There is an episode that comes to mind this time of year. I don't remember the title, or even the season. If you're also a fan, you'll recall the episode. It's Christmas, the 4077 is putting on a little Christmas party for Ouijambou families, and a soldier is brought in, mortally wounded, shot to hell. While Hawkeye, BJ, and Margaret look at his inside-out chest cavity, one finds a photo of the unnamed soldier and his young family back home. Determined not to let that family have Christmas be the day remembered as the day the soldier died, the trio set about to keep the man alive, fighting the clock, blood loss, and Death.
Hawkeye, in another episode, personified death as his personal enemy, yelling over a dying patient, "No, you sonofabitch, you can't have him yet," trying to hold death at bay. In that episode it worked. In this episode, BJ, with a young daughter of his own at home, takes this one personally, going to extraordinary, heroic measures to temporarily save the unknown husband and father - just for a few more hours.
But, finally, Death wins the duel. People say they want to stop time; they needed it to speed up. It didn't, and the soldier died, shortly before midnight on Christmas. It would forever be the family's curse. So Hawkeye, grim, opens the clock face and moves the hands ahead 45 minutes or so. "We'll, whaddayaknow," he says with a fatigued voice. "He made it." Margaret, wiping blood off her hands, comments on falsifying a death certificate - something she never would have done in the civilized world. I forget if it was Hawkeye or BJ who then said something about there is nothing in the war that is normal, but at least the family of the soldier can have Christmas.
Chances are, you know someone like that soldier's family, who lost a loved one at or around Christmas. While all around, Andy Williams croons how wonderful this time of the year is, for those folks, it is heavy with memories, sadness and loss. There may be Joy to the World, but for those families, it's the silent night - not the holy night, mind you, but the absence of a loved one's laughter, singing, and presence - that hurts. Elvis sang about having a blue, blue Christmas without you. He gets close, but there's too much bounce, too much lilt in the song - especially with the doo-wop singers in the background.
May I offer a word of encouragement to you, dear reader. If you know someone who is having a blue Christmas, who mourns the death of a loved one, whose mother or father, husband or wife, son or daughter, will never again - this side of heaven - laugh with the kids opening presents, or offer to help make Christmas cookies, or carve the ham, or hang the star, or do whatever else he or she did as part of the family story, then may I encourage you to pick up a phone - or better yet, stop by - and spend some time with them.
People say, "I don't want to make them sad." You won't. They're already sad. That's why they need you. They need you to be present and, for a moment, help speed up time as they wrestle with death's curse. That is what it is, you know - sin's curse against man. It is the last enemy to be defeated. While God uses it as a means to take us from the suffering in this world, it is still not what His original plan was to be: life, joy, and peaceful union between God and man.
People say, "I don't know what to say." Start with this: "I've been thinking of you and imagine this is a difficult time. Could I spend some time with you?" Then, listen and visit. Don't dominate the conversation with idle sound-and-space-filling chatter. Silence is ok. They may need to warm up a bit to the idea. I had a lady tell me once, after a family member suddenly died, "I have nothing to say." I told her that was fine, and I just sat and sipped my tea. After a few minutes, she started talking and she didn't stop for an hour. Finally, realizing it was dark outside and we had spent that much time, she chuckled, "I guess I did have something to say."
Then, open a Bible to Luke 2 and read verses 1-21, the Christmas narrative. Or, better yet, let them read it. Remind them of the reason Jesus came - His name means "Savior," after all - and His birth into humanity was to rescue it. Remind them of the Resurrection, that sin, death and the devil met their match in the Bethlehem Boy and His victory is eternal. Remind them that even Mary knew sadness and loss - Jesus was her son, and she watched Him die. But, while sadless and sorrow remain in this world, they are not forever. There is hope, promise, and - yes - joy even through tears because of Jesus.
I'll be visiting with a family tonight whose dad died last week. They purposely planned the funeral before Christmas for that reason. That in their loss, there will still be the joy of Christ's birth to look forward to, and that, then, is a reminder of an even greater new birth they will receive when He returns.
That scene in the MASH hospital ends with Col. Potter entering, holding the last pieces of the homemade fudge that BJ's wife, Peg, sent for Christmas. The three, joined by Mulcahey who had pronounced last rights, found a small taste of joy in their shared experience and love for each other. With the soldier's blood still on their clothes, they toasted each other with the fudge and a bit of a smile: "Merry Christmas."
"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, that you may overflow in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13
Merry Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment