Weeping Woman of Ramah

(Matthew 2:16-18; Jeremiah 31:15; Isaiah 61:1-3)

There was no angel appearance to my husband —

No timely warning granted for us to flee the danger and death of Herod’s sword.

Know that I, too, would have fled.

I would have flown to the ends of the earth to dodge the flash of steel that ended my young son’s life, snuffed out to satisfy the jealous angst of a paranoid king.

Tricked out of a positive identification of his rival by the stealth of the wise men, Herod reduced a precious population of baby boys to a disposable demographic:
male child,
in Bethlehem and its districts,
two years old and under.

 My son.

Yes, my tears were foretold by the prophet Jeremiah, and the Messiah survived to live and die in the manner God had ordained.
(Is it ironic only to me that my boy died in the place of the savior of humanity?)

God’s economy is strange.

I would never have removed a creature so fine as he before his time.
There is a great hole in the universe now.

But I am a daughter of Deborah, a woman of the Covenant, and I know Who it is that sits at the Potter’s wheel, Who molds the clay.
I am the work of His hand.
My son was also His vessel.

God is building His kingdom; I know this in my head.
But I am a mother, finite, and I see through a glass darkly.

And I would trade all that promise of righteousness, all that prophetic fulfillment
for one more day with my boy.

Is there ever an era or a set of circumstances in which a bereaved mother does not
sob ragged to frame these words:
Why my child?
Why not some other?

I do not understand, and Jeremiah was cruelly accurate in his prophecy,
for I will not be comforted:

Not by time.
Not by the kind consolation of thoughtful words.
Not by the probing questions, thinly veiled queries, which, over the years
have come to revolve around a single theme:
“Isn’t she over this yet?”

Weeping, I wait for my heart to heal.

Weeping, and finding no ready answer to the evil in the world—the evil in me—
I discover that my suffering creates a space in which I wait for the deep comfort promised by another ancient prophet:

Healing for the brokenhearted.
Consolation to those who mourn.
Beauty.
Joy.
Praise.

I wait for another coming of this Jesus, and I long to believe,
for I know
that shortly after I see His face,

I will see, once again, the face of my boy.

_____________

A few verses in Matthew are all that are granted to the tragedy of slain baby boys following the birth of Jesus. As the mother of four sons, I’ve never experienced this depth of loss, and I find myself wishing with all my heart that these women could have been among those who “sorrow not even as others who have no hope.”  I love to think that there may have been those who knew from their exposure to the writings of the prophets that a Messiah would come to live and to die and to give beauty for ashes.

This post first appeared at SheLoves Magazine where we were writing for Advent 2015 on the theme “Paused and Present.”

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Image credit: Guilherme Yagui

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Published by

Michele Morin

I am a teacher, blogger, reader, and gardener who finds joy in sitting at a table surrounded by women with open Bibles. I have been married to an unreasonably patient husband for nearly 27 years, and our four children are growing up at an alarming rate. Nonetheless, two teens still remain at home, and along with an incorrigible St. Bernard, we laugh, make messes, clean them up, and then start all over again. I love hot tea and well-crafted sentences, poems that stop me in my tracks and days at the ocean with the whole family. I lament biblical illiteracy and advocate for the prudent use of "little minutes." I blog at Living Our Days because "the way I live my days will be, after all, the way I live my life." You can connect with me on Facebook or Twitter.

54 thoughts on “Weeping Woman of Ramah”

  1. This intro was absolutely beautiful, Michele! The imagery powerful. I’m going to head over to finish reading, but wanted to say “hi” here first!
    Blessings and smiles,
    Lori

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  2. So profound and thought-provoking, Michele! I really hope they knew of the Hope that would come.
    I always enjoy your writing! Have a blessed Christmas!

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  3. Sometimes it makes me sick to my stomach when I consider all those little boys, the same age as my youngest. To have him ripped from me, screaming, murdered in front of my eyes by heartless men…the wails of hundreds of mothers must have reached Jerusalem. This is a good reminder that our Nativity story is not a warm, cozy, feel-good story, but a gritty one with sections that make us cringe. So this is Christmas.

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    1. So many of the stories of the Bible have been sanitized for flannelgraph. We get the real deal when we go straight to the source, and it’s hard to read. Thanks for your amazing ability to enter into the story that is Christmas.

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  4. We seldom think of the cost in regards to the children that died before Jesus came. Thank you for so eloquently voicing the hurts and hopes of those mothers who had their children ripped from them. It puts a different perspective on the Christmas story, to be sure.

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    1. I tried to give voice to the mothers who have suffered loss and want to believe that all will be redeemed one day — but who can’t quite see it because they are heartbroken and want “everything sad to come untrue.” Thanks for reading and for sharing your thoughts.

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  5. I love thinking through these very subtle details in the Scriptures too, Michele. We can so easily gloss over them and we miss a monumental loss for all of those young mothers at that time in history. I can’t even imagine. But as you said, I do hope many of those mothers found salvation through the Messiah who cost them their son’s lives. Thanks for this thought-provoking look at the Christmas story!

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  6. Michele, Just today as I was reading through the story of Jesus’ birth, my husgand and I started thinking about the magnitude of this horrible thing that happened. I think as a young mom I didn’t want to think about it. I don’t particularly want to think about it now either, but today we did. I appreciated this viewpoint. thanks Michele

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  7. Christmas is also a time of grief for so many. I miss my father and this poignant poetry brought truth to my grief. My holiday blessing is that my father is with the Lord. Thanks for sharing on the #LMMLinkup this week and all the past weeks.

    Liked by 1 person

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