Today was the day my husband's grandmother died, years ago. When my Mother-in-law heard the due date, she was certain I'd deliver on the date of her mother's passing. That didn't help things. I was just setting myself up for disappointment.
The truth is, I REALLY wanted to land the Feast of St. Maria Goretti as my baby's birthday, since the pregnancy was an answer to a prayer made (twice) at her Major Relics, on tour of the U.S. in 2016, in honor of the Year of Mercy.
I landed neither date, and it's my own fault, I'm convinced. The final 10 days of pregnancy were far from peaceful resignation. I bounced on birthing balls, went for long walks, gardened, had my membranes stripped, and hit a low when I gave acupuncture a try for the first time! Nothing was beneath me!
Finally, I cast all of my cares and hopes upon the Lord. My Mother-in-Law asked our priest in her home state to pray for us. He said, "Tell them to pray to St. Anne, and to be at peace". So I did. Pray that is. And I tried to be at peace.
That night my water broke.
Three years later, that special boy born two days before the Feast of St. Maria Goretti, is still my baby. I have wondered if he will be my last. I may not know that for sure for some time. However, I have become very sentimental about babies. My babies, other peoples babies, having babies, not having babies.
I think about babies a lot.
I'm not sure how long ago I started praying Morning Prayer, but after I became baby-obsessed, I fell in love with the Canticle of Zechariah. Specifically, the stanza that says,
"You, my child, shall be called the prophet
of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
to give his people knowledge of salvation
by the forgiveness of their sins."
I imagined Zechariah holding his precious newborn son, praising God and knowing that his own child, St. John the Baptist, would be the great prophet to prepare the world for the coming Messiah.
Zechariah had just had a big lesson in humility, being struck dumb after disbelieving the angel Gabriel. He must have been very purified, and full of joy and love of both God and this child.
It's tender, the way he pauses, and addresses St. John the Baptist as "my child". He is speaking to the greatest prophet, the one Christ would praise as the greatest man ever to have been born of woman!
Zechariah goes on to speak gorgeous words of poetry:
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Forgiveness, compassion, peace. These are the words of the hour. These are the words inspired by the Holy Spirit. This is what God has planned for us, and it is what God will accomplish.
But only in spite of mankind. In spite of how we receive the Prophet and the Messiah.
Sweet, precious, baby John will have his head separated from his body, and Infinitely Sweet, Precious Baby Jesus will be separated from all of His Blood.
On this great Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, I just wanted to pause and savor this moment, the moment of the infancy of this great martyr-prophet, held in his father's hands. His father speaks blessing. John's voice will cry out in the wilderness.
But for today, we linger in that room, with the Blessed Virgin who came to welcome her Son's herald into this world, with St. Elizabeth, St. Zechariah, and the two babies, one born, and One to-be-born on Christmas day.
