place in real time. George would narrate the whole affair with the reliquary by his side.
A man in a white coat entered the room from a side door. He motioned to Anne to follow him. Before he knew it, Pastor Donovan was separated from his daughter and the door to her was locked. All he could think about while he watched the screen was that the next time he sees his little girl prosopon pros prosopon she will be pregnant, and that someday soon he will have to tell Ashley.
* * * * *
Anne assured her dad, “I feel okay.” From the ride home to the days following, she exhibited with each fatherly probe a confidence that mirrored the first Mary. Payne discerned thankfulness deep within her, but mostly relief that the procedure happened so fast. He was not so sure what she might have done if there was a waiting period. He wondered if she would have had a change of heart, like those who abandon their plan to buy a gun, if she would have had more time to think it over. Nonetheless, he knew that it was futile to second-guess the decision and that it was too late to back out. He also knew, as did his daughter, that the next nine months presented a world of hopes and fears, joys and sufferings.
For the moment, while Anne did not show, the surprise could remain a surprise. But could it? How could Payne betray a trust that he had built over the years with his wife? How long could he avoid telling the gospel truth? How long could he hide behind half-truths and diversion tactics? Anne may not have been showing, but his anxiety sure was, and it was starting to kick.
Pastor Donovan called for another family powwow. He hoped that it would go better than the last one, but it was a tenuous hope. With everyone present in the living room, he stood, ready to speak; yet only silence sounded as he pulled back words. No words were adequate to initiate the meeting. With no pulpit to hide behind and no pastoral voice to bring him honor in this home, he stood inert, petrified in his angst.
Anne stood up, approached her dad, reassured him with a gentle squeeze on the arm, and directed him to sit down. Then with poise, she said to the family, “Exactly one week ago today I became pregnant.” She intuitively held her hands out as if to divert verbal harpoons unleashed upon her. “Last Monday Dad and I went to the place where he went the week before—the place where he saw the umbilical cord of Jesus.”
Before her daughter could say another word, Ashley insisted, “This must be some April Fool’s joke.”
“It’s no joke.” Anne’s composure and self-assurance kick started her dad’s ability to take the lead. He concisely explained what happened at SarkiSystems. He divulged that one of her eggs was surgically removed, manipulated, and then implanted back into her. The embryo inside her is completely made up of the DNA of Jesus. Like his daughter, Payne held his hands out in defense. He spoke directly to Ashley, “She is still a virgin.”
The ensuing exchange entailed words and feelings never before expressed in the Donovan home. Payne tried to intersperse the “what” and especially the “why” during his wife’s tirade. When Ashley concluded with insistence that this was no longer, and never was, a funny joke, Anne defended her actions and her dad’s. “Mom, I am eighteen years old. I’m an adult. I can and I did make my own choice regarding this. Dad did not force me to do this. It was my decision.”
“Will Jesus call me Uncle Doug?”
Ashley turned and stared at her son. “This isn’t a joke, Doug.” She turned back to Anne. “Do you realize what you have given up? This isn’t some dream or nightmare that you can just wake up from.”
“Yes, Mom. But I also realize what the world could gain.”
“Anne . . .” Ashley stopped and turned to leave the room. As she passed him, Payne heard her mutter, “I wish it were a joke. I wish I could just wake up.”
* * * * *
Reality hit Pastor Donovan as he prepared for Sunday’s message. There in his office he realized that recent events had distracted him to the point that he forgot that Sunday was Palm Sunday. This meant that the choir was scheduled to perform, as usual, an Easter Cantata. Initially, this awakening brought relief. I don’t have to prepare a sermon this week. Then it brought concern. Easter, the most attended service, is less than two weeks away; and I am so unprepared. What will I say? What will I not say?
With anxiety reaching a dangerous level, Pastor Donovan needed a diversion. Whether stemming from a divine illumination or his own human curiosity, he decided to take a moment to figure out Anne’s due date. Knowing that her pregnancy began on March 25, exactly one week before April 1 (Ashley’s “April Fool’s Day” rant chiseled that date onto his mind), and assuming Anne goes full term, he ascertained that the birth would take place on December 25! Was this a coincidence, or yet another one of George’s surprises? He double-checked his math. It all added up. The re-birth, the re-incarnation of Jesus was scheduled for Christmas Day. Thoughts flooded his heart. What a gift . . . to Anne . . . to our family . . . to the church . . . to the world. He found solace in this diversion, that is, until he got the call.
“This is Officer Bedford. Your wife has been in an accident. An ambulance is on the way to take her to the hospital. She insists, though, on speaking to you. Here she is.”
Payne desperately tried to make sense as Ashley cried every word.
“I was listening to the radio and they were talking about abortion and I wondered if maybe Anne’s baby could be aborted. But it was such a horrible thought—what if that baby really is Jesus? And then I thought about how it all happened so fast and I wondered if Anne even had a choice in things. I was so angry, so angry at you that I didn’t see it. I didn’t see the light turn.” The words were barely intelligible now.
“Honey, are you hurt?”
The only answer was more crying on the other end of the line and then the officer’s voice, “We need to get her to the hospital right away.”
“How badly is she hurt?”
“Meet us at the hospital and the doctors will be able to fill you in on that.”
Payne opened his mouth, but the officer had already hung up the phone. Slowly, he stood up from his chair and walked out into the little office where the part-time secretary sat, typing up the church bulletin. “Mrs. Fleury, Ashley was in an accident and I need to go to the hospital.” He held up his hand to forestall any questions. “I don’t know how bad things are. I won’t know until I get to the hospital. Let Bernard know that I won’t be able to meet with him about the cantata until later.”
He didn’t wait to see whether Mrs. Fleury had heard him as he rushed out the door to the parking lot.
* * * * *
Pastor Donovan missed the cantata. The church would have understood if he missed Easter, too, since Ashley had only just been released from the hospital; but he chose to be with his flock and to preach. He was a husband, but he was also a shepherd. Resurrection Sunday brought more people to church than expected, possibly because news had spread about the pastor’s wife’s accident.
The message focused on Jesus’ bodily resurrection in history and how this seals His followers’ future bodily resurrection. Knowing that the people knew about the accident, Pastor Donovan spent the second half of the sermon sharing about the frailty of our present bodies. He quoted the Apostle Paul when he wrote in his second letter to the Corinthians that “the outer man is decaying.” He shared how the accident reminded him that our earthly bodies are not built to last forever. To curb the tears, he pointed to his balding head and said with a smile, “Hair today, gone tomorrow.” He
