Celtic Advent - Day XXXII - December 17

 

  

Celtic Advent – DAY XXXII – December 17

 

Let me fall

Let me climb

There's a moment when fear

And dreams must collide

 

Someone I am

Is waiting for courage

The one I want

The one I will become

Will catch me

 

So let me fall

If I must fall

I won't heed your warnings

I won't hear them

 

Let me fall

If I fall

Though the phoenix may

Or may not rise

 

I will dance so freely

Holding on to no one

You can hold me only

If you too will fall

Away from all these

Useless fears and chains

 

Someone I am

Is waiting for my courage

The one I want

The one I will become

Will catch me

 

So let me fall

If I must fall

I won't heed your warnings

I won't hear

 

Let me fall

If I fall

There's no reason

To miss this one chance

This perfect moment

Just let me fall

 

(from Cirque duSoleil – sung best by Josh Grobin)

 

When I started these meditations for the Forty Days of Celtic Advent, my general outline plan was to spend the last ten days focusing on the way we find the Incarnation of Love in our midst. I’ve shifted to that a little early but as I’ve sat in prayer and meditation, so many of the stories of the people I’ve met in my Hospice work have come to mind.

 

The time at the end of life is every bit as sacred as the time of birth. It is during this sacred time that the stories of life and love come cascading forth. Like, this one.

 

I’ll call him “Bob”.  He was a man in his late 60s who was dying. He had less than 20% of his heart function. It took great effort for him to get up from his bed and walk with his walker to go to the kitchen or the bathroom. Indeed, it took great effort for him to talk. But, when he did, there were gems to be found among his words.

 

I had begun by doing some “life review” with Bob. That’s Hospice terminology for the practice of helping our patients and their families review the memories of the events of their lives so they can sort through them and choose what they want to let go, decide what they need to forgive or be forgiven, identify those to whom they need to say ‘I love you’ or 'I'm sorry', and what to cherish and take with them beyond the grave.

 

I asked “Bob” about his earliest memories. He paused for a few moments and then said, without hesitation, “I’m at the kitchen table, doing my homework with my sister. I’m in the second grade. My mother is at the stove, cooking supper.”

 

“My father walks in from work, looks at us sitting at the table, and starts yelling. ‘What are you doing?’ I say, ‘I’m doing my homework, Dad’. 

 

With that, my father starts yelling, ‘Why are you doing that? That won’t put food on the table or a roof over our heads! It’s a waste of time’. And, with that, he hits me so hard across the head that I literally fly out of my chair and crash into the kitchen cabinet.”

 

“I don’t remember much after that,” he said, in an unemotional tone, just reporting the facts as he remembered them, “but I do remember he told me that I wasn’t going back to school, and that, from now on, I was going to be helping him on the dump truck. And, that’s the way it was, for as long as I can remember. Oh, I got about an 8^th grade education, here and there, in and out of juvenile detention centers and such.”

 

“But, I vowed, right there and then,” he said, “to never be like my father. I vowed that I would never allow the rage that was in me to erupt onto my family and hurt them. And, I never did. I found a good woman, married, had two kids, and I never laid a hand to any of them.”

 

“How did I do it?” he asked sadly, “I worked. Two, three jobs at a time. I put all my anger, all my rage, into working to provide for my family. Problem was, I missed out on a lot. I missed out on all the things they did as kids that I never did, either.”

 

“Anyway, I don’t think I could have stood it,” he said. “I mean, I loved that they were in plays and concerts and sports, but it hurt to go to them and remember that I, myself, missed out on all that. So, instead of getting angry, I went to work. Work, work, work. That’s all I did.”

 

“And, you know,” he said, “I think here’s what happened. Here's why I think I'm sick today.”

 

“I think,” he paused as the words caught in his throat, “I broke my own heart.”

 

Despite my best efforts, a small gasp escaped my throat, at his profound insight.

 

He stopped for a moment to take a deep breath and to swallow some of his tears.

 

 “Don’t,” I said, speaking as much to myself as to him.

 

“Just let it go. Let yourself have a good cry,” I said. “You can cry with me.”

 

And, he did. He wept for his children, from whom he is estranged. He wept for his wife, who could no longer stand a loveless marriage and an absent husband and father, and finally divorced him five years ago.

 

When he regained his composure he said, “But, you know, I’m a very blessed man. You Hospice people have taught me how to love again. The nurses’ aid comes here every day. The nurse comes twice a week. The massage therapist comes every week and massages my legs to help reduce the swelling. You come once a week and pray with me and help me remember the old hymns I used to sing in church with my mother – the only time in the week when I knew any kind of peace. And, I find peace, somehow, in hearing you sing those old hymns.”

 

“But,” he said, “ you all don’t just do your jobs. It's not just work for you guys. You do it with love.  You guys have shown me love and, you know, I opened myself to that love, to feel it. It was hard. It was a big risk. To feel love. But, once I did, I found that I could take the risk and love you in return."

"And that,” he said, the tears flowing freely, “brings me such great joy. It’s not about being happy. I know from happy,” he said. “I am happy that I was able to provide for my family. I am happy that they had a better life than I did.”

 

“But,” he said, “that was happy. It was good, you know? But, now, I know joy. For the first time in my life, I know joy.”

 

“I think,” he said, “that when you know that something is possible, but you’ve never felt it, and you’re afraid you never will, when you finally take the risk, when you let yourself fall, when you finally feel it, well,” he said, “that’s joy. And, now, I can go to my grave having known love and joy, and that brings me such peace.”

Listen to that: "When you know something is possible, but you've never felt it, when you finally take the risk, when you let yourself fall, when you finally feel it, well, that's joy."

Do you hear what I hear?

 

Listen to the words of St. John: "And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us."

 

Because of “Bob” I understand those words in a different way. I hear the joy embodied in the words of the Magnificat. I hear the joy incarnate in the shepherds who heard the angels sing. “Peace on earth, good will to all humankind.”

 

And, I hear the joy in a 60-something year old man, who knew abuse and anger and rage, and thought he knew love and happiness, now knows love and joy. And, peace.

It’s pretty miraculous, but you, too, can go right past happiness and merriness and know joy - in your heart and in your mind and in your soul and in your whole body. It’s the 17^th day on the Advent calendar. There are seven days left to the Celtic Advent. There's still plenty of time for a Christmas miracle.

 

You have to dig deep to know that sort of joy. Deep. Past the pleasantries and the niceties.  Deep into your own losses and sorrows. Facing your own mortality. Your own finiteness. Your own limitability. Your own brokenness. And, then, embrace them. Embrace your own mortality and finiteness and limitability and brokenness. 

 

And, accept that, in that emptiness, there are possibilities. And then, you, too, can move beyond mere happiness and know joy. The joy, like peace, that passes all human understanding.

 

I’ve learned that happiness is a mortal state. But joy? Joy is a state of spiritual being.

 

How do you know the joy of Christmas? How do you know the joy that the disciples first knew? Is it possible to know joy? To embody joy? To incarnate joy? It’s as simple and as difficult as this: You have to let yourself fall.

 

I will leave you to meditate on the words above from Cirque du Soleil. Perhaps you’ll listen to Josh Groban sing it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEN6T26nRqw

 

Or, just consider the wisdom from a man named Bob: "When you know something is possible, but you've never felt it, when you finally take the risk, when you let yourself fall, when you finally feel it, well, that's joy."