It is true, Downton Abbey has come to its far too early conclusion.  Nonetheless, PBS still has a mighty wonderful Sunday evening line-up of quality, British produced entertainment.  I wish not to be a spoiler but I'd like to share a little about last Sunday's season premiere of "Call the Midwife." 

I have read the books and have seen the previous four seasons.  Truth be told, I love this series.  Granted, the medical scenes do take some adjusting to, as I'm not the strongest when it comes to any scene involving blood and such.  Nonetheless, this series, based on the true to life midwives that served throughout England from just after World War II and into the 1960's is a captivating effort that brings us to a time that helped usher in the role of women in the world outside of the home.   Actually, midwives existed in England and Wales as far back as the 15th Century.  Theirs is a rich and rewarding history of providing quality and dedicated service to women who could not always afford proper hospitalization and medical care. 

Last Sunday's episode focused on the birth of a beautiful, baby girl who, sadly was born with severe malformation of the body.  It was heartbreaking.  The mother fell in love with the baby the moment she held her in her arms.  The father, however, was not as taken, in fact, he refused to allow the baby to enter into their home.  So much was he "disgusted" with the child, he said he wouldn't even allow his wife to come home if she brought the child with her.  How could anyone refuse a child, especially a child that would need extra care and attention?  Fiction or not, I was moved and crestfallen.  How could this father not love his new daughter?  He certainly fawned over his other two children who happened to be born -- blessedly so -- in perfect health and condition.  But this child, this "freak" as he referred to her, he could not find the love in his heart.  That is until he saw how his son and other daughter loved their little sister.  That is until he saw how his wife beamed when she held that innocent child.  That is until he took that baby into his arms and gazed into that radiant face.  Then, the heart of ice was melted and love overwhelmed his senses.  And on a sofa in a home in McHenry County, Illinois, an Episcopal priest sat filled with joy and eyes welled with tears.  Yes; love will do that every time.

Sunday's Gospel story from St. John speaks of love, however, a love that is somewhat lacking on the part of the disciples.  They had undergone a tremendous series of events, culminating with their master's death on the cross.  Though Jesus had risen from the dead, these chosen men were still in a fog, dazed and confused.  Still, one would think they still would have continued to do what Jesus asked them to do; preach the Good News and bring others into the fold.  Instead, some returned to their previous roles as fisherman and seemingly had abandoned the ministry Jesus requested of them.  There was a lack of love in these men.  Understandably, they were shaken.  They loved Jesus and yet, they did not do what was asked of them.  Then, our Lord appeared to them, on the shore along the lake called Tiberias.  There, Jesus prepared a charcoal fire and set for them a breakfast of fish.  Jesus asked Peter if he loved Him.  I suspect this question, though directed to Peter was meant for the other disciples, too.  They were together, close to one another enjoying an early breakfast with their Lord and Master.  How could they not have heard?  How could they not have felt Jesus was questioning them about their love, too? 

Amen.