Gentle Reader,
Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.
– Luke 1:6-7 (NRSV)
Luke is my favorite Gospel writer because he is meticulous. Methodical. He’s got to be an Enneagram 1 (commonly known as “the reformer” or “the perfectionist.”) Every Gospel account is beautiful, unique while telling the same truths, and necessary for life and salvation. But Luke, I resonate with him. He shares the small details. He gives us a lot of background information. He touches on characters the other Gospel writers never mention.
Like Elizabeth.
A woman living in a culture in which her value is directly related to the number of children she births. Her friends and family may not have outright judged her for her infertility. They may not have thought that God was punishing her for some sin. Maybe. And maybe they did. That was common. You have zero kids, you’re a zero yourself.
I wonder how many nights she lay awake, wondering why. Wondering, too, if the day would come when her husband would divorce her. As the flush of youth faded from her cheeks and the gentle lines of age settled in around her eyes and mouth, I wonder if she ever came to a place of peace. Of knowing that, no matter what the people around her thought or believed, she was beloved of God.
Her story goes on. She gets pregnant with John the Baptist.
But don’t rush quickly to that scene.
Stay with Elizabeth in the years of wondering and wrestling.
I had a hysterectomy seven years ago, and knew for several years before that that biological children weren’t in the cards for me. I know in my bones that God, knowing all the other mental and physical challenges I face, spared me the sense of utter devastation that often accompanies an infertility diagnosis. But it’s a sore spot. It’s a wound in my marriage (not a crisis, but a wound). I’ve received the pitying looks. I’ve heard the judgmental comments. I’ve even been told that God is punishing me. (Which…just go read John Chapter 9, okay)?
God isn’t punishing me, and God wasn’t punishing Elizabeth. Infertility is a just a fact. A thing. A consequence of living in a dysfunctional world. Kids are a blessing, yes. I love many children and am glad they’re in my life. But kids aren’t the point. They aren’t the goal. They don’t define or give value to anyone. An infertile person is no less beloved, no less invited to take God’s saving hand.
If Elizabeth hadn’t birthed John the Baptist, if someone else had been his mother, she’d still belong to God. She’d still be a woman. She’d still have a sense of humor, experiences, gifts, and passions. A baby, or the lack of one, doesn’t add or subtract from any of that.
Maybe your thing isn’t infertility. It’s something else – a physical disability, a mental illness, a job loss, being single when you want to be married. We’ve all got something. We’d all like God to take that something from us. Sometimes God does. Sometimes God doesn’t. God remains good and loving in either scenario.
Elizabeth was righteous. She chose to live her life for and with God. She made this choice long before a baby was in the picture.
I’m thinking that’s the choice before us today.
GRACE AND PEACE ALONG THE WAY,
MARIE
Image Courtesy of Willy Braun