Each week in church, following communion, we have special music during the collection of the offering.  Since my offering is automatically deducted from my checking account every payday, I don’t spend this time fussing around in my purse or hastily writing out a check.  Instead, I can spend this time listening to the music and stretching the communion devotion just a little farther before the sermon.  Today’s special music in church was a beautiful and moving rendition of Mary, Did You Know.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy will one day walk on water?
Did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you’ve delivered will soon deliver you.

Now, before you start sending me poison-pen comments about the insensitivity of posting lyrics regarding babies, and delivery, and birth on a blog about infertility, please keep reading….

Infertility is not a modern problem.  Throughout time there have been women just like us who suffered not only the heartache of infertility, but public shame and indignity, as well.   In the Bible there are multiple stories of women being crushed under the weight of infertility.  You know their names – Sarah, Rachel, Hannah, and Elizabeth – and although they were blessed with children later in their stories, for some period of their life they suffered just like you and I do now. 

We know now that one in eight women have some experience with infertility, and we only know this due to modern data collection and a (relatively) broadening discourse on the subject.  But there’s no evidence to suggest that this is a modern occurance.  Given that, it may be possible that one in eight women during the Biblical age were also struggling with infertility.

Which means that, in all likelihood, there was a desperate, hurting, shamed woman living in Nazareth at the time during the pregnancy of Mary.  Let’s call her Rebekkah.  In all likelihood, Rebekkah, a woman just like you, and me, looked at Mary in angst as her soul cried out, “Why her, God?  She’s so young, and so poor!  She and Joseph just got engaged, and they’re not even married yet! Why is she pregnant and not me?  I’ve done everything right, married carefully, been a devoted wife and daughter, kept your commands and worshipped you! Why are you punishing me?  Why did you bless her and not me?”

Does this sound familiar to you?  To tell you the truth, the words just flowed off my fingertips with hardly a thought – they are so much a part of my own pain and experiences.  Almost every day I see pregnant, unmarried college students on our campus, and I have to choke down these words once more to keep them from bursting out.

But back to Nazareth.  We have the luxury of being able to view the pregnancy of Mary and the birth of Jesus with all its context as the fulfillment of prophecy, through the Word, revealing the glory and graciousness of God.   Not only can we see all the precursors and prophecies of the coming of Christ, but we can also see His subsequent ministry and His crucifixion.  We know how this story ends.  We know Mary’s purpose, and Jesus’ purpose, in God’s plan and it is this panoramic view of His birth that keeps us from looking at Mary in quite the same way as we look at other unprepared, young mothers. 

Our infertile sister, Rebekkah, doesn’t have the benefit of this knowledge.  She lives in the moment, and she passes Mary in the market, and each time she sees her, the pain of infertility grips her anew.  She can’t see what the future of Jesus, and of Mary, will bring to the world.   She lives where we live now, passing unwed mothers, or teenage mothers, in the street. 

In the same way as Rebekkah, we can’t see what God’s plan is for that young mother, or for the child she carries.  As Christians, we believe there is a plan, but if we can’t see it, if God’s plan doesn’t work according to the way we think it is supposed to work, then we run the risk of  falling into the “why her? why not me?” vicious cycle. 

When the angel announced to Mary the news that she would carry a Savior for the world, her answer was, “I am the Lord’s servant.  May it be to me as you have said.”  (Luke 1:38)

And that is our challenge, as well.  Can we, when faced with the seeming “unfairness” of the “unwarranted” pregnancy say to God, “I am your Servant. I know there is a plan for me, just as there is for that mother and child.  May your will be done in my life, according to Your plan.”

I’m not suggesting it’s easy.  I’m not even suggesting that I’ve accomplished this degree of acceptance and trust in my own journey with infertility.  I’m only saying that in those four or five minutes between communion and the sermon, I not only asked, Mary, did you know?, but I had the opportunity to reflect on what a difference in perspective that knowing can make.