Beautiful and Splendid

Text: Exodus 1:15-20

I wonder if you have any memories or images that you have found helpful in this challenging time. If you could hold onto one memory that would give you guidance as to how to navigate in our world, what would that be? I invite you to take a moment to think about any event, image, or person that can be your source of inspiration during this time of pandemic. The image I chose is the hands of a midwife. The hands are empty but full of love and care, waiting for a new life to come. A midwife knows that nothing can make the process of delivery faster or easier, but she can provide support by holding space for the mother and child. That’s the image I want to hold onto during the pandemic because it gives me a sense of hope and purpose. As a father, I have participated in home birth twice; though I could only do so much, those two experiences were the most life-changing moments in my life. When our older son was born in Korea, I was very much involved with the whole process because the midwife was running late; she was on her way after a long delivery of another baby. I checked the contraction every so often while talking to the midwife on the phone. By the time the midwife arrived, Ha Na was already in the middle of her labour, and it wasn’t long before the baby was delivered. Everything happened over the course of one day. Our second home birth experience was different. We had to deal with a long and unexpected time of waiting. The due date was around Christmas, but the baby decided not to appear for another ten days until a cold winter day in Ladysmith on Vancouver Island. That evening, the first sign of labour started, so we called our midwife in, who was just a few blocks away from us. It took almost fourteen hours of labour for the baby to arrive. The midwife stayed with Ha Na all night long in a dark room with just enough dim light, while I was in and out of the room. The midwife’s calming presence made the whole process the most natural and beautiful ritual. She was constantly cheering Ha Na on, saying “You can do this”, “You are doing great”, and “You are amazing”. More than anything, it was her act of waiting in the dark room that stayed with me; she provided tremendous support by holding the space. A poem written by Jan Weingrad Smith, a midwife in Meriden, Connecticut helped me understand what was going on in the dark room. She describes the “art of doing nothing” as the most important work in midwifery: Sometimes my hands do nothing; their most important work will be still with fingers laced and witness the “art of doing nothing” has been passed from one generation to the next. Mine have been taught by some of the most powerful hands, to watch and wait. This is perhaps the hardest for hands born to touch. If I have nothing else to give you, let me teach you how to see with your hands. How to open the windows of life, and close the door softly when it is time. In the darkness, it is your hands that will light the way. These are my hands. These are the hands of a midwife. In today’s Bible story, we meet two midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, whose names mean beautiful and splendid respectively. These women do what midwives are supposed to do, deliver babies, which in this story puts their own lives at risk. The king of Egypt commands the midwives to kill all male Hebrew babies, but these two refuse. Their brave act demonstrates how the fear of the powerful is overcome by the faith of the lowly. The women change the world by savings lives of babies - one baby at a time. This is the beginning of how God rescues the oppressed; it all begins with the hands of the midwives. As the pandemic continues, I sense that the tone of people’s voices have changed. At the beginning of the pandemic, I heard people saying ‘I am learning new skills – a new language, a new instrument, cooking, or baking.” Though many of us were not ready for this unprecedented time, the general sense was: “we got this”. We convinced ourselves that since everything has an end, the pandemic would soon pass. Well, it doesn’t feeling like ending soon. Six months later, we find ourselves tired, sad, frustrated, or agitated, like we are going through a long tunnel with no end in sight. Instead of asking how long the pandemic will last, we can ask what it would take for us to wait for a new life to be born in a dark room. The hands of a midwife know that waiting is not wasting time. Sometimes the act of doing nothing is the most essential part of the delivery process, for it requires deep faith. In this pandemic, we are constantly reminded to keep our hands clean and empty - no handshaking, no hugging, and no touching. The absence of human touch is probably the hardest thing for many of us. Yet, our empty hands are full of loving energy; they can hold a lot of people from a distance. Just like the hands of a midwife can light the way in the darkness, our hands can illuminate our way by holding space for each other until a new life, a new world, is born. How beautiful and splendid they are!