Grief

Thy Kingdom Come

I like to download episodes of Issues, Etc. onto my phone and then take them out on walks with me.

One sunny day in Dallas, I put in my earbuds, stretched my calves and hamstrings, clicked “play” on my phone, and hit the pavement.

(Cue the familiar “Viva la Vida” bump music by Coldplay.)

As I settled into a comfortable stride, the host Todd Wilken introduced that day’s program: a sermon review of some preacher in Indiana, one Rev. David Petersen. Now, I was no dummy Lutheran. I had heard of the guy. He was that chasuble-wearing pastor at Redeemer Lutheran Church in Fort Wayne, the leader of those Rudisillians, a staunchly loyal breed of Lutherans with whom I had bumped elbows on many occasions.

“Repent.” Rev. Petersen spoke into my ears. “You are vain, and you worship yourself.”

P1020576Woah. How did he know? I looked around the subdivision I was circling. Had anyone seen me blush? Only some crape myrtle trees and those crazy, bug-eyed grackles.

“There is One who needs no repentance,” he continued, preaching from the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin in Luke 15. “…These parables are not about us, and in our fallen flesh we always think everything is about us. These parables are about Him, the Christ, who needs no repentance.”

I noticed that I had slowed down. In fact, I was standing still on the curb, looking up the street but seeing nothing. Well, I was seeing something. I was seeing my reflection in Rev. Petersen’s words, and it wasn’t pretty. It’s never pretty when you stare your Sin in the face, when your conscience plays chicken with a Law-wielding pastor. This guy was telling me that I turn everything, even Scripture, into something about myself. And he was right.

My Old Adam lay slain on the pavement.

“‘I tell you that in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous persons who need no repentance.’ And this is the great surprise. The holy angels rejoice over every sinner who repents more than they ever rejoice over a single, perfect, and holy Messiah who needs no repentance.

…Every sinner on earth, everyone infected with both original and actual sin, everyone in bondage, every habitual sinner, every liar, every betrayer, every pharisee, every pervert, every fraud, every braggart, every drug dealer, terrorist, adulterer, and child pornographer, every selfish, proud person on this planet who repents is worth more joy in heaven than 99 perfect and holy messiahs.

You do not only outrank the sparrows in terms of causing joy in heaven, you outrank God in the flesh. You are worth more than 100 times – at least in terms of joy – you are worth more than 100 times Jesus. Jesus, God in the flesh, does not cause the holy angels of heaven to rejoice even 100th as much as you – your repentance and faith – do.” 

Why? Because Jesus, the Messiah, who needs no repentance, is rejected in heaven, and that rejection effects/causes/is the means of the rescue, the salvation, and the redemption of the world, of sinners. “

Okay, by this point, I was a mess. Not a hot, sticky, summer-in-Texas kind of mess but a weeping, liquidated-and-redeemed by the Law and Gospel kind of mess. I found myself walking back and forth on the same square of sidewalk, trying desperately to hold it together for the sake of the Lexuses and BMWs that were now driving by my little piece of universe.

With the blessed Word, this Midwestern pastor had gunned down the black heart of an insignificant pastor’s wife way down below the Mason-Dixon line and then resuscitated it back to life with the precious, life-giving blood of Christ, all within a span of a few minutes.

Needless to say, I didn’t get much of a workout that day, but I did start downloading more Issues, Etc. episodes, especially the ones with the word “Petersen” in the tag line.

I am a proper Pastor Petersen junkie, now. Though I have never met the man, I can’t get enough of his piercingly honest bedside manner when he diagnoses my Sin-sick Old Adam, and he never fails to prescribe the Word-rich remedy which my disease requires: Christ crucified for my redemption.

For this reason, it is my pleasure to inform you that Emmanuel Press recently published Thy Kingdom Come, a collection of Lent and Easter sermons written by Rev. Petersen.

thykingdomcome300

Now, you don’t need to live on Rudisill Boulevard or own an iPod to receive the Word from this beloved pastor. You can simply order this book and let Rev. Petersen preach a sermon to you over and over again, page after fortifying page.

“Faith has no strength in itself,” Rev. Petersen reminds us. “If the faith planted in us is not tended by the Word and Sacraments, it will wither and die…He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”*

Or, in this case, he who has eyes to read, let him read Thy Kingdom Come for the strengthening of his faith.

* (Petersen, Thy Kingdom Come, 5-8)

An Awkward Christmas Gift

I know, I know.

He Remembers the Barren is not exactly the kind of gift you want to wrap up and put under the tree for your loved one. Who wants to open a package and find this inside instead of something from Williams-Sonoma?

HRTB.Proof 1

I mean, did you see the cover? Talk about awkward when everyone else around the tree stops and asks your loved one, “Ooo, what did you get?”

And, let’s be honest, the book doesn’t exactly make a great stocking stuffer, either. It would go over like a detonated grenade amongst the dark chocolate, fuzzy socks, and iTunes gift cards.

Yet, I still think He Remembers the Barren  is a good gift worthy of giving, because the holidays can be one of the most difficult times of the year for a barren woman. She can’t escape her grief when she is surrounded by children’s Christmas programs at church, family dinners galore, and greeting cards introducing everybody else’s newest editions to their families; she has to endure renditions of Connie Francis’s “Baby’s First Christmas” over the sound system whenever she goes shopping; she has to maintain her game face for an entire month’s worth of watching other people’s children enjoy the festivities and holiday traditions. It can be rough.

So, please consider giving your loved one He Remembers the Barren this season of Advent, but use some of your James Bond-esque stealth in the giving. Here are some suggested tactics (Q and M approved, of course):

  • Read the book yourself, so that you know what your loved one is going through and can better love her through her grief and suffering.
  • Give the book to your loved one’s parents, siblings, pastor, etc. for the same reasons.
  • Write a note to go with the book (i.e. “This book is not a label or a judgment. It is a great big hug from me to you. I read it, and it helped me know that God remembers me even when I suffer. I thought it might help you, too. I love you.”)
  • Give her the book in private and at a time when she does not need to be around people for awhile. You can mail it to her home, or you can hand it to her wrapped and tell her to wait until she is alone to open it.
  • If you two already have a history of openly discussing her barrenness, then give it to her in person when it is just the two of you. And tell her what she means to you.
  • Once you give it to her, don’t bring it up. Wait for her to talk about it or not talk about it.
  • Don’t be offended if she doesn’t read it for awhile. Depending on what phase of the grief cycle she is currently experiencing, she may want nothing to do with it at first. She might even be embarrassed or offended. Still, won’t it be nice that the book will be there for her when she is ready for it?

Thank you for caring enough for your loved one to do what is hard. She is blessed to have you in her life.

Second Annual Writing Contest

Christmas lightsDear Women, Men, Married, Single, Barren, and Blessed:

We’ve got another writing contest brewing.

Last year, we asked you to reflect on the topic “Advent and Barrenness.” This year, we would like you to submit posts on the topic “My Suffering Is a Blessing.” The winning post, chosen by our panel of hosts, will receive a free copy of He Remembers the Barren as well as a surprise. (That’s right. A surprise.) The top three finalists will also see their posts featured on our website.

Simply compose your post of 600 words or less in an email and send it to katie@katieschuermann.com by December 25th. The winner will be announced on Epiphany (January 6th).

Please be sure to include your name and shipping address in the email.

Sincerely,

Your HRTB Hosts

Words of Grief and Hope

cross markerSpecial thanks to the Rev. Todd A. Peperkorn for granting permission to reprint this post from his website “Lutheran Logomaniac.” Pastor Peperkorn is a husband, a father, and a pastor. He shares his grief and his confidence in the promise of the resurrection on the Last Day.

“Nadia After Eight”

Each year the day after Thanksgiving begins a period for me where a whole bunch of anniversaries begin. The first is the death of our unborn daughter, Nadia. After that comes the death of our unborn son, Emmanuel. Then it is the death of my mother. Finally is the time when I went on disability for clinical depression.

In many ways my grief is less raw than it once was. It is less primal and fear inducing. My grief now has taken on another character. That character is grief as guilt.

I remember when Nadia died eight years ago. No one knows what to do with a miscarriage. Is it a big deal or not? How do people react to such a thing? And because no one knows what to do, that generally means that most people do nothing. We had a lot of family staying with us when Nadia died, and sure enough, they really did nothing.

I remember being angry at them, so very angry. WE LOST A BABY! Why don’t you care?

Eight years later, I can see that my anger at them was really not directed so much at them as it was at God. They were simply an easier target. When someone dies, above all you want someone to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Fix it, somehow. The least you can do is die with them. But it doesn’t work that way. Someone dies, and everything else just lingers on. Eventually things return to normal, whatever that means. But that smoldering anger remains.

The fact is that God did do something about Nadia’s death. He sent His Son into another womb, helpless and in complete and utter need. And He lived that life of no consequence, just like everyone else’s life. You wouldn’t know Him by looking at Him. And so it is that He died. He died for all of the Nadias out there. He died for all the children born and unborn who are enslaved by this grip of death. He died for the grieving and lingering. He died for them and for me. And you.

I’m not angry at God anymore. Not about that, at least. Ok, not as much. But the grief remains. I cling to this grief, believing that by holding onto this grief (and anger) I can somehow maintain the rightness of my cause. Surely God will do something about this. Surely He will call her from the dead. Surely we will feast together at the Last Day. Surely God will dry our tears. Surely…

Zion hears the watchmen singing,

And all her heart with joy is springing;

She wakes, she rises from her gloom.

For her Lord comes down all-glorious,

The strong in grace, in truth victorious;

Her star is ris’n, her light is come.

Now come, Thou Blessèd One,

Lord Jesus, God’s own Son,

Hail! Hosanna!

We enter all

The wedding hall

To eat the Supper at Thy call.

(LSB 516:2)

No “L”

Several years ago I made an after-Christmas sale purchase that had been on my wish list for some time. It was a set of mantel stocking hangers in the form of a word, with a hanger beneath each letter. There were two sets left, one that said “PEACE,” and one that said “NOEL.” We only had three stockings to hang, so I thought “PEACE” was overkill. Since we knew we would try and have/adopt another child, I went with “NOEL” and tucked away the set for the following year. What a pleasant surprise it was to open our Christmas rubbermade containers eleven months later and remember that we finally had a lovely way of displaying our handmade (thank you mother-in-law!) stockings. But after a few days of admiring the display I realized we had a big problem.

The irony was profound. Every time I looked at our fireplace the bold letters shouted at me that there was, in fact, no “L.” The “L” was empty. It was empty the next year, too. And the next. What seemed at first like the perfect decoration turned into a painful reminder of what I thought was missing in our home.

Several years ago I started a Christmas journal in which I annually document important events from the previous year, Christmas wishes for the family, and updates on what was going on in our lives . Here are some excerpts that demonstrate what that “L” stood for in my mind during that time:

2009: I’m trying not to think about how far along I would be now, had the miscarriage not occurred in May. Several friends are due in January. It hurts, but I know God has another plan.

2010: We have a potential adoption coming up in March or April…wondering if it will actually happen… It’s all so exciting–we just pray that we’re able to bring this little boy home as planned. (See “A Change of Heart – Part 1“, “A Change of Hear t- Part 2“, and “A Change of Heart – Part 3” for more on this story.)

2011: No baby yet. Everything that has seemed like a remote possibility has fallen through. Sometimes it seems like it will never happen. I try not to think about it and just keep busy.

My wise husband, who only just recently found out that my fireplace mantel had been haunting me for several years, has pointed out that the pain inflicted by the one-letter-too-long mantel set was self-imposed. Why had I not spent the money earlier when there was more to choose from and just purchase “JOY”? After all, did our family of three not bring us great happiness? Did our cups (and stockings!) not overflow with just one child? Focusing on what I thought was missing was my own choice. Even though we had hopes and plans to adopt, our family may very well have been complete at three. “JOY” may have been the perfect word for us. He’s so right.

As it turned out, the Lord did eventually grant us another child. Last month I received an email from my dear mother-in-law regarding this baby: “Shall I make a stocking for J or did you have something else in mind?” she asked. Another stocking? I had completely forgotten about the “L”! The thought of draping a newly sewn, bright red stocking on the final hanger of the mantel set brought tears to my eyes. Although the court finalization for the adoption won’t occur until January, for me the seal that makes J truly part of this family is the ceremony of hanging that stocking. The word is complete.

It’s true that I should never have bought that set. We were not promised another child. Though we did not deserve him, God in His grace granted our request and gifted us J. The “L” no longer stands for longing, but rather reminds me of another Son, sent to an undeserving people as a gift, to hang his blood red body on a tree. I am reminded that the true meaning of “NOEL” is  “Christmas”. The Child who was promised has come so that I might have “L”ife.

Even though the hangers are full, I pray that in some way–though we have no idea how–God would eventually put us in the position to need “PEACE” in our family at Christmas time, too. Is this evidence of discontent again? Greed even? I don’t think so. Just a realization that the more “L”ove we experience, the more we seem to have to give away. But on the advice of my husband, I’m not buying any more stocking hangers until we really need them.

The Blitz

Seasons of waiting test the mettle of our faith. We, the baptized in Christ, want to believe that God is merciful and just, but doubt, that heaviest of enemies, threatens to bend and break any wimpy trust we may have in God’s tender care.

“He has forgotten you,” the devil whispers as you sit, childless.

“Yes,” Satan’s minions chide, “see how He does not answer your prayers?”

We look at the empty nursery. We check the mailbox for the adoption referral which has not come.

“He does not love you,” the demons sing in unison. “You are not worthy of His blessings.”

How heavy is the weight of Satan’s lies against our already creaking buttress of hope!

     How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
     How long will you hide your face from me?
     How long must I take counsel in my soul
          and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
     How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

     Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
          light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
     lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,”
          lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken. *

Then, when our fortress of defense collapses and our confidence in God’s love is but a dusty pile of rubble and debris, the blessed blitz comes.

A move closer to family. A house within walking distance from church. A bag of grocery gift cards from a congregation. A retired couple who cleans and paints my house. A maple tree in my front yard that dyes its hair a fiery orange in late October. A jumping hug from an-almost-too-big-to-snuggle nephew. A trip with Mom. A latte with Dad. A holiday spent with beloved grandparents. An unexpected visit from a new friend. A phone call from an old one. A lunch date with sisters. A couch set gifted from strangers. A new book idea. A neighbor widow who needs my love and attention. Even a child in a manger. Granted, not the child for which I prayed, the one I think I want, but the very One I need.

Stand back with your lies, Satan! God has not forgotten me. He does answer my prayers. He does love me. I may not be worthy of His blessings, yet He gives them to me, anyway.

No, He blitzes me with them.

     But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
          my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
     I will sing to the Lord,
          because he has dealt bountifully with me. * Psalm 13 (ESV)

 

Treasure Trove

Last year, we HRTB ladies hosted a writing contest during the season of Advent. Many of you submitted posts on the topic “Advent and Barrenness,” and we shared seven of our favorites on this website.

Today, these posts still ring true. I find myself reading them over and over again, feasting on your words of encouragement and exhortation, thanking God for the gift of fellowship we all have in Him.

In case you missed these treasures the first time around, here they are again:

The following Advent posts from last year, penned by two of our own hosts, were not contest submissions but are just as worthy of revisiting:

Campaigning

I am on a campaign to reclaim the words which have been abandoned in our present society’s fertility lexicon.

Even when it makes people uncomfortable, even when it sets me apart from the world, I am going to continue using the word barren in place of infertile, child in place of embryo, and blessing in place of burden. 

Why? Because these are the words God uses in Holy Scripture when talking about procreation. These words mean something to me as a baptized Christian. They communicate the truth about life and death in Christ, and they acknowledge the Creator who wonderfully formed me in my mother’s womb. These words even work a miracle in me: they preserve and sustain my faith in the One who has closed my own womb when the world’s lexicon would have me despair.

So, I am going to speak and write these words frequently, even if they seem archaic or naive or politically incorrect or whatever.

I am Katie Schuermann, and I approve this message.

Well Said

A long time ago, we talked about this, and not too long ago we talked about this.

Diane Lamberson, a lovely licensed clinical social worker I met at the “Caring for the Barren” conference in Houston last weekend, said it this way during one of our sessions:

“The platitudes we offer to a person who is grieving are an attempt to alleviate our own anxiety when we are uncomfortable sitting with someone else’s pain.”

Aha!