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PDF versionA new meaning for the manger
by Melissa Musick Nussbaum on Dec. 12, 2011
In my memory, the Arnett aunts, my grandmother's sisters, are all dressed in pastels -- suits with jeweled pins on the collars -- and wearing hats and kid gloves. A patent leather handbag hangs over each aunt's arm.
There was a rhythm to the attire (suits, hats, gloves, nylons, heels for Sundays and family gatherings) and to the conversation. My father would always inquire after their health.
And one of the aunts (in my memory, it is always Nell Ruth) would place her gloved hand on my father's suit sleeve and say, "Honey, we have problems no lady can discuss."
As I grew older, the memory of that exchange made me smile. It made me smile until I realized I had become an Arnett aunt (albeit one dressed in packable, washable knits and leather flats for Sundays and family gatherings.) I realized it when a friend climbed into my car and had to move a bowel prep kit in order to sit down.
I've had two bouts of an ongoing, and increasingly, bothersome problem this fall. I will have surgery in the winter. Honey, trust me, it's a problem no lady can discuss.
To enter the ranks of the Arnett aunts is to acknowledge one's age. To acknowledge advancing age is to acknowledge weakness, and to acknowledge weakness is to acknowledge death. I'm not being very good about it.
I don't want to answer the phone and explain (again) how I'm feeling (like death warmed over, as my mother would say) or what I need (to have the phone line cut.)
I never want to see or taste another clear liquid, unless it is served in a martini glass and garnished with an olive.
I do not want to be in bed.
I want to be in charge.
When my daughter came to the house to check on me because I wasn't answering the phone, I believe I told her, in response to an act of human kindness on the part of a woman with many and varied and pressing responsibilities, "You're gonna drive me crazy." I saw quick tears fill her eyes and I watched as she suppressed the urge to explain toward just what I was driving her.
I realized as she left the house that it was the gradual (one hopes) turning over of authority, with my children caring for me rather than I caring for them, that pains worse than the physical problem. One can be excised. The other must be borne.
That's what I'm thinking about this Advent season each time I pass the crèche. There is the bed of straw, ready for the baby to be placed inside on Christmas Eve. I have always seen it as a crib or bassinet, that happiest of beds, made up with the highest of hopes.
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Now I see it as a sickbed, that place from which we hope, and long, to rise. The one who lies in a sickbed must relinquish power and privacy and will. The one who lies in a sickbed must accept the care of others.
"No, you have to drink this. Take this. Get up and walk. Lie down and sleep. Let me look. You're going to feel a deep burn. This will sting. Let me know if this hurts." They are orders given kindly, for one's own good, but they are still orders.
I wonder again at God-made-flesh, at the One who created the universe, the One who raised the mountains and filled the seas, lying prone and helpless on a bed of barn straw. Did he know he was helpless to clean himself, that he had to wait for someone to notice the dampness and the odor and come to his aid? Did he know that he could, and would, eat only if someone heard his cry and responded? Did he know he would eat only what others chose to feed him? That he could change positions only if someone chose to move him? Did he know that he would be taken up without consultation and removed to Egypt, a land of his own making, but not, in his weakness, of his own choosing?
We reflect in Lent and during Holy Week on the debasement of the cross, but what of the humiliation of the crib? I wonder again that the Lord of the Universe would, in his coming to earth and his going from it, share all our deaths, all the little ones leading to that final breath, the last closing of our eyes.
Now I learn I need a second surgery. This problem, while inconvenient, is not urgent. That surgery will have to wait. I will have to live with the discomfort while I wait. I am being taken to a country I do not know, a country I did not choose. I am a stranger there. But Jesus goes with me. We will cross the border into Egypt together.
[Melissa Musick Nussbaum is an NCR columnist who lives in Colorado Springs, Colo.]
This is simply brilliant.
This is simply brilliant. Thank you.
This is beautifully written
This is beautifully written and presents a perspective that I have not seen expressed in words before, but used to think about as a child. When I was very young, I could not understand why a baby just born in December could be all grown up and murdered a few months later in March or April. And I yearned for a way to rescue the baby before anything bad could happen to him.
I've enjoyed your books.
I've enjoyed your books. Wonderful medication, thank you. I, too resist what I call the 'changing of the guard.' My heart aches especially for those who have no one to whom to hand the reins. Sally
Being a caregiver and a
Being a caregiver and a person who is recognizing her own signs of 'aging', i have to applaud you for such a beautifully written piece! It is truly inspired and timely. Thank you!
Thanks for your article. I
Thanks for your article. I don't mind the pain or broken bones as much as the loss of independence. A really different and interesting approach for a feast I have always loved like a kid.
Thank you, Melissa. An
Thank you, Melissa. An enlightening reality oriented way of seeing. My prayers as you continue the journey.
Melissa, your poignant
Melissa, your poignant reflections call to mind the most ancient images of the Nativity, from the fourth and fifth century Hellenistic world, in which the infant Jesus is depicted totally bound up, like a cocoon, in swaddling cloths (not "clothes," but strips of cloth tightly wrapping his body), with only his head exposed. He is lying alone in the animal's feed trough, with only the ox and the donkey gazing at him. I always see this image, far more than our later "traditional" representations, as capturing the meaning of Jesus sharing fully in the depths of our humanity, and his invitation to find him precisely in that which binds us and makes us food for others. Thank you so much for sharing your journey with us. Fr. Tom Welbers
I love this.
I love this.
Thank you. I thought I was
Thank you. I thought I was the only one in the world getting old. Now I know there are two of us.
Yes I seem to know the
Yes I seem to know the feeling well now recently. I have had health issues for many years and dealt with them on my own, with the doctors and of course Jesus help also. But even at the age of 55 many things are happening that shouldn't be. I am heading into tests to find out exactly is going on. If the final answer is what I have been thinking it might be I might be facing the same issues as you. My own children could never take care of me if I got ill and needed care. My son already wants to put me away now with being able to fully take care of myself. I sure am thankful that I serve a God that will watch over me and take care of me no matter what the outcome is.
This hit me exactly on the
This hit me exactly on the target I needed to hit but could not. Thank you and thanks to the HS.
Thank you Fr Tom Welbers. I
Thank you Fr Tom Welbers. I recall having that Baby in my Manger Set as a child. Ah ha, now it makes sense....
This expresses so well, the
This expresses so well, the Humility of the Incarnation.
What a wonderful description
What a wonderful description of the journey we all must take - from the womb to the tomb. I, too, remember the depiction of the infant wrapped as in a cocoon. That is the way I wrapped our own babies. My mom said that the baby feels protected that way. I thought they looked like 'tamales.' But I followed my mother's direction and raised our seven children. Now I too am heading towards my own mortality and hopefully, my new life in the Lord. Thank you for giving us this beautiful image.
Stunning insights. At age
Stunning insights. At age 80, I find many of the the weekday Mass bunch equally mature, and now I will look at the messages of illness and loss of "control" that often go with aging in a new and different, more hopeful light. A journey with Jesus into Egypt.
Thank you Melissa and Fr Tom
Thank you Melissa and Fr Tom for your rich insights.As I have my birthday on Christmas Day, your reminders of the paradoxical strength of being bound and powerless as I come to accept the loss of my former 'perfect' me, are a precious gift.
Thanks for this reflection -
Thanks for this reflection - in fact thanks for a great reflection!
This "hit the nail on the
This "hit the nail on the head" for me. Here I am at age 80 with my right wrist in a cast and a variety of aches and pains, as well a lot to be thankful for. I happily remember the words of a dear activist friend, "I just want to make this time in my life count for something." Old age is a challenge but thankfully, we are in God's hands.
Norma
Melissa, Thank you so much
Melissa,
Thank you so much for that wonderfully truthful article! I especially loved your final sentence,"We will cross the border into Egypt together!" I think at some point, it's a crossing we each have to make! It is so encouraging to truly believe we don't cross alone.
"To acknowledge advancing age
"To acknowledge advancing age is to acknowledge weakness, and to acknowledge weakness is to acknowledge death. I'm not being very good about it."
Neither are the people in these studies:
http://watchdocumentary.com/watch/dont-grow-old-video_5d757cd63.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8498233.stm
Like Dylan Thomas said:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377
MANGER = from the French TO EAT.
"I never want to see or taste
"I never want to see or taste another clear liquid, unless it is served in a martini glass and garnished with an olive."
Sounds like MAXINE who's "Aging Disgracefully" over on CRABBY ROAD:
http://www.hallmark.com/online/maxine/crabby-road/
The best medicine is your
The best medicine is your advice. When my wife of forty years died the illness came on suddently, and the cure was devastating and worse than the disease. But even in her short time of adjustment to being dependent, she kept her patience and never complained. It is not easy when you have been in charge to graciously let others do for you. She did retain the hope of becoming self sufficient again. I see the opposite now when I tend to my grandson aged two and a half. He will let me or his parents help him up to a certain point, but then he needs to take over. "My turn, I do it." He will ask help when he needs it but only up to the point where he can act independently for himself even when it is hard work. Thanks for your words. They are powerful.
I found this article
I found this article eloquently written. As a hospice nurse, it was a joy to read and ponder such a unique view! You have a true talent of sight. Many blessings!
Yes - thanks for the
Yes - thanks for the beautiful meditation. I will be thinking of you through the Christmas season. Somehow old age seems to just happen quickly - a friend said "like falling off a cliff" after a relatively healthy and active life. But we keep on doing our best and, yes, it is hard to see the pain in the eyes of our children as they see us getting old after having been the providers. God bless you.
We are "passing the torch"
We are "passing the torch" this year...both Thanksgiving and Christmas festivities have been (& will be) planned & hosted by the "younger generation"...it's difficult to sit back, appreciate, watch, & be served instead of being "in charge".
My mind keeps echoing the passage about putting on a belt and being lead where you don't want to go...
Melissa,thank you for sharing
Melissa,thank you for sharing your life experiences. You continue to bless me with your articles. This one is particularly touching, as I share some of the same physical problems. Also I am now 76 years and have passed the torch to the younger generation. Gayle and Pam are now (with the brothers and wives) planning family get-togethers and holidays. It has not been easy to share the responsibilities with them...difficult to hand over the reins. However, it gets increasingly easier to be led to the most comfortable chair, have drinks and food brought, watch the great-grandkids play, and hold the newest baby. Makes life very worthwhile.
You and Martin and family are in our prayers. You have been missed in Amarillo. Blessings and prayers for good health.
Madolyn Gutierrez
I am nearly 80 and yes, it is
I am nearly 80 and yes, it is hard to become helpless. I read about 100 year olds going paragliding and I want to choke them for being still healthy. I never thought I controlled much (Obama doesn't need my input) but at least I controlled my own body. That was the last frontier and it has been crossed. Let us pray for each other.
Wonderfully and beautifully
Wonderfully and beautifully written. At 82, however, I take much pleasure in watching the younger generation at the Christmas, Thanksgiving, retirement parties that they have planned and organized, and they bring me treats and drinks and whatever, because I know that their Dad and I did a damn good job, and through them we have left God's good green earth in good hands.
Deo Gratias!
Beautiful! Poignant! You have
Beautiful! Poignant! You have a wonderful gift in your ability to use words. Thank you for sharing and blessings to you on your journey.
Beautifully written! I live
Beautifully written! I live and work in a L'Arche community where we are reminded daily of the frailty of it all. Your Advent meditation simply added a helpful rift for our daily meditations!
May you be blessed with peace
May you be blessed with peace and courage, Melissa, on this difficult journey. Thank-you for sharing this spiritual and life-affirming story. You will probably never know how many of us have smiled and been touched by it.
Beautiful Melissa, quite
Beautiful Melissa, quite beautiful and true, yes so true.
Your reflection on care
Your reflection on care giving and getting are important. We all need both. I recall well the care giving to me whenever I needed it (e.g. Mom, my Wife, health care givers). A supreme recollection I have of myself is when I played the role of care giver for my Wife who had a reversible colostomy for about 3 months. I set and reset the colostomy since it was in an awkward location whereby my wife couldn't self serve. My wife raised our 4 daughters as I worked, did the food shopping and family transporting, but she did the diaper changing, tear wiping, etc. Mother Teresa, the Maryknoll priest in Tanzania (January,2012 Maryknoll "In Touch" note) and many who help the helpless are wonderful hands of Christ. The manger reflection shows that God put on a human life in the Incarnation and we can be forever grateful for that. Thank you. Peace of Christ.
As always beautifully
As always beautifully written, and my thoughts and sympathies go out to you...but why the heck are you going to Egypt?
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