When it came time to birth my second baby, I had every reason to harbor high expectations. I was scheduled for a repeat c-section, and the details had been planned to perfection.
Ten minutes into surgery I heard the doctor say, “There’s the head!”
“Is it over?” I asked Clint, who was perched right beside me.
Clint peeked around the sheet. “Not yet,” he whispered.
A moment later the doctor happened to glance at Clint. “Whoa, are you okay, Dad?” He asked.
I frowned. I almost said, “Hey, I’m the one whose organs are sitting on the table,” but then I saw Clint’s face. It was the first time I truly understood the expression, “pale as a ghost.”
“Yeah, I don’t feel so good,” Clint said. (A word to the wise, if blood is involved, don’t call Clint. Pastor Grant would be happy to visit.)
“Grab him! Grab him!” Several nurses swarmed him. I watched as his eyeballs rolled back in his head…then he was gone. Slumped, unconscious, into the arms of half a dozen nurses.
Everybody started yelling — “Grab a stretcher! Get this, get that!” — and I burst into tears. I’m talking, sobbed like a two-year-old whose ice cream fell on the floor. I remember thinking fleetingly, so this is why toddlers do this. I had no words at all, but I needed everyone in the room to understand the depth of my displeasure. So I wailed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the doctor said as they hauled Clint’s lifeless body out of the room.
“Look! Your baby’s here!”
I cried even harder.
In the end, a nurse had to hold Heidi for the first several hours of her life because her parents were such a hot mess. I was lying in a bed in the recovery room when along came Clint, rolling in on his own little bed, bashfully sipping a juice box.
Ah, expectations.
At some point you have to wonder why we entertain them at all. Why dream about Prince Charming when he’s liable to faint right when you need him the most? Why pin all your hope on money or work when a single virus can upend decades of financial planning? It would seem expectation is the staging ground for disappointment. The higher the climb, the greater the fall.
If we’re honest, we may admit that sometimes God is the greatest disappointment of all. How could He let our deepest fears come to fruition? Why doesn’t He prevent tragedy? Where is He in the wake of global suffering? Have you been asking such questions, even if only in your heart?
The truth is, Jesus has been misunderstood from the moment He arrived on earth. In one of the most haunting scenes in Scripture, Jesus is preaching His heart out to thousands of followers. He has their rapt attention because He just did something really popular—
He fed them out of thin air. With full bellies and buoyant spirits, the crowds are ready to take Jesus by force and make Him king.
Then Jesus says the unthinkable: “I am the Bread of Life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. But I am the Living Bread that came down from heaven.
Whoever eats this Bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world” (John 6:48-51).
In a single breath He preaches the incarnation, the eucharist, the crucifixion, and the hope of salvation. But the people really just want the bread. They don’t want to feed on Jesus; they want to feed on His gifts.
The next several verses are some of the saddest in Scripture: “On hearing it, many of his disciples said, ‘This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?’ From this time many of them turned back and no longer followed him” (John 6:60, 66).
Imagine the mass exodus—the hundreds of would-be followers drifting away, disillusioned by Jesus. Oh, that you and I would not be found among them!
The scene continues with Jesus turning to His twelve closest friends: “‘You do not want to leave too, do you?’ Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God’” (John 6:67-69).
Herein lies the question each of us must answer when facing disappointment with God: “Have I come to believe and to know that Jesus is the Holy One of God?”
If so, like Peter, we will withstand the storm. We may cry and fume and struggle, but at the end of the day, we will look at Jesus and say, “Where else would I go? You have the words of eternal life.”
Peter was a true disciple. Unlike the crowds, he wasn’t listening for what he wanted to hear. He was just listening.
This Easter, life looks really different. There will be no fancy dresses and family photos in front of church, no egg hunts brimming with laughter and chaos. It’s okay to be disappointed. Not one of us expected to be staring at a screen instead of sharing hugs.
But just as there is unexpected disappointment, there is unexpected opportunity.
With everything else stripped away, we have the chance to worship Jesus not for His gifts, but for Himself. I can’t help but think of the Whos down in Whoville who kept on singing when everything else had been stolen. Perhaps this quarantine is getting to me, because those Whos bring a tear to my eye. I want to be like them this Easter. I don’t want to sing because of all the extra gifts…I just want to sing. I don’t want to listen for the message I want to hear…I just want to listen, because He has the words of eternal life.
As usual, this is beautiful, Jeanne. So blessed by your heart, talent, and wisdom.