Easter is Coming: Reflections on Holy Saturday

The wind howled around the church last night, beating in desperate fury against walls which will not yield. In Friday’s darkness we knelt in prayer before a plain wooden cross, which stood in turn before a bare altar, stripped of its coverings the night before. The candles, the coverings, and the sacrament are hidden from view, and only the cross remains.

Only the cross remains. We gaze transfixed, unable this time to hide from the suffering. Creatures of dust and air, all we do is run, but here the distractions are gone and there is nowhere to run.

Here we are, you and I, dwelling day to day beneath a gray and unforgiving sky. Here we are, where friends betray and fathers leave and mothers weep and children die before they open their eyes. Here we are, where broken brains refuse to release endorphins, where cells divide and divide until they destroy, where light passes us at a rate too fast to see. In this quietly desperate universe, we must end the story at exactly the right moment, because if we let it last too long, the marriage will end and the gunfire will resume and the kingdom will fall. Here we are, where nights are long and breathing hurts and hearts break and break and break. Here we are, and here is the cross, and here is the rage we have felt for thousands of years.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

David wept, I’m sure, when he asked the question buried within the soul of every man since the beginning of time. I know, oh Father, that I am a worm and no man, that I am poured out like water, that my bones break and my heart melts and I cry by day, and you do not answer.

            Dear God, why don’t you answer?

            The church is silent. The only answer is the crying vengeance of the storm outside. All I see is a cross.

            The cross is carried out of the church, and Christ is laid in the tomb. His disciples hide. We hide too. Saturday is here, and the earth is still. Beating rain has joined the howling wind, and the grief remains. Why do you, too, hide your face?

            The wind beats more wildly, whirling with the power of every exploding star, the force of every darkened ocean, and the light of every rising sun.

            O my people, O my Church,

what have I done to you, or in what have I offended you?

            We kneel again. The words are silenced. Our complaint is empty.

I led you forth from the land of Egypt

and delivered you by the waters of baptism,

but you have prepared a cross for your Savior.

           

            The God of Heaven demands an answer, and we have none. It is still Saturday, the cross is ours, and we know that He did not deserve to die. We nailed Him to a tree in our rage, and we laid Him in the earth with our tears. We slew the Son of God and we are angry at Him for dying.

            O my people, what have I done to you?

            How have I wearied you? Answer me!

            There is only one answer, and that is to kneel. We speak with trembling voices the only words left to us. Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.

            Don’t forget. It’s still Saturday. There’s still time.

            And I know it sounds impossible. I know you’re afraid, and the rain hasn’t stopped, and the grief of Good Friday lingers on your tongue like sour wine. But Easter is tomorrow. Easter is coming.

            It’s good to weep on Friday and Saturday. There is no shame in tears of grief when the world is dark and the Light of the world has been slain. But don’t forget. Don’t forget.

            You whose life is filled with toil and labor, who work 12-hour days and never see your family, who fear for your marriage, who have forgotten what it means to rest: Easter is coming.

            You who fear the future, whose finances are failing, who don’t know who you are meant to be, who fight through tests and papers and endless deadlines: Easter is coming.

            You who battle illness, whose body is slowly breaking down, who work so hard to breathe, who take every step in pain: Easter is coming.

            You who see the world painted in gray, whose brain has stopped making the right chemicals, who keep a knife and a bottle of pills on your bedside table: Easter is coming.

            You who keep secrets, who bear the memory of sin alone, who believe that God could never embrace a sinner like you, who want to return home but are too afraid: Easter is coming.

            Easter is coming. The clouds will disperse and the sun will rise on Sunday morning to reveal an empty tomb. The promise holds fast. The alleluia always returns. The bells ring the sound of Love that never fails.

            So hold on. He hasn’t forgotten. Easter is coming, and God will answer at last with the voice you have longed to hear. “Why are you weeping?” your Savior will ask you. “Whom are you seeking?”

            Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.

Do No Harm: The Case of Charlie Gard

            First, do no harm.

            The doctors at Great Ormond Street Hospital would do well to remember this essential principle of bioethics before they pull the life support of Charlie Gard.

            Charlie is an eleven-month-old patient at GOSH who suffers from a rare inherited disease called infantile onset encephalomyopathic mitochondrial DNA depletion syndrome, otherwise known as MDDS. This disease leads to progressive muscle weakness, brain damage, and breathing difficulties. Charlie is unable to breathe without a ventilator, and he is fed through a tube.

            After analyzing Charlie’s condition, GOSH advised that continued treatment would do nothing to help him, and his life support should be removed. But Charlie’s parents, Chris Gard and Connie Yates, wanted Charlie to undergo an experimental therapy called nucleoside which would give Charlie a chance at survival. They found a doctor in the United States who was willing to administer the treatment. They started a crowdfunding page and raised all £1.3m necessary to pay for all expenses.

            All the administrators at GOSH had to do was release Charlie Gard.

            Instead, the parents found themselves embroiled in a legal battle in the Family Division of the High Court in London, where GOSH requested Mr. Justice Francis to rule that Charlie’s life support treatment should end without his release. After hearing the case, Mr. Justice Francis sided with GOSH administrators.

            Two days later, three Court of Appeal judges rejected the parents’ appeal.

            The battle moved to the Supreme Court, where judges once again ruled against Charlie’s release. Charlie’s mother had to be led from the court by lawyers after breaking down entirely.

            After they nearly pulled Charlie’s life support two weeks ago, the case was re-opened after a professor of neurology from the US (who remains anonymous for legal reasons) cited new information pointing to a 10% chance of success from the therapy.

Every day now, the battle rages on. Just this morning there was another hearing to determine little Charlie’s fate.

Think about that sentence for a moment. Consider its meaning. “There was another hearing to determine little Charlie’s fate.”

In a civilized society, courts and judges should not determine the life or death of children.

It shouldn’t matter what the “new evidence” is. It shouldn’t matter what the High and Mighty Court of Life and Death rules. It shouldn’t matter whether Mr. Justice Francis believes that Charlie has a 5% chance or a 10% chance or a 100% chance at a normal life.

Charlie’s parents found an experimental therapy, found a doctor who was willing to administer the treatment, self-funded every component of the hospital transition, asked nothing at all from the administrators at Great Ormond Street Hospital, except that they release the child.

Dear God, this shouldn’t be a question. We shouldn’t have to argue about this.

First, do no harm.

No, little Charlie Gard is not normal. He will never be normal. His life will never, can never, be easy. But when did ease become the absolute standard for life? When did a healthy body and a fully-functioning brain become the prerequisites for dignity and worth?

And even if you reject all of this, there remains the fact that there is no real evidence that Charlie is suffering. Charlie’s parents don’t believe that he is. No scientific data says conclusively that he is.

To be clear, there is a grey area here. It would not be immoral for Charlie’s parents to decide that the experimental therapy is unlikely to succeed, and allow the hospital to take Charlie off life support. There is no moral obligation for a family to continue extraordinary care in an instance where the patient is unlikely to survive—and no one pretends that Charlie has more than the slightest chance at survival.

The hospital has no obligation to continue providing life support. But no one is asking them to continue providing life support. All that Chris and Connie want is for them to release the child (which, incidentally, requires the hospital to take Charlie off their life support, which is precisely what they wanted to do).

“The doctors know best,” the masses cry.

But what is “best”? What if the doctors decide that denying care to the mentally ill is best? What happens when the doctors feel that terminating children with down syndrome is best? Do we really want to live in a world where “best” is determined by an elite few?

First, do no harm.

Removing the life support of a terminally ill and deteriorating individual is tragic, but it is not inherently “harm.” But this case presents a new form of “harm” which the medical community must reject—the harm that comes with denying basic rights to a patient’s parents.

Will the therapy succeed? It isn’t likely.

But Charlie’s parents should not be kept from the treatment by the brute force of the state.

After all, Charlie’s parents are not forcing anyone to do anything. They have demanded nothing of GOSH. They have demanded nothing of the state. They have raised the money themselves. All that they ask is for Charlie to be released back into their care.

But day after day, that request is denied them. Instead, a death panel is determining whether or not Charlie Gard should live or die.

This case will set a precedent, not just for the UK, but for the rest of the (supposedly) free world. Who holds the power of life and death? Who gets to determine whether or not you or your child has a chance at life?

In its initial decision, the court stated that its goal was to allow Charlie to “die with dignity.” But what is this culture of death that we have we created in which a life with pain cannot be a life with dignity?

To Great Ormond Street Hospital, to the courts of the United Kingom, to those testifying in those courts, we beg you: Live with dignity. Let Charlie live too.

But first, do no harm.

The Word Was God: The Quest for the Answer

            In Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, an alien race designs a supercomputer named Deep Thought to answer the greatest question of all—the question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. After Deep Thought forces the alien race to wait for millions of years while he considers the question, he finally reveals that he has an answer in this exchange:

"Good Morning," said Deep Thought at last.

"Er..good morning, O Deep Thought," said Loonquawl nervously, "do you have...er, that is..."

"An Answer for you?" interrupted Deep Thought majestically. "Yes, I have....Though I don't think," added Deep Thought. "that you're going to like it."

"Doesn't matter!" said Phouchg. "We must know it! Now!"

"Now?" inquired Deep Thought.

"Yes! Now..."

"All right," said the computer, and settled into silence again. The two men fidgeted. The tension was unbearable.

"You're really not going to like it," observed Deep Thought.

"Tell us!"

"All right," said Deep Thought. "The Answer to the Great Question..."

"Yes..!"

"Of Life, the Universe and Everything..." said Deep Thought.

"Yes...!"

"Is..." said Deep Thought, and paused.

"Yes...!"

"Is..."

"Yes...!!!...?"

"Forty-two," said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm.

            The simple nihilism of Adams’ vision is clear to see. The answer to the single Question which plagues humanity is nonsensical. There is no meaning to be found anywhere, least of all in the great question of the universe’s existence.

            And yet, although I might disagree with Adams’ final conclusion, I find a good amount of wisdom in his simplification of the question which his characters ask. His alien heroes do not seek a myriad of answers to a multitude of questions. Instead, they distill every question which could possibly be asked into one single question—the Great Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. Not only do they express all questions as one, but they seem to expect a single answer as well—a short, clear nugget of truth which will contain an explanation for every problem which might ever arise.

            This expectation of one single answer, if not the answer which Adams presents, is entirely rational to me. In fact, I have been living with this expectation for all my life.

            I hesitate to describe this feeling for fear of abject failure. I have attempted only once to put this sensibility into words, and upon that occasion I was unsuccessful. Here I will try again.

            All my life, I have held a spiritual conviction that all of the world, every question, every occurrence, can be judged and considered based on one single value. You have undoubtedly heard the often reiterated phrase, spoken in reply to some simplistic distillment, that “the real world is more complicated than that.” I have always felt the opposite—that the real world is far less complicated than that.

This strange conviction comes in the form of an odd thought in the back of my mind which, like a drop of water, slips away when I attempt to grasp hold of it. It arises every time I face a complex question, an unanswered problem, and whispers that there is one shapeless mystery which provides the key to every question I have ever asked, or ever could ask.

            I know that you will ask what the nature of this single answer is. This question is impossible to answer. I do not know. I can say only that it is not a word contained in any human language. And in case you have never experienced the odd certainty of this value which answers all earthly questions, I’ll attempt to describe it for you.

            It is something like the feeling you get when you listen to your favorite song, and there is that one particular moment where the music soars and your heart lifts and for just one moment, you are no longer on earth, because you have experienced something wordless that expressed the inexpressible.

            It is something like a single match lit in the darkness, illuminating everything before it, showing what the shadows really were all along.

            It is something like the satisfying feeling once you have finished a masterfully written novel, and you close the book knowing that you have been in the hands of a great author, and that the characters have developed and grown and found their endings precisely as he wanted them to.

            It is something like the power of an immense hurricane—more powerful than anything you have ever known or experienced, and stronger than you could have dreamed.

            It is the magic behind the words “Let there be light” that propelled our universe into existence.

            It is the wordless wonder in music that finds a direct pathway to our souls.

            It is the answer, not just to one question, but to every question—the final solution, the single word that stills the waves and calms the sea.

            This nameless value, this unknown answer, is the hope of the man who has nothing left in the world, but who still clings to the belief that his life is worth more than his circumstances, and there are angels beyond his vision.

            It is the source of the courage of a soldier who dies for his comrades, who even dies for strangers he will never meet.

            It is the reason for the simple faith of a child who trusts that everything will be okay, although he does not understand how.

            Like the sun, we cannot look at it directly. It is so great, so glorious, that we can only see it out of the corner of our eyes, reflected in the best and brightest of the world around us. And like the sun, I believe that this strange answer will come in the form of something we have always known—but we will see it for the first time for what it really is.

            The quest to find this mysterious value is not easy, and it cannot be completed on earth. But we may find a clue in John 1:1, which says, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

            Perhaps when I experience the wordless conviction that there is an answer to the Great Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything, I am experiencing the longing of the Israelites who were promised an answer to their failings thousands of years ago. God’s people were promised an answer:

“The people walking in darkness

    have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness

    a light has dawned.” (Isaiah 9:2)

The light illuminates the darkness and reveals every hidden mystery, answers every question. It is the single answer to the inarticulate question of the universe.

The Word is the Answer that has existed from the beginning of time, the light which was hidden away for so long. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. And in answer to the desperation of His people, the Word came here and walked among us. That is the mystery of the incarnation—not merely the fact that our Creator became one of the beings He created, but that we stared into the face of the Answer.

But we humans, with our small brains, are incapable of understanding the Answer. All that we know is that He was here—and that He was the face of Love, the personification of Glory, the vision of everything that we may know in part but not in whole.

This is our longing and our hope—that we have seen the Answer, but cannot know it. We see the light of the sun, but we must not stare directly at it. We have been told the name of our salvation, but we may not know its mind.

When I read the book Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, I was astounded by the final passage, for it seemed to put into words the solution to my inarticulate conviction. The novel depicts the rage-filled writings of Orual, a woman who seeks to lay out her grievances before the gods. She wishes to describe her sufferings to the immortals, and then at the end demand an answer for all the pain she has known. But when she finally is given the chance she has always wanted, when she stands in the courtroom of the gods and presents her case, she discovers that she has already been answered—not with words, but with the incomprehensible presence of the divine.

I wrote earlier that I feared my incompetence in the task of expressing in human language the strange feeling that always arose in my soul when I faced a difficult problem. Perhaps I have failed to describe it even now, and if so, I apologize. But even so, I leave you with the words of C.S. Lewis, who described the conclusion to my conviction more perfectly than I could ever dream of doing.

“I ended my first book with the words 'no answer.' I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?"