A Dark and Holy Time

On December 24, 1999, I stood by my wife, Jennifer, as she lay in a hospital bed giving birth to our second son, Jordan. Under normal conditions, this would have been a joyous time. A Christmas Eve baby. But Jordan's delivery was coming two days after we'd learned that he had died in utero. He was at thirty-six weeks of development. Full term.

In the delivery room, we rocked him in our arms and wept over him. The family gathered. My mother-in-law rocked Jordan, shifting him in her arms to make him look as natural as possible. Jennifer, a United Methodist minister, sat up in the hospital bed and asked for a bowl of water so she could baptize Jordan. I filled a Styrofoam bowl with tap water and set it on the tray by her bed. Jennifer reached for our son, and her mother laid Jordan's body in her arms. The family was quiet. The crying had eased. Jennifer was exhausted from the delivery. Her hair was mussed, her eyes weary. She sprinkled water over Jordan's head.

"Jordan Paul Olin-Hitt," she said. Her voice cracked. Her eyes filled with tears. "I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

Despite the grief that rose to my throat and burned my eyes, I could feel the presence of the Spirit.

It was a dark and holy time.

We had known that Jordan would need corrective surgery for his esophagus soon after birth, but we had not been prepared for his death.

Jennifer and I spent the next weeks in numbing sorrow. On New Year's Eve, 1999, when the rest of the world was celebrating the dawn of a new millennium and worried that their computers might forget how to tell time, Jennifer and I put our other son, two-year-old Samuel, to bed and prepared for prayer. It was the first time since Jordan's funeral that our family did not surround us. We needed to enter into prayer in private. We wanted answers directly from God.

For over a year, Jennifer and I had held discussions with a messenger of God. I mean this literally. Beginning in 1998, my prayer life took a dramatic turn when I began to sense the presence of spiritual messengers. Through guidance by these prayer messengers, I learned to surrender my body and mind to the Holy and become a vessel for inspired speech. Some would call this gift prophecy, others deep-trance channeling, others oracular speech. But when it first began in 1998, I just called it prayer. I learned to allow my prayer time to deepen until I went into a trance state I called prophetic awareness. During this trance state I learned to surrender my mind, body and spirit to the Holy, and a spiritual messenger enters me, and holy wisdom f lows from my lips in poetic eloquence. The spiritual messenger who speaks through my voice — identified to me only as a "Spirit of the Holy" — uses my words, my cultural framework and my understanding to mold messages beyond my awareness. This spiritual messenger is a conduit for the wisdom of the Holy to be expressed in human language and understanding. I have come to call this speaker the Messenger of the Holy or, simply, the Messenger.

Because of this intermediary gift, Jennifer and I were able to enter into prayer expecting to receive answers to our questions. While in a deep, meditative state of prayer, I always lost the ability to move my body and speak for myself, but Jennifer had often asked the Messenger questions during these wisdom lessons, and she had received startling, faith-expanding replies. This time, we came to prayer with laments, hoping to discover some meaning and purpose in the death of our son, Jordan.

I set the tape recorder on the piano bench in our living room. Jennifer went to the bookshelf to get a Bible. She still moved slowly because of her recovery from Jordan's delivery. She wore sweat pants and a sweater. Her hair was neatly brushed, and she had applied some make-up. I saw a glimpse of the dynamic and vibrant woman I had known before our loss.

Jennifer read Psalm 13, a psalm of lament, which moves from a sense of loss to an attitude of hope. It expressed our desires. We wanted to feel God's hope and promise in addition to gaining some understanding of our grief.

Jennifer turned to another psalm, this time 28, and as she read it, I felt myself moving into a trance state. It began with a sensation of being drawn into myself. My eyes were clenched shut. My head lowered. My jaw muscles tightened. I felt a tingling come over my fingers.

Jennifer finished the psalm and prayed aloud. "God, we need you. We need you. We need you." She began to cry, but she continued to speak. "It's been so hard, God," she said. "I know you have been with us, but I miss our boy so much I can hardly breathe."

The Spirit came over me. My limbs trembled. My stomach muscles quaked in spasms. I had come to know these involuntary tremors as a result of spiritual energy, and I relaxed into them. My breathing deepened, and I surrendered my body. I felt pulled to the back of myself, as if my conscious mind and my own spirit were gathered along my spine, making room for the Messenger of the Holy to come into me as a gentle presence. My throat tensed and relaxed. My face contorted, and I heard the Spirit speaking through me.

I see you, my children. I bring what comfort I can. Temporality yields such suffering.

It is a rupture, a tearing. It shall not heal without a scar, and where shall the scar be hidden when it is your whole being? What shall you offer if not your pain?

Ironically enough, it was a great comfort to hear the Messenger acknowledge our pain. Despite this needed recognition of our sorrow, I was ready for more than compassion. I was ready for answers.

As usual, while I was in the deep state of prophetic awareness, I could not move my body, and my eyes were closed tightly. But my focus on the message was intense, and I could hear my own voice. I, myself, could not speak, but Jennifer — in the meditative, gentle voice of prayer — asked what was on both our minds, "We seek answers, O God. I don't mean to be demanding or harsh, but we need answers. But first, I need to know about our boy, our little Jordan. I pray for his spirit."

What cannot be born of flesh shall be born of spirit. What cannot be seen with eyes shall be sensed in heart. What cannot be felt in touch shall be...