These past few days I have been captivated by the story of young Danny Hauser and his mother Colleen. Danny is the young man with Hodgkin's Lymphoma whose family rejected chemotherapy to ward off his growing tumor. They embrace a faith tradition that favors other means of controlling disease. I don't usually get caught up in news stories like this but the situation in this family will not let go of me. Danny and his mother are now missing and supposedly seeking help and sanctuary in another part of the country or trying to leave the country. This flight comes after the courts, who believe they also have Danny's best interest at heart, are demanding that he receive the Western medical care they believe he needs to survive.

This is a very complex and multi-layered situation full of faith, different understandings of medical treatment, and a deep love for the young man at its center. The media has helped fuel the debate about right and wrong and, as it often does, tries to pit groups of people against one another. While the story has been compelling to many of us, the newspapers, radio and television companies stand to make money out of our desire to know the facts of this very challenging tragedy. This is their business and I am really not faulting them in this.

I have been drawn into reading and listening because my heart is breaking for everyone involved. I cannot imagine knowing my child is in such danger. I cannot imagine trying to make sense of the legal system and its entry into the life of my family. I cannot imagine the fear, the pain, the confusion, the sheer need to protect your child that this mother must feel. I cannot imagine the courage it must have taken to do what she felt she had to do. I cannot imagine the equal courage it may take to turn back from that same decision.

What I can imagine is the love she feels for her son. On Wednesday I was in the chapel of the Sister of St. Joseph of Carondolet for a retreat. In a time of silence and prayer I found myself standing in the intimate alcove dedicated to Mary the Mother of Jesus. As I stood before her statue looking at her kind and lovely eyes, it came to me that while I could not understand what Danny's mother is feeling, Mary could. So, being the good little Protestant girl I am, I did the only thing that seemed sensible: I said a prayer to this holy woman who understood what it meant to be in fear for the life of her son, who to knew the powerlessness of that fear and the courage it took to stand by him.

It is my hope that all the prayers that are being said for this mother, this son, will hold them close and that they will know the deep love of the One who bore them both into the world. All the judgment in the world will not help these people but all the prayers we can offer just might.