Nancy and Norm (names changed) were so excited when they were able to announce to the congregation that they were expecting a baby. I always remembered the first Sunday Nancy had brought Norm to her church community for worship, her eyes lit up as he had followed her into the sanctuary. From that day on, and after they were married, they were faithful worshippers – and choir members – at the diverse congregation in downtown Oakland.
And – from the time they knew they were pregnant, they invited the congregation into their joy. The day after their baby girl was born, I met Norm outside the church as we both arrived. ”The baby is here!” he said, jubilant. He showed me a picture on his phone of the newborn, beautiful baby girl. We were all excited for the little family that day.
When baby girl was a few months old, a friend of the couple’s expressed concern for the baby to them. She didn’t seem to be developing the way other babies grew. Respecting their friend’s observation – she had two young ones – Nancy and Norm took their little girl to the doctor, and not long after, she was diagnosed with mitochondrial disease. Nancy and Norm brought the news to their church community, and their news was the beginning of a journey for both the couple and their baby girl and for the congregation.
Baby girl was hospitalized many times over the course of her short life. Her mother, who had been a school teacher, quit her job to spend her days and nights at the hospital with the little one. One or two faithful friends from the church visited them in the hospital, offering what kindness and comfort they could offer. Each week, we offered prayers for the little one and her parents.
Finally, the baby was hospitalized for several weeks. We all knew, without saying , that she would not leave the hospital, and that her short life was going to end, very soon. I visited baby girl and her mother the day before I was set to leave for a trip to Wisconsin with Jeff. Before I left that day, I said to Nancy, at the same time as I looked at the baby: ”wait for me.” The baby and I locked eyes as I said those words, and I left the hospital, knowing that Nancy and her little girl would have other caring visitors during my absence.
Two weeks later, my plane touched down at the airport in San Francisco, and I arrived back in Oakland to the message that the baby girl had passed, at her home, in her crib, her Mommy and Daddy with her, a few moments before. When I walked into the house, I was met by Joan, a tall, striking white woman from the church congregation who had been a caring and helpful presence to the family during their ordeal. Joan told me that when 911 was called to take the baby away, she had met the police at the door to their home, telling them: ”this baby has been ill, hospitalized many times in her short life.” She knew that she was protecting the family from unwanted accusations about her having died at home.
When I saw Nancy, when we hugged, she looked into my eyes and said: ”She waited.” Indeed, it seemed as if baby girl had waited for me to arrive back in Oakland before she passed. Her parents were surrounded by a loving community of people who would be with them as they grieved.
Then, there was the matter of announcing the news to the congregation. I was nervous as I stood before them the next morning, before worship began. I told them that baby girl had died. The community was silent, stunned – I suppose – although we had all known that this word would come to us, someday, sometime soon.
After I preached – what did I say to them all that day? – Dan, a gospel singer from the congregation spontaneously stood and sang acappella, a gospel song. As he sang, I heard a loud sob from someone in the congregation.
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One of the moments as I pastor that I hold dear, that I can see clearly in my mind, is the day we all gathered to mark baby girl’s life, to remember her. I saw her parents, sitting in the front row of chairs, their eyes looking up toward the pulpit. What did I say? I don’t remember. Baby girl, cherished baby girl, was gone. What hope could touch them?
I’ve only returned to visit the congregation a couple of times since I retired, but I see photos of Norm on Facebook sometimes, holding a little one who is in the church congregation now. The little ones come to him, and they are his favorites, as the other folks know. And when I returned for a memorial service a few months ago, Nancy and Norm came up to me, hugging me with warmth, remembering, always.
