Let me tell you a story.
I treated a couple customers to a Christmas lunch on Monday, two buyers from my largest client. I noticed that E was noticeably not her ebullient self, and I asked how things were. E told me she was in a down mood. Why, I asked. Turned out that a childhood friend's mom was extremely ill, in the hospital, suffering from kidney complications. It wasn't looking good, E told me, from her friend's description.
So out of concern, I called E this afternoon, and she sounded somewhat more cheerful. I asked if she was feeling better today. Yes - her friend's mom had a remarkable turnaround overnight, and was discharged in the morning. E didn't use the word 'miraculous', but the recovery was unexpected, and while she still wasn't totally out of the woods, she was well enough to go home.
"Like an early Christmas present," I threw out there, and she agreed.
But just this afternoon, E said, something terrible happened. Her department held their Christmas luncheon, and it was a good time shared by all. Afterward, she went to her office, closed her door and went back to work.
"Larry," E told me, "I then heard the most agonizing wail and cry that I had never heard before in my life. Through my closed door - and it had come from the far side of the room." I pictured her work area - E's office is at one end of a 300 foot long room, populated by a cube farm and bisected by two large conference rooms. And her office door is thick, as well as the walls. No cheap pre-fab material.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I ran out of my office - it sounded inhuman, okay? - and I get to the far end, where I find out that M - you know her? The traffic gal?"
I confessed that I didn't know M personally, but would probably recognize her if I saw her.
"Well, she got a phone call that her husband died suddenly."
Bam!
E and I talked a few moments longer - M was in her early 50's, he had no health complications, what a shock on what had been an enjoyable day - then some business came up, and then the phone call was over.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, I thought about M and how her life would never be the same. She might never really experience Christmas joy again, the pain and sorrow of her husband's death forever hanging over her family, a heavy pall. I tried to put myself in M's shoes, and it was difficult to do so, but not impossible. The gift of an active imagination, I suppose. It wasn't too hard for me to imagine M's sorrow, despair and sense of confusion and loss. I think everyone, to one degree or another, can empathize with such a situation. The death of a loved one is never easy - around Christmas, it seems backwards or disjointed, as if God made a mistake. But if we seriously look at Christmas - the birth of Christ - what is it, really, but the first breath of a dead man walking? Christ came to die - He came to bring us salvation, even though we didn't deserve it. It was God's infinite gift of love to the human race.
Christmas is a day full of hope and joy, not despair and sadness, right? It ought to be, but there are so many people who don't look forward to this time of year - homelessness, loneliness, hard times, illness, loved ones away from home, death - the harsh realities of life don't take time off, and they're often exacerbated around Christmas. My heart and prayers go out to those who are suffering.
Mostly, we look forward with joy to the birth of the Savior. We anticipate the reactions of loved ones when they open their gifts, and we wonder if we'll get that "special" gift we've wanted. We look forward to celebrating with family members near and far. As Christmas day approaches, the expectations compound, culminating in a day filled with happiness and good cheer.
The season of Advent is a time when we anticipate Christ's second return as well. He has promised to return one day - we know neither the time nor the hour - and so we're reminded that we have to be prepared. We prepare our hearts for His first coming - that boundless gift of love that God sent us so that we might be saved. And we prepare our souls for His second coming - that we might be found worthy to enter into eternal life.
The Christmas season reflects the reality of our own birth and death - life is God's first gift to us, and death is that event that allows our passage into eternity. We can't escape it, we can't deny it. Death is not something we like to think about at Christmas, because we'd rather focus on the happiness, the joy and the gladness. And there's nothing wrong with that - God wills that we be happy, but He wills that we continually prepare ourselves, each day, to do His will and to be found ready upon His call. So that on our last day, we can present our soul to God as a gift to Him, one that He has anticipated since the beginning of time.
Joy and sorrow. Happiness and sadness. Our lives bounce between those two poles continually. Happiness seems so fleeting, while sadness seems so ceaseless. The happiness we experience this time of year can be a salve, a consolation for the sadness that pervades this vale of tears. We tend to appreciate those around us more, because we recall those who no longer grace us with their presence.
And when we contemplate on the child Jesus in the manger - helpless, weak, innocent yet also the King of Kings and Lord of Lords - we ought to reflect on our own helplessness, how we are so indebted to God for our lives and His grace. We ought to reflect on our weakness, that without God, we are incapable of doing any good, that we are lost without Him. And we ought to reflect on our lost innocence through our sinfulness - that by the blood of His cross, Christ has died for love of us, that He never abandons us even though we all too often stray.
As I've grown older, I have come to appreciate the fuller meaning of this holy day, this holy season. At times, I experience deep sadness - just briefly - whether it's brought about by a song, or a passing thought - and then it's replaced with great joy. Joy in the hope that Christ is faithful in His promises. That's why I could empathize with M. Her husband's death helped to remind me that God has so much more in store for us, much more than the happiness that exchanging gifts can bring, much more than the gladness which the company of family and friends can supply. That the sadness we experience in this life cannot compare to the eternal joy awaiting us in the next. It truly is a deep and great mystery, and today's news helped me appreciate a little bit more about the meaning of Christ's birth. He came to show us the way, that His path was laid with stones of sorrow. Yet following Christ brings us no greater joy. He came to testify to the truth, that His testimony was met with persecution and death. Yet proclaiming Christ brings us no greater joy. He came to bring us life, that His life was given for the salvation of all. Yet denying our life for His sake brings us no greater joy.
I'm no theologian, so you don't have to listen to me. I'm just a Catholic dad and husband with a two-bit sales job doing the best he can in a world gone mad. All the while working out his salvation with fear and trembling. But to me, the mystery of Christmas comes down to this - out of sorrow, joy.