bump, no pre-natal shopping expeditions, nothing much past two blue lines. Still, there was a baby, unplanned and unexpected, but nevertheless a child - my child, our child. Death robbed us of diapers and late night feedings and robbed the child of God's gifts in Baptism. 

As a pastor, I wrestle with that. Faith is a gift of God, given through Word and Water. Satan's curse robbed the children of the baptismal grace of God. Could they hear the Word we read to him or her? All I can do now is all I could do then: commend the unborn child, who never got to experience the joy and wonder of being part of the family of God, let alone our little family, to the God who gave him or her to us. 

The Lord gave; the Lord took away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. 

I pray for the day to come, that blessed Day of the Lord, the Yom Yahweh, when Chrst returns and the faithful are raised to be with Him into eternity. I pray that on that day, somehow, some way, I will meet my unborn son or daughter (or sons or daughters) and hear their voices, celebrating the Lamb's eternal victory over sin, death and the grave. 

On that day, I'll laugh and dance (maybe, in the resurrection, I'll be able to do the Boot Scoot Boogie, because I sure can't now...) and chant, "Oh, grave, where is thy sting?" Sorrow and sighing will be gone, along with the tears that washed my cheeks this morning and, again, as I write tonight. 

And, maybe, just maybe, I'll hear a voice say, "Hey, Dad? Its me...we never got to really meet before, but, man, is it great to see you."

Blessed All Saints to you, dear reader. God bless you until we meet that day as well.