Austins in Thailand

I received the call in the early evening. Usually my duties as an on-call chaplain were slow; only occasionally did I hear the urgent beep of my beeper alerting me to some emergency. I called the hospital and heard the story: a runaway, teenaged girl was in labor, the baby was dead, and the staff wanted a chaplain.

Where was she from? Why did she run away? Where were her parents? How could she be so alone with this incredible weight of suffering laid across her? What could I say? What could I do? What did God intend? How could something good come out of this mess?

Afraid. Compelled by my duty and the love of God. I walked into the room and sat by her bed. She had given birth and the baby was in her arms. Small. Black. No beating heart. She gave me her hand and I promised I would stay with her for as long as she needed me there. We sat in silence for a long time. I prayed. The words seemed so insufficient compared to the tragedies played out in the sterile hospital room.

She asked me to baptize the baby. So we gathered. A few staff, the girl, the lifeless child, and the minister, strangers bowed to the mystery. I used a shell and poured water over the baby’s head, my tears mixing with the life giving water cascading out of the creation of God.

Life is filled with suffering. But Jesus takes all of that suffering and offers it up to God in some mysterious way and that somehow makes it not only bearable, though no less understood, but also glorious. And it’s our greatest gift to go with Jesus and enter into the suffering of others.