Meditation of James Francis Cardinal Stafford on Infant Death

Following is a letter to Miki Hill from James Francis Cardinal Stafford on the unexpected passing of Miki's two year old grandson, Charles Daniel Hudson Hill, who died in his sleep on Sunday night.  It is shared here with permission:

Dear Michele,

C.S. wrote to me about the death of your two-year old grandson.  This represents a very harsh reality for you, your son and his wife, their innocent young son now dead, and the whole family.  Many stumble before it.  Encompassed by such darkness, many are tempted to reject outright the prophetic word of God and of His Son, Jesus.

 How do believers get beyond their anguish and numbness before such an event? They should rush to the word of God in long prayer and reflection begging for knowledge and wisdom. They should climb the steps of the "ladder" of lectio divina (holy reading). The four steps are the following: reading, meditating , praying, and contemplating the Holy Word of God in Sacred Scripture, both  individually and in community.

The call of the prophet Isaiah (Is. 6) is a good place to begin. It concludes with a definitive answer. Before reaching that ending, however, the text carries great irony. At one point we seem left with the question "How long???"  In reality, the whole text of Isaiah six is a part of the apophatic tradition of revelation. (God reveals himself through negation - e.g., the revelation of God's glory takes place on the summit of Calvary where we contemplete the Cross and the pierced Heart of His Son.)

So, before the cold indifference of the universe where innocent children die, believers are first driven to cry out to God, "How long?" We deserve something better than this. God's answer to this complaint is, "Until ......termination."  "'How long?......Until cities lie waste without inhabitant, and houses without men,and the land is utterly desolate, and the Lord removes men far away, and the forsaken places are many in the midst of the land. and though a tenth remains in it, it will be burned again, like a terebinth and an oak whose stump remains standing when it is felled. The holy seed is its stump.'"  (Is. 6: 9-13)

At first the story of the prophet's call  seems to oscillate between rejection and acceptance and finally terminate with divine destruction. But the very last words contradict that seeming interpretation. They need to be heard and studied closely. They indicate  that the final words from God to Isaiah's complaint are not of death and destruction, with only the dead stump remaining after a fiery conflagration. The divine oracle concludes with the stump and its unexpected, surprising hints of new growth.

That last line is brief, "The holy seed is its stump."  But, it represents the wonderful, enduring response of God: before the harshness of life, including the experience of the death of the young and innocent, a holy seed arises from the stump! God's response is not a quick and easy answer; it is not cheap grace. But, at the end, there is divine comfort, there is consolation; there is a holy seed  arising miraculously from the stump. After the terrible numbness and incomprehension, the stump of the great, felled tree is seen to give forth something completely unexpected. It will come in the form of those disciples (in this case parents, grandparents, etc.) who hear the word of God under horrific circumstances. They listen attentively to the words of Isaiah and attend to the mysteries contained in the life and death of Jesus and place their total trust in God. From their total faith in God the Father, there will be a new growth coming forth.

I will pray that the Spirit of God with whom disciples are anointed in Confirmation may plunge you deeply into the mystery of new growth from a dead stump.

+ Cardinal Francis Stafford

On Infant Death

As we await the imminent arrival of the tiny Infant Savior on Christmas Day, please allow me to share with you a devastating and inspiring tragedy that continues to unfold.

What an immeasurable grace and blessing it has been to talk with Miki Hill today.  If you are in the greater Baltimore Catholic homeschool community, you might know Miki and Tim Hill.  Their two year old grandson, Charles Daniel Hudson Hill (“Charlie”), passed away in his sleep unexpectedly Sunday night, after going to bed with a slight fever.  Miki and her children were driving back this evening from the funeral services in Chicago when we spoke.

Miki noted that the human sorrow of this tragedy is severe nearly to the point of being unbearable.  While any other death seems to pale in comparison to the loss of a child, I shared with Miki my recollection of when I first experienced someone close to me dying.  For days thereafter, I looked around at normal life and gaped in stupefied horror.  Why were people still driving?  Why were they still shopping?  Still eating?  Still talking?  Still……living!?  Didn’t they know that someone magnificent and vital to my existence had just shuffled off this mortal coil?  Didn’t they know that it really was the end of the world as we know it?  Why didn’t the Earth stop spinning on its axis in acknowledgement of the enormity of this tragic loss?

“Yes, that’s it!” she said.  “It.  Is.  Staggering.”

And yet, Miki observed that God definitely is in control.  From such far-flung places as seven continents and the Vatican, God has provided their family with enormous and frequent consolation.  “See?” she asked in wonder.  “The more we let go of the arrow, the further it will fly.”  Little Charlie has, indeed, flown far.  Straight to heaven.  And apparently he’s going to drag a lot of other people there with him eventually, as there were at least six priests hearing confessions at his viewing, “because Charlie wanted everyone to get to heaven.”

Miki and I agreed that, particularly in times of trial such as this, we are enormously grateful to have been born “cradle Catholics,” because I for one never would have been smart enough to choose Catholicism myself (as my brilliant husband The Convert did).  Whatever would we do without the transformative grace of the sacraments!?

Miki is firm in her conviction that her amazing little grandson, while being a beam of light in their lives, truly was not made for this world, which his mother must intuitively sensed, for she always called him her “cherub.”  In the face of such simultaneous vulnerability and strength, I can only submit the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln:

“….I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming.  But, I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found….I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost.” (Abraham Lincoln in a letter to Mrs. Lydia Bixby, November 1864)

Thus, with Miki’s permission, I will share with you in the next post Francis Cardinal Stafford’s consoling meditation to Miki on the tragedy of infant death.  May his words bring us God’s peace.

“Therefore we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”  (II Corinthians 4:16-18)