Elizabeth Rochelle A. Stackhouse

Pain, too deep for words, too intense even for prayer.

Pain of an empty womb.

Pain of years of unmet hopes.

Pain of scorn and shame and shaking heads

Pain borne in silent yearning.

Out of the silence of sighs too deep for words,

An angel speaks, then,

Pain in Zechariah’s lack of belief, in God, in her

Pain in his eyes, lips moving without words, fear.

Pain in burdened back and sore legs,

Pain in muscles contracting, bones expanding,

Pain as the bearing down of new flesh rips her flesh.

A baby’s cry.

Pain becomes joy, becomes John.

Gurgling babe, curious child, strong in spirit,

Prophet of the most high God, preparer of the Way.

Baptizer of Mary’s son.

Destined, like Mary’s son, to die too soon.

But not yet, not today.

Today he is gift to one who has ceased expecting such gifts.

Today he is Elizabeth’s son and she is his mother.

By the tender mercy of our God

Who comes to transform pain into life.