The other thread on Matthew Kelly reminded me of the intro to one of his books (Rediscovering Catholicism), which I thought was especially powerful.
Imagine this...
You're driving home from work next Monday after a long
day. You tune in your radio. You hear a blurb about a
little village in India where some villagers have died
suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen
before. It's not influenza, but three or four people
are dead, and it's kind of interesting, and they are
sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You
don't think much about it, but coming home from church
on Sunday you hear another radio spot. Only they say
it's not three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the
back hills of this particular area of India, and it's
on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb: people are
heading there from the disease center in Atlanta
because this disease strain has never been seen
before.
By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead
story. It's not just India; it's Pakistan,
Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're
hearing this story everywhere, and they have now
coined it as "the mystery flu". The President has made
some comment that he and his family are praying and
hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone
is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?"
That's when the President of France makes an
announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their
borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of
the countries where this thing has been seen. And
that's why that night you are watching a little bit of
CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when
a weeping woman is translated into English from a
French news program. There's a man lying in a hospital
in Paris, dying of the mystery flu. It has come to
Europe.
Panic strikes. As best they can tell, after
contracting the disease, you have it for a week before
you even know it. Then you have four days of
unbelievable symptoms. And then you die. Britain
closes its borders, but it's too late. South Hampton,
Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning
when the President of the United States makes the
following announcement: "Due to a national-security
risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have
been cancelled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm
sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for
this thing."
Within four days, our nation has been plunged into an
unbelievable fear. People are wondering, "What if it
comes to this country?" And preachers on Tuesday are
saying it's the scourge of God. It's Wednesday night,
and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody
runs in from the parking lot and yells, "Turn on a
radio, turn on a radio!" and while everyone in church
listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone
stuck up to it, that announcement is made. Two women
are lying in a Long Island hospital, dying from the
mystery flu. Within hours it seems, the disease
envelopes the country.
People are working around the clock, trying to find an
antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon,
Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's
just sweeping in from the borders.
And then all of a sudden the news comes out. The code
has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be
made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who
hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through
the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency
broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple
thing: Go to your downtown hospital and have your
blood analyzed. That's all we ask of you. When you
hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please
make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the
hospitals.
Sure enough, when you and your family get down there
late on Friday night, there is a long line, and
they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking
fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it.
Your spouse and your kids are out there, and they take
your blood and say, "Wait here in the parking lot, and
if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go
home." You stand around, scared, with your neighbors,
wondering what on earth is going on, and if this is
the end of the world.
Suddenly, a young man comes running out of the
hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving his
clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs
on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before
you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a
minute. Hold on!" And they say, "It's okay, his blood
is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he
doesn't have the disease. We think he has the right
blood type."
Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and
nurses crying and hugging one another - some are even
laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody
laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and
says, "Thank you, sir. You son's blood is perfect.
It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."
As the word begins to spread all across that parking
lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying
and laughing and crying. But then the grey-haired
doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we
see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor
would be a minor and we...we need you to sign a
consent form."
You begin to sign, and then you see that the box for
the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty.
"H-h-h-how many pints?" And that is when the old
doctor's smile fades, and he says, "We had no idea it
would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need
it all!"
"But...but...I don't understand. He's my only son!"
"We are talking about the whole world here. Please
sign. We...we...need to hurry!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?" "If we had
clean blood we would. Please, will you please sign?"
In numb silence you do. Then they say, "Would you like
to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Could you walk back? Could you walk back to that room
where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's
going on?" Could you take his hands and say, "Son,
your mommy and I love you, and we would never, ever
let anything happen to you that didn't just have to
be! Do you understand that?" And when that old doctor
comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've got to get
started. People all over the world are dying," could
you leave? Could you walk out while he is saying,
"Dad? Mom? Dad? Why...why have you abandoned me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to
honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and
some folks don't even bother to come because they have
better things to do, and some folks come with a
pretentious smile and just pretend to care, would you
want to jump up and say, "EXCUSE ME! MY SON DIED FOR
YOU! DON'T YOU EVEN CARE? DOES IT MEAN NOTHING TO
YOU?"
I wonder, is that what God wants to say? "MY SON DIED
FOR YOU! DOES IT MEAN NOTHING? DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH
I CARE?"
Father, seeing it from your eyes should break our
hearts. Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great
love you have for us.
Imagine this...
You're driving home from work next Monday after a long
day. You tune in your radio. You hear a blurb about a
little village in India where some villagers have died
suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen
before. It's not influenza, but three or four people
are dead, and it's kind of interesting, and they are
sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You
don't think much about it, but coming home from church
on Sunday you hear another radio spot. Only they say
it's not three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the
back hills of this particular area of India, and it's
on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb: people are
heading there from the disease center in Atlanta
because this disease strain has never been seen
before.
By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead
story. It's not just India; it's Pakistan,
Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're
hearing this story everywhere, and they have now
coined it as "the mystery flu". The President has made
some comment that he and his family are praying and
hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone
is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?"
That's when the President of France makes an
announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their
borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of
the countries where this thing has been seen. And
that's why that night you are watching a little bit of
CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when
a weeping woman is translated into English from a
French news program. There's a man lying in a hospital
in Paris, dying of the mystery flu. It has come to
Europe.
Panic strikes. As best they can tell, after
contracting the disease, you have it for a week before
you even know it. Then you have four days of
unbelievable symptoms. And then you die. Britain
closes its borders, but it's too late. South Hampton,
Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning
when the President of the United States makes the
following announcement: "Due to a national-security
risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have
been cancelled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm
sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for
this thing."
Within four days, our nation has been plunged into an
unbelievable fear. People are wondering, "What if it
comes to this country?" And preachers on Tuesday are
saying it's the scourge of God. It's Wednesday night,
and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody
runs in from the parking lot and yells, "Turn on a
radio, turn on a radio!" and while everyone in church
listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone
stuck up to it, that announcement is made. Two women
are lying in a Long Island hospital, dying from the
mystery flu. Within hours it seems, the disease
envelopes the country.
People are working around the clock, trying to find an
antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon,
Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's
just sweeping in from the borders.
And then all of a sudden the news comes out. The code
has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be
made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who
hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through
the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency
broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple
thing: Go to your downtown hospital and have your
blood analyzed. That's all we ask of you. When you
hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please
make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the
hospitals.
Sure enough, when you and your family get down there
late on Friday night, there is a long line, and
they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking
fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it.
Your spouse and your kids are out there, and they take
your blood and say, "Wait here in the parking lot, and
if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go
home." You stand around, scared, with your neighbors,
wondering what on earth is going on, and if this is
the end of the world.
Suddenly, a young man comes running out of the
hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving his
clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs
on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before
you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a
minute. Hold on!" And they say, "It's okay, his blood
is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he
doesn't have the disease. We think he has the right
blood type."
Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and
nurses crying and hugging one another - some are even
laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody
laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and
says, "Thank you, sir. You son's blood is perfect.
It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."
As the word begins to spread all across that parking
lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying
and laughing and crying. But then the grey-haired
doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we
see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor
would be a minor and we...we need you to sign a
consent form."
You begin to sign, and then you see that the box for
the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty.
"H-h-h-how many pints?" And that is when the old
doctor's smile fades, and he says, "We had no idea it
would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need
it all!"
"But...but...I don't understand. He's my only son!"
"We are talking about the whole world here. Please
sign. We...we...need to hurry!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?" "If we had
clean blood we would. Please, will you please sign?"
In numb silence you do. Then they say, "Would you like
to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Could you walk back? Could you walk back to that room
where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's
going on?" Could you take his hands and say, "Son,
your mommy and I love you, and we would never, ever
let anything happen to you that didn't just have to
be! Do you understand that?" And when that old doctor
comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've got to get
started. People all over the world are dying," could
you leave? Could you walk out while he is saying,
"Dad? Mom? Dad? Why...why have you abandoned me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to
honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and
some folks don't even bother to come because they have
better things to do, and some folks come with a
pretentious smile and just pretend to care, would you
want to jump up and say, "EXCUSE ME! MY SON DIED FOR
YOU! DON'T YOU EVEN CARE? DOES IT MEAN NOTHING TO
YOU?"
I wonder, is that what God wants to say? "MY SON DIED
FOR YOU! DOES IT MEAN NOTHING? DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH
I CARE?"
Father, seeing it from your eyes should break our
hearts. Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great
love you have for us.
Thank you for reminding us.
