I remember her hands. Rich with age spots, the birthmarks of life, they were, strong, rugged, and extremely skilled. She would “hold” our baby when still in the womb, expertly feeling for size and position. She had done this thousands of times, with an eagle eye for what was typical and what needed attention, she was Mother Earth of midwifery. This is Elsie Cressman of St. Jacobs Midwives, Ontario. She caught our first two babies who were born in 1993, and in 1995 at home under her expert and compassionate care. Birth is not something done to you or prescribed, midwifery always allows the pregnant body to proceed naturally.
(Acknowledging this is not possible in all situations, or the choice of some) Midwives guide, encourage, and help to reposition, as the birth process begins, with a calming presence.
For thousands of years, bodies have given birth. It was a remarkable reminder that I was joining a worldwide, age-old communion of birthing bodies. A continuing bond of life.
Birth is transformative, amazing, puzzling, powerful, at times terrifying, painful but also exhilarating. Throughout the night, Elsie sat with us, talking through contractions, giving me options, guiding gently, laying on of those skilled hands, we laughed, we listened to her stories, marveled at her experiences, we ate pre-prepared babymoon muffins, Elsie was a calming presence. Janelle, our firstborn, quietly but powerfully in the wee hours of the morning, was birthed into the world in the dark. She took her first breath. Sacred space.
Sometime later, as a newly ordained pastor, I attended my first death. It was in the wee hours of the morning, in the dark, I sat with the family, talking through breathing changes, gently guiding around touch, prayers, goodbyes, and thanks. We laughed, listened to stories, marveled at experiences, and ate muffins. Quietly and powerfully, in the wee hours of the morning, in the dark, this man was birthed into a new life. He took his last breath. Sacred space.
Sometime later, as a newly ordained pastor, I attended my first death. It was in the wee hours of the morning, in the dark, I sat with the family, talking through breathing changes, gently guiding around touch, prayers, goodbyes, and thanks. We laughed, listened to stories, marveled at experiences, and ate muffins. Quietly and powerfully, in the wee hours of the morning, in the dark, this man was birthed into a new life. He took his last breath. Sacred space.
Barbara Brown Taylor suggests, “New life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.” ~From Learning to Walk in the Dark
This year, the lectionary cycle has us reading the Easter Gospel from Luke.
The women came to the tomb focused on death, shocked by the trauma of the death they witnessed, ready for burial rituals, and they encounter the open tomb and the question, “Why are you looking among the dead for one who is alive. He is not here; he has been raised. “(Luke 24:5)
The women experience confusion, awe, and fear, yet they leave this sacred space, and they are transformed.
Our churches are transforming. We are right here in this sacred space of transformation. Called into life in new ways. Take a deep breath.
I hear the fear and confusion. Looking back at what was…. we used to…..
What did we do wrong? We should have……!!
But we cannot focus on death, we focus on the life that comes from the empty tomb, the empty womb, the empty church spaces. We believe in new life.
We overturn our expectations, and hope will be renewed.
We have wise midwives in the church who will talk us through changes, challenges, goodbyes, some repositioning, and thanksgiving. We will laugh, listen to stories, marvel at experiences, and probably eat muffins. It will have some painful times, but out of the dark, and confusion, God’s new life is on the way. God is at work. We join the generations and generations of followers of Jesus who have experienced challenges in life and birthed new life. Sacred space.
Promise.