An alert reader wanted me to know about an essay by a friend of his, Susan Windley-Daoust, appearing in this week’s America magazine.  It’s a stunner: a beautiful and thought-provoking look at prayer and vocation, all seen through the experience of giving birth: 

It was only after I gave birth three times–one by Caesarean section and two vaginal births after the Caesarean–that I read up on the theology of the body: that sex within marriage is a participation in the life of the Trinity, a covenantal union pointing analogically to an ultimate union with God. It is evocative teaching. 

But I wonder why we do not think of childbirth in a similar way: a gift, a bodily experience that points beyond ourselves, that echoes our ultimate transformation in the Holy Spirit. Perhaps it is for many of the same reasons that, according to John Paul II, sex is experienced in such a twisted manner after the Fall. If the Evil One works through lies and deception, disordering what is created good, then there must be fruitful ground in twisting the original experience of childbirth.

Today, doctors routinely treat pregnancy like a disease. Many workplaces regard parental leave as “unpaid sick time.” And our medical system fears malpractice litigation to such an extent that the U.S. Caesarean rate is at 31 percent, breaking records every year. This medical culture teaches women to dread the event that brings them face to face with their children. Still, something in our bones, our muscles and our spirits says that childbirth is greater than all that. It is a transformative experience, the edge of life and death, the play of wind and breath, the shock of pain and joy. It is where a woman is given a new gift: a new relationship with God, her husband and their child–practice in receiving grace.

I’ll be candid: I cannot claim any mystical experience in any of my childbirths. Whether sad, frightening, silly or joyful, much of the work was rooted in a physical reality that kept me firmly on the ground. But my husband remains convinced of a mystical moment in my last childbirth. After a difficult transition, I collapsed on the bed and was able to rest about two minutes before pushing. Everyone in the room became instantly quiet, and there was this moment, he says, a hushed silence, God’s peace present like the eye of the birthing storm. All I remember is that I was beyond thought, exhausted in every possible degree, and taking pleasure in breathing. I didn’t hear any angels. But then, the urge to push came. And you have to respond “Here I am, Lord,” like an ancient prophet, and allow God to push, push through you as you push along. That is the spiritual life. Birth is like that.