The day is over and you are driving home. You turn on your radio and hear a little blurb about a tiny village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. It’s not actually influenza, but three or four people are dead, and it’s kind of interesting, and they’re sending some doctors over there to investigate it.

You don’t think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it’s not three villagers, it’s 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India. It’s on TV that night…CNN runs a little story. People are heading to India from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.

By Monday morning when you get up, it’s the lead story. Only now it’s not just India; but Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you’re hearing this story everywhere and they have named it the "mystery flu".

The President has made some comment about how he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, how are we going to contain it? That’s when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen.

And that’s why, later that night, you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English: "There’s a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. It has come to Europe."

Panic strikes. As best they can tell, once you are infected, it takes about a week before you know it. Then you have four days of unbelievably painful symptoms. And then you die.

Britain closes it’s borders, but it’s too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it’s Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement: "Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I’m sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing."

Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are selling little masks for your face. People are talking about "What if it comes to this country," and preachers on Tuesday evening are saying, "It’s the scourge of God."

It’s Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot, breathlessly saying, "Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." And while the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made: "Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu."

Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California. Oregon . Arizona. Florida. Massachusetts. It’s as though it is just sweeping in from the borders.

And then, all of a sudden, the Television shows a university doctor outside their lab. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It’s going to take the blood of someone who hasn’t been infected at all. And so, sure enough, throughout the Midwest, the call goes out through the emergency broadcasting channels. Everyone is being asked to do one simple thing: "Go to your local hospital and have your blood tested. That’s all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals."

Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late Friday night, there is a long line, and they’ve got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it. Your wife and your kids are out there and they sample everyone’s blood and then say, "Wait here in the parking lot. If we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home." You stand around with your neighbors, scared, wondering what is going on and if maybe, just maybe, this is the end of the world.

Suddenly, a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He’s yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! Your son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that’s me." Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute. Hold on!" But they say, "It’s okay, his blood is the right type... and it’s clean! His blood is pure! We think he has got the right type!"

Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another – some are even laughing. It’s the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, "Thank you, sir. Your son’s blood type is perfect. It’s clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."

As the word begins to spread all across the parking lot, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn’t realize that the donor would be a minor and we need you to sign a consent form."

You begin to sign and then you see that the spot for the number of pints of blood to be taken has been left empty. "H-h-h-how many pints?"

That is when the old doctor’s smile fades and he says, "Please, understand, we had no idea it would be a little child. We weren’t prepared. We need it all."

But-but…you don’t understand.

"We are talking about the world here, sir. Please sign. We... we need it all!"

"But you can’t give him a transfusion?", you blurt out.

"If we had clean blood," replies the doctor, "then we would. Can you sign? Would you please sign?"

In numb silence, you do. Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with your son before we begin?"

Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What’s going on?" Can you take his hands and say, "Son, your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn’t absolutely have to be. Do you understand that?"

And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I’m sorry, we’ve…we’ve got to get started. People all over the world are dying." Can you leave? Can you walk out while your son is saying, "Daddy? Mommy? Daddy? Why…why have you forsaken me?"

And then, next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don’t even come because they want to go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care…would you want to jump up and yell, "MY SON DIED!! DON’T YOU CARE!?!"

Is that what GOD wants to say? Is that what HE wants to say to us on Sunday…and especially on Easter ? "MY SON DIED. DON’T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"

Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great love You have for us.