Everyone hopes that Christmas will be perfect, Dickensian in its warmth and lavishness – or at least devoid of disappointments, rows and illness. Unfortunately, illness does strike at Christmas, and whether it be a light cold or something more serious, it can be difficult to adjust our ideas to the reality.
Anyone with cancer, or another serious disease, will know how much of a party-pooper we can feel. We can’t eat this, drink that or do half the things we always used to do, from putting on a spread for others or taking part in the traditional Christmas morning walk; and our Christmas traditions mean so much to us. We feel guilty. This could be our last Christmas, and we would so like it to be perfect for everyone else. Well-meaning smiles and exhortations to rest only compound our misery. We are a burden to others. Even the dog looks disappointed as we fail to give chase or ignore his pleas for a tummy rub.
For those suddenly confronted with looking after a sick person or stepping in to take their place, it can be just as hard. Who has not encountered families keeping vigil at a hospital bedside while worrying about what is happening at home and how to shield the children from the brutal facts of suffering and death? Illness at Christmas should not be allowed.
The truth is, illness is as much a part of Christmas as anything else. The shadow of the Cross falls upon the crib, while the feasts of the Christmas Octave are dark with blood. We are not called upon to live a Dickensian myth but rather the reality of the Incarnation.
Suffering is part of the Christmas story. Mary’s journey through the Judaean countryside must have been hard and bitter; giving birth far from home in a cattle shed with none of her family or friends to help, and only an awkward Joseph doing his best and perhaps a cursory visit from the landlady, cannot have been easy.
Nor was what followed idyllic. We may sentimentalise the shepherds as much as we like, but they were probably rough men doing a rough job, bringing the smell of their sheep into the stable. As for the Magi, their visit must have increased the sense of risk, the worry about what might happen.
Illness may enable us to identify more closely with this side of the Christmas story, but it can help open us up to its wonder, too. Precisely because we can’t focus on the idealised version of Christmas most of us carry in our heads, we can allow our minds to range far and wide.
For me, Christmas is filled with starlight, mystery, and a deep and joyful silence. Seeing for the first time sunrise on Mars, courtesy of NASA’s InSight lander, brought home to me how vast the universe is and how beautiful. That God should be so involved with our planet and our humanity that he should choose to become a baby and live among us is amazing. It is a reminder both of our infinite worth and our insignificance.
For the sick at Christmas, there can be a struggle between the two. We can be told again and again that we are not insignificant. But, if my own experience is anything to go by, it can be difficult to convince ourselves. That is where the kindness and patience of others is invaluable. Being allowed to take things at our own pace, slipping off to rest or simply not being the focus of attention can be just what is needed to ensure that Christmas is truly festive for everyone. Better than any expensive gift is a moment or two of shared time, an acknowledgement of existence.
If, like me, one lives in a monastery, the celebration of Christmas and caring for the sick have a natural affinity. St Benedict says, for example, that care of the sick should come before everything else. But he is quick to add that the sick themselves should not make excessive demands on those looking after them. Getting the balance right – being humble enough to ask for help when needed and giving the right sort of help – can be tricky. Like everything else, we have to turn it all over to God.
The idea of God in a baby’s body, utterly dependent on others for his survival let alone his comfort, is arresting. Few of us tend to think of ourselves as so helpless. Yet we are. Whether sick or well, let us spend a few moments this Christmas glorifying God for the wonders he has wrought; for the gift of life; and for the salvation he has poured out upon us at the cost of his own death on the Cross.
Sister Catherine Wybourne is a Benedictine nun. She tweets @Digitalnun and blogs at ibenedictines.org
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