The Lord Gave Us A Casket For Christmas

  Two weeks ago today, my son, Titus, died on our bed.

  He was two days away from being six months old.  It was not the beginning to December I was anticipating.

  We're still waiting for the official cause of death to be revealed to us.  There was no prior illness.  His doctor's appointment that morning had resulted in a good bill of health.  The anatomical autopsy revealed nothing.  As it stands, the smart money is on the catch-all diagnosis of the un-explainable, known as SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).  In other words, no one will likely know the reason why, when my wife went to wake our son from his daily afternoon nap, he was not breathing and had no pulse.

  My desperate attempts to resuscitate him proved futile; so did the doctors'.  There was no sign of life whatsoever.  His official time of death was recorded as 9:41 P.M. as far as I know, but in reality, he was long gone by the time they rolled him into the Niagara Falls hospital for one last-ditch attempt.

  He was gone by the time my wife found him.  He was likely gone while we were downstairs in our dining room, singing Psalms and reading from our 1689 Baptist confessions about the relationship of God to His creatures, discussing the fact that God is not dependent on us for anything, and that He has the right to demand of us creatures whatsoever pleases Him in whatever manner He wills.  He could very well have been gone when we prayed over our supper, thanking God for His good gifts, and asking that all that He gives us would be, "turned back to Him in praise and thanksgiving," as is my usual prayer for mealtimes.

  God, as it turns out, is not a boring playwright, nor is He limited by our sensibilities.  "That's too on-the-nose" is apparently a criticism to which our Lord is immune.  He's certainly not opposed to tug-on-your-heartstrings Hallmark Christmas movies; He just seems to prefer writing better, more dramatic, and even more unbelievable ones.

  Exactly three weeks to Christmas Day, God decreed to take my home and flip it upside-down.  Twelve days before Christmas, we lowered my son's casket into the cold, hard, December ground.

  And I've never been looking forward to Christmas more in my entire life.

  No, seriously.  Never.

  Not when I was six, and the stocking was stuffed with treats, and the tree was surrounded by boxes with mystery toys that delighted my juvenile imagination.  Not when I was a teenager and knew that I was likely going to get the guitar I had asked for.  Not even last Christmas, when my daughter was finally old enough to begin being really EEEEXXXXCITEDDDD!!! for Christmas.

  No.  Now, I can't wait.  Now, I finally get it.  Now it doesn't matter how many presents are or aren't under the tree, nor does it matter how excited my kids do or don't get to claw open their presents Christmas morning.

  Now, I finally know what it looks like to have your soul ripped open and laid bare; I know what it feels like to have every arrogant pretense of tomorrow's plans and every foolhardy boast of yesterday's accomplishments smashed to pieces, with fragmented shards hanging from every side of your broken heart; and I know what it feels like to have nothing to hold on to but the goodness, mercy, and sovereignty of God, and to cling to it for dear life until you finally feel the hurricane begin to subside.

  I know now what it's like to be gifted with "the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding".  I know now what it actually means to believe that "all things work together for good, to those who are called according to His purpose".   I know what it means to find true, sustaining hope in the future of the resurrection, and I was blessed with the strength and the opportunity to preach these truths, and the hope they contain, over the casket carrying my son's body at his funeral.

  The road to resurrection began with the incarnation.  On December 25th, we celebrate the beginning of that incarnation.

  This Christmas, someone will be missing as we gather as a family and open presents.  There will be tears and heartache as we gather as a family to sing songs, and gather around the table.  There are two precious "1st Christmas" outfits in a drawer that will sit in solemn silence, their former owner's body laying in a grave on the outskirts of Fort Erie.  Titus will be on our hearts and our minds as we think of the Christmas we thought we were going to have.

  But while our hearts will be heavy, we are not without hope and a comfort.

  This Christmas, I understand why the incarnation matters.  I understand what it means.  I understand the hope it communicates to my family as we ache and grieve for our son who is no longer here.

  The Lord truly does write spectacular stories, and He delights in using unexpected means.  His stories involve real tragedy and loss; their plots hang on true mercy and redemption.  And so it goes that as God strikes down, so He builds up.  God took away one of the greatest gifts He had given us, and did so right before Christmas.  And for the first time in my life, I actually understand, and so I will sing, wrap gifts, and wait with a resurrected anticipation.

  Grace.  Mercy.  Peace.  Hope.

  All because the Lord gave us a casket for Christmas.