A Holy Sorrow, Part II

I have been fortunate to have been immersed in the world of liturgy from week to week for the past almost seven years, and it has given my heart this rich landscape of words to the ups and downs of this life. Not long after we began to grieve our Shiloh, Luke found this liturgy from the Rabbit Room that served as just the balm our hearts needed. And again, four months later, we returned afresh to these words, after our second miscarriage this year - the precious baby we've named Emerson.

I still hold the words close to my heart, at the ready, when the unexpected waves of grief come, and instead of leaving the heart aching, like I talked about in part I, this liturgy echoes the Scriptures in lifting our heads from the ache of grief to hope, a deep and lasting hope.

A Liturgy for Those Who Have Suffered a Miscarriage or Stillbirth, from Douglas McKelvey:

Leader: O Christ Who Gathered Children in Your Arms,

You know our ache. You know this void no human words can fill.

You understand this grief for our little one, lost while in the womb.

You were witness to our rising joy. You saw our crumbling hope. Now you behold our sinking sorrow.

People: Christ, be merciful, for we are frail. And in our frailty we have suffered such loss. 

Heavenly Father, see what room our love had already carved out—in our home and in our hearts—for the welcome and the wonder of this child, whose face we had not kissed, and whose tiny hands we had not held, but who had already grown so precious to us.

Were we not radiant with anticipation, O Lord, building forward to the day when we would finally meet and cradle our sweet child?

Only to be met instead with this cratering heartache of sudden loss, this unexpected death of our little one before birth; and with it this dying of dreams for all that might have been. Christ, be merciful for we are frail. And in our frailty we have suffered such loss. 

For here we have entered a communion, O Lord, a fellowship none have ever wished to join, of all mothers and fathers and families across time who have wept for their lost children.

We lament so much that now will never be. This child we lost will be for us in this life like a song unsung, and a story untold.

Christ, be merciful, for we are frail. And in our frailty we have suffered such loss. 

The petitioners sit a moment in the silence of this grief. 

And yet, even in our deep loss, O Lord, you have not abandoned us or left us without light and hope.

For we remember how you, Jesus, loved and welcomed little ones, touching their heads and blessing them, declaring that the kingdom of heaven belonged to these.

And you have told us that your promises are for us and for our children.

And this one whom we lost, was this not also our child, O God?

Our hearts ache even to ponder such things, but is it possible that when all creation is made new, we will find fellowship there with one we could not hold in this life?

Could the redemption of this world’s harms run so deep? So beyond all imagining?

Your word says little of such mysteries. And yet, in what is revealed we find good reason to take heart.

Christ, be merciful, for we are frail. And in our frailty we have suffered such loss. 

For even amidst uncertainty, this we know to be true of your works, O Father, and this we will cling to:

Your grace, your mercy, your redemption, and your love will extend further and will be more wondrous in their perfection than we have ever imagined. 

However we might try to conceive of such joys, that conception will be either errant or incomplete, because we, in our finite knowledge and capacity for hope, will limit the picture we paint in ways that you, in your limitless joy and relentless grace, will never be bounded by. However we might envision the redemption of this loss, the actual redemption that you effect will be still more glorious.

So let us learn to steward well this holy sorrow, assured that it is in some way the buried seed of a flower that will blossom into eternity.

O Christ, be merciful, for we are frail. And in our frailty we have suffered such loss. 

Indeed, this future hope will not end the pain we feel today. It does not negate the emptiness of the womb where new life stirred. It does not fill the empty cradle.

But it does declare that the empty cradle and the empty womb will not have power to grieve us forever, for one day our eternal joys will flow backward in time, even to this broken place. And then those joys will fill every emptiness and every heartbreak the children of God have ever endured.

Now, O Lord, we remember your past faithfulness. We receive your present comforts. We await your future redemptions. Let us, in this and in all sorrows, be met by your lovingkindness and consoled by your hope.

For yours, O Father, is the kingdom, and the power, and the glorious redemption of all our losses.

Even of this one.

Amen. 

Sharing our story, and these little ones we wait eagerly to meet is not something we've done lightly, but with the hope that sharing this human experience in a broken world would bring some light into the darkness. It's because of the openness of friends that we too named our babies we lost too soon to miscarriage, and it's through these posts we have been even further connected to a shared bond of grief - though this is not how it's meant to be, suffering can be met with joy because we can cling to a God who sees, knows, and cares deeply for us. And I'm convinced now more than ever that we are not meant to grieve on our own.

A song we have been singing a lot not only in the pew, but in the car, and inside the walls of our home this year, one that Rosie at her sweet age of two belts out the parts she now knows by heart, has helped recalibrate our emotions to the One who kindly rules all and directs our paths in His providence. To know Emerson and Shiloh are safe in His arms is what puts my aching heart to be at rest, and gives me reason to rejoice.

Rejoice, by Keith and Kristyn Getty and the Rend Collective

Rejoice in the Lord now and always

Sing it again, we rejoice

Delight in the love he has shown us

Gratefully lift up your voice

His gentleness among us

Will join our hearts with praise

We gather in his goodness

A family of grace

With each breath, he's given Christ the Lord

In these times we live in, we will praise the Lord

Throughout every season, I am sure

We have every reason to praise the Lord

Rejoice and be anxious for nothing

Praying for all that you need

Come with a song of thanksgiving

Lay your requests at his feet

His peace will fall upon us

To guard our hearts and minds

In Christ who reigns eternal

The shepherd of our lives

With each breath, he's given Christ the Lord

In these times we live in, we will praise the Lord

Throughout every season, I am sure

We have every reason to praise the Lord

Oh, we praise the Lord

Rejoice in the Lord now and always

Tell of the good he has done

Worship the Lord to remember

All of the joy yet to come

The hope that burns within us

The dark cannot destroy

With praise that's never ending

We say again rejoice

With each breath, he's given Christ the Lord

In these times we live in, we will praise the Lord

Throughout every season I am sure

We have every reason to praise the Lord

We have every reason to praise the Lord

Grateful you are here, and for the outpouring of love in response to our last post. To know Emerson and Shiloh are safe in His arms is what puts my aching heart at rest, and who God is gives me reason to rejoice.

Until part 3,

Allie