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Sermon by John Tucker
"Someone's stolen my baby!" |
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I guess you all heard about the case of baby Kahu, the story about a little baby stolen from her mother's arms? Let me tell you a story about another baby that was stolen, or nearly stolen, from his mother's arms. Like the baby Kahu case, this story many years ago captured the attention of an entire country. Imagine a court room - the High Court - packed with journalists, cameras, members of the public, all straining on tip toe to get a view of the complainant, all waiting on the edge of their seats for the judge, the king, to enter the court. "All stand," cries the court clerk. Everyone scrambles to their feet as the king enters and takes his seat high on the bench. He motions for the trial to begin and, trembling, an attractive young woman all on her own, without a lawyer, stands up to present her case. "My, my Lord," she stammers. "My Lord, the King, this woman here - the woman with the baby - she and I have been flatting together in an apartment. I had a baby while we were living together. At first, when I heard that I was pregnant, I was terrified. I'm a prostitute, a sex worker. I'm not married. I don't earn much money. How was I going to look after a baby? But when he was born, he was so vulnerable, so beautiful, so perfect. He was my son. Compassion for him just flooded my heart. Well, just three days later my flatmate here also gave birth to a baby. There was no midwife, no specialists involved. We have no family or friends that would want to visit us. So it was just the two of us in the flat. Only the two of us got to see both babies." "During the night my flatmate's baby died. She must have rolled on top of him. But she got up, crept in the darkness to the side of my bed and, while I was asleep, gently took my son from beside me. She laid the lifeless body of her dead baby in my arms, and took my son to sleep beside her. In the morning I got up to nurse my baby, but when I lifted and cradled him in my arms I realised that something was wrong. He was cold. And he was limp, lifeless. I listened for breathing, for a little heart beat ... nothing. He was dead. Dead. But when I looked at him closely in the early morning light, I could tell he wasn't my baby at all. His little ears, and nose and fingers - they weren't the same. It was her son, not mine. She had stolen my baby!" At that point the other woman, who had been gently caressing the baby in her arms, interrupted the speech. She jumped to her feet and shrieked, "That's a lie! This is my baby. It was your son, your son, that died. You know it!" "No!" screamed the first one, and she lunged for the child, "Give me my back my baby, my baby." The court was in an uproar. Journalists were scribbling furiously. People were arguing. "Order! Order in the court!" The king motioned for silence and the noise quickly ebbed away. The king stared down at the two young women, these two young mums. Pain and desperation stained both their faces. Which one was the mother? Which one was doing a John Daly, a Helen-Clark-the-artist impersonation? How was he, this king, this still young and inexperienced judge, to decide such a difficult case? Then he remembered the dream he had just a while ago. In the dream God had appeared to him and said, "What do you want? Ask me for anything and I will give it to you." And he had answered God, "You made me king over these people of yours. I've got no idea how to care for them. So give me wisdom - give me a wise and discerning mind - that I might be able to govern them well and know the difference between right and wrong." Well, if only it hadn't been a dream! Iif ever he needed wisdom it was now. Addressing the two young women in front of him the king summed up the evidence. "Both of you claim the living child is yours, right? And both of you claim that the dead child belongs to the other, right? And there was no one else in the house, no one else at the birth of your babies? So there are no independent witnesses to identify the real mother?" There was no evidence. It was one person's word against another's. The king paused. The court held its breath, waiting for his decision. This was more riveting than watching The Practice on TV. This was more exciting than watching the events unfold around our bid to host the Rugby World Cup. How was the king going to decide this impossible case? DNA testing hadn't been invented yet. Both mums seemed equally affectionate towards the child. If ever the king needed wisdom it was now. Watching these two young mums, the pages of his mind flicked back to his own mum and how she had loved him when he was a boy: making his lunches for school every day, watching him play footy every weekend, reading him bedtime stories every night, cleaning up when he was sick, taking him to the doctor ... she'd do anything for him, she gave her life for him. And then it hit him, like Jonah Lomu ten metres out from the line. Of course! So he gave the order, "Bring me a sword." A sword? What for? But a court guard stepped forward and drew his sword form its sheath with a metallic ring. The king commanded him, "Cut the living boy in two and give half to each of these women." Divide the child between these two mothers? This isn't a section of land or a piece of pie. It's a living, breathing, human baby boy. Shared custody maybe, shared access rights maybe, but a severed corpse? Officers wrenched the screaming baby from the women and one of them raised his sword over the child, the long, sharp blade gleamed in the light. But before he could strike, a long, sharp scream stopped him. "No!" wailed one of the mothers, frantically, hysterically. Her heart was softened with tender compassion for her baby, his life endangered. "Please, my Lord! Don't kill him. Give him to her. But please just let him live." But her rival, the other woman, her heart hardened by jealousy and with no real compassion for the child, hissed, "No! Neither of us will get him. Cut him in half!" The officer raised his sword again, and took one last look across at the king. The two mothers looked up at the king. Everyone was looking towards the king. And then the king gave his verdict: "Don't kill him. Give the baby to the woman who wants him to live. Because only a mother, only the real mother, would love her baby too much to let it die. Her love for the boy, her willingness to sacrifice everything for him, reveals that she is his mother." The court was in an uproar. Cameras flashed. Journalists started shouting. The king's decision was splashed all over the six o'clock news that night. What wisdom! Where did he get it? If the king had been interviewed on Holmes that night, he would have said that God had answered his request - he'd given him the wisdom he needed to do his job and look after those in his care. Because he had realised that the real mum, just like any good parent, would do anything, give anything, to make sure her baby lived - just like God gave everything - his life - so that we, his children, should live forever with him.
Thank you Lord
for mothers. Amen. |
| All quotations are taken from the New
International Version (NIV) of the Bible. An on-line
resource with various translations into a variety of
languages see: http://bible.gospelcom.net/ |