Facing Our Immortality in Light of Christmas
Anyone who has ever received an unexpected diagnosis of cancer or some other serious disease knows the power of the experience to suddenly and radically change the inner world in which we normally live. Anyone who has lost a loved one especially without warning, experiences the same thing. Perception, understanding, the hierarchy of what we have up to then considered important suffers a seismic shock and shifts the plates of our current existence into a completely changed landscape which can seem foreign and strange and certainly frightening in many ways.
Having been through this myself several times, and watching those around me, I have come to realize that the shock comes not so much from facing our own mortality as it does from not having faced our immortality. That is the real problem. To say we now are brought to a place where we have to face our own mortality is actually to stand before an untruth and feel forced to embrace it. Our whole being revolts against it and all the classic stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and resignation follow.
And with good reason. We are not mortal, and the light of Christmas announces that definitively. Jesus does not come into our darkness to commiserate with us. He comes into our world to rescue us from the fetters of our darkness, including the weight of our own corruptible bodies, so that time, (however much we have), in its proper place, can launch us safely and happily into eternity.
It is true that death is a kind of limit, the line past which nothing more can be done in this world in our present state. But it is not the end. We are immortal, and it really is not necessary to defend this belief because anyone truly in touch with themselves knows deep in their being that something infinite, something eternal, abides in their very substance. And this something is personal. It is not an energy or a memory or a force. It is of the substance of who we are, how we know ourselves, and how we are known. It is our very person, and it is never lost by trial or suffering or disease or death. The person does not die. The body gives way for a time. But we do not die.
Because our body is corruptible in this fallen world, we shed it in dying, in order to be completely healed and made ready for immortal bodies which we will receive, at the end of time. And like anyone who goes through the decline of their own bodies in aging, sickness, losing parts here and there, I have come to understand that it is in keeping with God’s plans to hold fast to the promise of eternal life and the glorified body rather than trying to hold on to our present existence, attempting by our own might to make our bodies immortal as though we can somehow transfigure them under our own power. Sickness quickly disabuses us of the illusion that we have the capacity to do this. But it does not take away from us the desire to be completely restored, whole and transcendent.
The other darknesses we hold onto in our lives are also often rooted in this failure to embrace our immortality. At Christmas, Jesus comes to us, “to a people who walk in darkness” to show us a great light. To those of us living in a land of gloom, His light shines” (Isaiah 9:1). This is a light that comes from eternity and causes joy and great rejoicing. It does not matter if I live in the gloom of a corruptible body which I am losing piece by piece or in the decay of old age. It does not matter if my darkness is the bondage of alcoholism or weariness, doubt, indifference, fear, wounds, worldly aspirations, pride, unforgiveness, bitterness, depression, or a hard heart. This is a light that actively seeks out every darkness in order to dispel it and banish it forever. It is the light of the promise of immortality which we are created for and which Jesus comes to restore to us if we can just let go of those things which we cling to.
I cannot tell you exactly why I am no longer afraid to die. It is not imminent at the moment that I know of. I have, as I said, faced my own death before. The first conscious time was full of all the shock and fear that is normal for anyone who receives an indefinite diagnosis and is told they may die. “If the disease is anywhere else in your body then all bets are off.” That is the way it was put to me. All the human emotions and questions coursed through me at that time, leaving me sleepless and isolated within myself, knowing no one else could really stand with me in the place I had suddenly found myself.
The most frightening realization had to do with time. Time, always seemed without limit. There seemed to be plenty of it. Without measure. Now it was quantifiable. There was only so much left. How is it that I was not used to thinking of time here as something limited and then gone forever. To manage time now seemed overwhelming. A great number of things which had always seemed possible, now had to be definitively rejected. They would not, could not be done any longer. My mother, as she was dying, recognized this watching a slide show of Hawaii. She said matter-of-factly and somewhat sadly: “I guess I will never get to see Hawaii.” And we in our denial said: “Well, let’s see. Maybe.” The fact was she never got to see Hawaii. And she knew it.
My fear in relationship to time had very much to do with its ending for me. I was frightened by my lack of preparedness for what would come next, for what would come as soon as the measurement of things in this world was no longer the reality I lived in. The most unsettling thing was the thought of suddenly standing before God, face-to-face, and not knowing what I could possibly say to Him, and fearing that He would be so utterly disappointed with me for having done nothing, really nothing of any importance for Him! My fantasies of accomplishing great things were suddenly wasted hours of vainglorious daydreaming, all dissipation, nothing of substance to present, because I had only been thinking of myself. And nothing of the accomplishments or achievements I held within me amounted to much in this different light of eternity. They did not have much meaning there, as far as I could tell, not because they were without value, but because I would have done them for myself and now I, as I knew it, was coming to an end. The prospect of death has a funny way of de-centering you from yourself, causing you to step outside yourself, making you realize at a deeper level than you have ever been aware of before that you are not the nexus for meaning in life. Our egoism runs much deeper than we think.
I did not come to a reorientation in my awareness until, in the peace of an evening sky in which the Father’s presence was written large, I, as small as a child, touched by His majestic power, was lifted out of myself, above myself, into another embrace of reality that made my whole life different… In an instant, there was peace in living or dying. It did not matter which it would be. I would be held in this love and nothing, not even death, was frightening in that love. Whatever happened would come from that love; and in that love I was always/already held.
Time was no longer the same issue because I now knew with my very being that, “… when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to ransom those under the law, so that we might receive adoption. As proof that we are children, God sent the spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying out, “Abba, Father!” So we are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God” (Galatians 4:4-7).
This is what His love for me, and for you, is really about. This gift is always being offered. Christmas is always present. Our deepest regret at the end of time will not be what we did or did not do. It will be how deeply we underestimated and misunderstood the infinite goodness and love and mercy and tenderness of our God. Christmas lights up this incredible love of God.
Jesus came, says the Liturgy of the Hours in Evening prayer I of Christmas, to “bring joy to all peoples with the promise of unending life…” In the fullness of time, He came to break the boundaries of time by giving the hope of heavenly birth to each of us. He did not cling to His time here. He was born to die for us so that we could live with Him for all eternity. And Mary, most of all, knew this bittersweet mystery from the time she said: Fiat!
The old Catechism tells us we were created “to know, love and serve God in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in the next.” But, it does not tell us what was in God’s Heart as He created us. Christmas does. Our older Brother Jesus, the First Born of all creation, comes to rescue us, to bring us back into the Family, our Family, the Father’s Family. We were created because God wanted us to be a part of His Family, and that is where we belong. Christmas is that promise of rescue finally made Incarnate, finally come to us in the Flesh that is the Way to our true home.
May your Christmas be filled with the sweetness of God’s love made present in the light of the smile of the tiny Christ Child. And may that smile be ever present to you all the days of your life to lead you to your everlasting homeland!
Sister Anne Marie Walsh S.O.L.T. has been a religious for 25 years, and has taught in SOLT schools in the United States and in Italy. She has also served in the formation of seminarians and sisters. Sister Anne Marie has been involved in pro-life work and in giving retreats and recollections based on the teachings of the Church, particularly Pope John Paul II’s works: “On the Dignity and Vocation of Women” and the “Theology of the Body.” Sister has currently been serving as the General Sister Servant for the Sisters of the Society of Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity (www.solt.net), for the last ten years. She especially loves working in the “Charism” of Our Lady’s Society with the Priests, Sisters and Laity in the community’s mission in the Church.
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Crosses came in one after the other, but the Lord’s mercy never failed this family! I gave birth to my firstborn ten years ago, and we were overjoyed! I still remember the day; we were so glad to know that it was a baby girl. I couldn’t thank the Lord enough for His blessings upon my family. Like every mother, I dreamt of buying cute frocks, clips, and booties for my little doll. We named her ‘Athalie,’ meaning ‘God is exalted.’ We were praising God for His beautiful gift. Little did we know that our joy would soon be turned into a deep heartache or that our prayer of gratitude would soon be replaced with petitions for His mercy for our precious baby. At four months old, she became severely sick. With multiple seizure attacks, she would cry for hours and couldn’t sleep or feed well. After multiple tests, she was diagnosed with brain damage; she was also suffering from a rare kind of severe childhood epilepsy named ‘West Syndrome,’ which affects one in 4,000 children. Repeated Blows The diagnosis was too shocking and heartbreaking for us. I didn’t know how I could face the storm. I wanted my heart to be numb to the emotional pain I was going through. Many questions ran through my mind. This was just the beginning of a long and painful journey that I was never prepared to take. My baby girl continued to suffer from seizures for almost two and a half years. Doctors tried multiple medicines, painful daily injections, and numerous blood tests. She would cry for hours and all I could do was to ask for God to bestow His mercy on my child. I felt helpless for not being able to comfort her in any way. Life felt like a deep and dark pit of agony and despair. Her seizures eventually subsided, but she suffered global developmental delays. As her treatment was progressing, another shocking news rattled our family. Our son Asher, who was having speech delay and behavioral issues, was diagnosed with high-functioning autism at the age of three. We were on the verge of losing hope; life felt too overwhelming for us as new parents. No one could understand or feel the pain we were going through. We felt lonely and miserable. However, this period of loneliness and the painful days of motherhood brought me closer to God; His Word provided solace to my weary soul. His promises, which I was now reading with a deeper meaning and fuller understanding, encouraged me. Spirit-led Penmanship It was during this difficult season of my life that God enabled me to write faith-filled and encouraging blogs for people going through challenges and suffering similar to mine. My articles, birthed from my daily devotions, shared the challenges of special parenthood and included my life experiences and insights. God used my words to heal many aching souls. I am truly grateful to Him for turning my life into a useful vessel for His love. I would say that the despair of our daughter’s sickness solidified our family’s faith in God. As my husband and I ventured onto the unknown path of this unique parenthood journey, all that we had to cling to were the promises of God and the faith in our hearts that God will never leave nor forsake us. What once appeared like heaps of ashes began to turn into beauty of strength as God extended His grace, peace, and joy to us during the most heart-wrenching and dark season of our life. In the loneliest moments, spending time at His feet brought us renewed hope and the courage to move ahead. Answered Prayers After years of treatment and unending prayers, Athalie’s seizures are now controlled, but she continues to have a severe form of cerebral palsy. She can’t talk, walk, see, or sit by herself and is completely dependent on me. Having recently moved from India to Canada, our family is currently receiving the best treatment. A substantial improvement in her health is making our lives more colorful. Asher is out of the spectrum, and he has caught up completely on his speech. After many schools had initially rejected him because of his inattentiveness, I home-schooled him till grade five. Though he shows a few traits of ADHD, by God’s grace, he is now enrolled in grade six in a private Christian school. He is a book lover who shows a unique interest in the solar system. He loves learning about different countries, their flags, and maps. Though life is still filled with challenges, the love of God is what makes us parent our children with love, patience, and kindness. As we continue to embrace the hope we have in Jesus and travel through this unique path of special-needs-parenting, I believe that there are times when we have answers to our prayers right away, and our faith works and produces results. In those times, God’s strength and power are revealed in what He does for us—the sure answer to our prayers. On other occasions, His strength continues to shine through us, enabling us to endure our pain with courage, letting us experience His loving mercies in our difficulties, showing us His power in our weaknesses, teaching us to develop the ability and wisdom to take the right steps ahead, empowering us to tell stories of His strength, and encouraging us to witness His light and hope amidst our challenges.
John Taylor was in his mid-50s when he came home one day from a game of golf and shared with his wife a strange pain he had begun to experience in his hands. He was soon diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a rare form of cancer that would slowly reduce his athletic body to mere skin and bones in a span of just 20 years. As the illness grew in strength, part of his tongue was removed; he couldn’t speak or eat, so he was fed directly through a tube. Though I had trouble understanding what he was saying, I enjoyed his company very much. He had a great sense of humor, and Anne was a beautiful cook, so I ended up spending many evenings with the family. In 2011, at the height of his illness, John, who belonged to the Church of Wales, expressed his desire to become a Catholic like his wife Anne! On Christmas Eve, a Mass was held for him in their living room. At the time of Holy Communion, I poured a little jug of the Precious Blood through his tube directly into his stomach so that he could celebrate his First Holy Communion. It was one of the most extraordinary First Holy Communions I've ever seen and one of the most beautiful Christmas Eve of my life. The memory of that day and that blessed couple still reminds me of what I am doing as a priest—bringing the Incarnation and the Precious Blood of Christ to the world. During his last days, John bled profusely every morning, so Anne had to repeatedly change his bedclothes. It was extraordinary—while John’s state reminded me of the crucified Christ, Anne was configured to the Virgin Mary who stood by and took care of Him in His passion. We buried Anne last year, more than a decade after John’s passing. Jesus said the Saints would shine like stars in the Kingdom of God; now, with two more, the night sky is brighter.
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