As Christians, one of our most celebrated events is the remembrance of Christ’s birth in Bethlehem and all the miraculous sights and sounds surrounding it. There are the Nativity scenes that even our most dedicated atheists have not been able to keep off church lawns and in the parlors of believers.
There are the decorated Christmas trees of Germanic custom, the carols we sing, the midnight Masses, the gifts we give and the prayers we say. All of our representations (for at least those of us interested in the real meaning of Christmas) point to the joy of that most remarkable and most important event in human history. And so we celebrate.
And yet, there are many who hide a great sorrow under their festive garb, behind the fruitcakes and the mulled wine or cider, closed off from the frivolity and the cheer among family and friends. Perhaps it is a lingering response to great loss during the year: the death of someone close, the loss of a job, having moved from one home to another, the severities of age, the sufferings on account of great love, for, of course, to love is to suffer. For some reason when all others are joyful, our sadness comes to the fore.
Holidays are when people who are close get a little closer and when one who was close has passed on, we are left with an open wound. Our culture is not one in which pain and suffering can co-exist with joy. When anything hurts we take our pills and try our best to rid ourselves of the pain.
Of course, I do not wish suffering upon anyone but, as Catholics, we know that suffering can be redemptive. We know that the same Child who whimpered and cooed in Bethlehem’s manger amid the visiting shepherds, the beasts of the stable and Joseph and Mary, is the one who sidles up to us when we hurt, who is with us in our loneliness, in the sleepless nights of our grief; the very same one who, a few years later, died on a cross for us.
In seeking advice from a spiritual director, once I complained about not having balance in my life. He told me that the word “balance” often has the connotation of equal parts of something: a half cup of black and a half cup of white, reason and emotion in equal measures, happiness on one side, sadness on the other. He told me to use instead the word “harmony.” Harmony leaves it up to us to blend the ingredients of our recipe. It could be one part salt to three parts sugar; it could be “Chopsticks” blended in our own individual way with “The Moonlight Sonata.” Whatever the blend, it may not look like balance at all, but it may be the very harmony of our lives.
Loss is not something we experience and then shut up in a drawer. It is something that becomes a part of who we are, a part of our harmony.
There is no denying that, for more than one reason, an intensity of emotion revisits us during the holidays. But, as Catholics, just as we look upon the Baby in the manger of our Nativity set, so too do we gaze at the suffering Christ upon His cross. Somehow, in ways we’re unsure of, in some harmony of the soul, that image is beautiful. Perhaps it is in Christ and through Christ, from the beginning of His life on earth to the end of His life on earth, that we are able to experience suffering and joy simultaneously.
Though we do not wish pain upon anyone and though we take prudent measures to alleviate it, especially in our neighbor, we understand the connection between suffering and the love that fills our hearts. We understand that our losses form in us a powerful empathy for others. Knowing loss enables us to be there for someone else going through it. And there is no greater joy than to be able to reach a hand out to someone in need and truly be of help. That is to bring the Christ Child bundled up in our arms to another and to experience His birth again and again through our love.
The Psalmist says, “You will let me hear gladness and joy; the bones you have crushed (broken or humbled bones, as other translations say) will rejoice.” My prayer this Christmas is that all those with bones crushed by loss or the suffering our humanity brings with it, may feel in all the hidden places of the heart, the delightful and harmonious presence of the Christ Child…and rejoice.
Fred Gallagher is an author and editor-in-chief with Gastonia-based Good Will Publishers Inc.