What Happens When a Baby Is Born?

What happens when a baby is born?

A possibility enters the world.

It would be easy to think that one more life joins the race and nothing more -- another solitary face in the crush of humanity, known and loved by those who gave him birth, those who nurture her, but little impact on the wide, vast world.

What happens when a baby is born? A son enters a family. A daughter takes her place alongside a mother, a father.

What happens when a baby is born? Another child becomes a big brother. A sister has one more object of affection, care, competition.

What happens when a baby is born? Grandparents are ecstatic. Aunts and uncles celebrate. Friends who don't even smoke accept the festive cigar. Pink balloons, or blue, dance on the end of strings, amid streamers and ribbons and gifts of good will.

What happens when a baby is born? Someone's future friend begins the odyssey we call life.

And what will this child do? Grow. Learn. Achieve. Fail. Befriend. Love. Disappoint. Create. Invent. Build. Destroy. Discover.

Nothing this child touches will ever be the same. His mother will change. She will carry forever the imprint of this life on her soul. The child's father will perceive things differently -- will never think of himself in quite the same way again. Friends will be shaped, however subtly, by this one child's influence.

Someday, somewhere, a chance encounter which lasts a mere moment will spark a change -- a beginning --that spans a lifetime. Perhaps nothing more than a word spoken. A smile. A gesture. A hug. An encouragement. A word of warning. A bit of advice. But somewhere, sometime, a life-changing moment would not have happened, had this life not begun.

What happens when a baby is born? Unparalleled good. Incomprehensible evil. A breakthrough. A cure. A masterpiece. A crime. The course of a nation redirected, the change leveraged by one life.

We could think of a life touching a family, an influence felt in a sphere of friendships. But this is only the beginning.

Somewhere, in some small boat, in an infinite ocean, a child trails her fingers in the sea. A tiny wake of froth and bubble goes by unnoticed and unforgotten -- the waters undisturbed.

But couldn't something truly mysterious happen? Something of immeasurably greater consequence? Couldn't one child's touch change the very tides?

What happens when a baby is born? A possibility enters the world, and nothing is ever the same.

© 2005

As If There Were One

"God loves each of us as if there were only one of us," Augustiine wrote.

It is, of course, a wonderful thought -- an idea full of wonder. It is also quite true.

One way to take a measure of the love of God is to ask myself, "Does God really love me in such a personal and self-sacrificing manner? Does God love me as if I were the only one, even as he loves you so uniquely?"

If I were the only one, would he still go through with the bother of the incarnation? Those long months confined to the uterus of Mary, his mother, knowing the messy and perplexing dependence of infancy was to follow?

If I were the only one, would angels have cause to sing, would the star still rise, guiding me to the Christ child, would Mary still smile at the Good News she birthed? Would I have reason to shout and laugh and lose myself in praise?

If I were the only one, would he have spent the long years of childhood, learning and growing, step by patience-testing step, enduring the teasing and ridicule of those who questioned the circumstances of his birth and the integrity of his parents? Would he endure the hunger and the thirst and the fatigue and the grief that are part of the human experience? Would he do that for me, if I were the only one?

If I were the only one, would he face the bitterness and inhumanity of the mob, the injustice of a rigged courtroom, the anguish of abandonment, and the agony of the slow, tortuous execution? Would he do all this for me, if I were the only one?

Would he rise from death and ascend through the clouds with the promise of return and a place for me, if I were the only one?

Would the skies still split and the thunder of angel-praise still shake the earth? Would time cease and eternity dawn, and the arms of Christ spread wide to welcome me home, if I were the only one?

Why, yes, of course. "God loves each of us as if there were only one of us."

How can we help but celebrate, and pass on the astonishingly great news?

© 2005