Thursday in the Fourth Week of Advent, December 24, 2020

I was not able to write an article for December 23 due to illness.  It was a recurrence of problems I have with my tumor, but I am better now.

Luke 1:67-79

Zechariah his father, filled with the Holy Spirit, prophesied, saying: “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; for he has come to his people and set them free. He has raised up for us a mighty Savior, born of the house of his servant David. Through his prophets he promised of old that he would save us from our enemies, from the hands of all who hate us. He promised to show mercy to our fathers and to remember his holy covenant. This was the oath he swore to our father Abraham: to set us free from the hand of our enemies, free to worship him without fear, holy and righteous in his sight all the days of our life. You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins. In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

This is the Gospel for the daily Mass of December 24, not for the Christmas Vigil Mass.  It consists largely of the Canticle of Zechariah the priest, who uttered it on the occasion of the circumcision and naming of his son, who would be known as John the Baptist.  Zechariah had been deaf and mute for the entire time of his wife’s pregnancy as a result of his lack of trust in God’s power.  All these months he meditated in silence upon the mystery revealed to him by God through the vision of an angel.  Now able to speak, he pours forth a hymn that is part praise of God and part prophecy.  Reading it, we catch some of the wonder that filled him at this time.

Sometimes people will say, at this time of year, that it just does not “feel like Christmas”.  Adults say this.  They may attribute this lack of feeling “like Christmas” to the weather, to growing older, and to rampant consumerism, and these contribute to this lack of feeling.  The main problem is that over time the events of Christmas are no longer fresh to us, and we look elsewhere to recapture the wonder we felt for them when we were children and we began to learn about them.  Certainly, we are not helped by the world, which has reduced the meaning of Christmas simply to another paid day off (for some people) as has happened to Memorial Day or Veterans Day.  For all that, dedicating ourselves to prayer, fasting, and alms-giving and making daily meditations on the long ago and long-awaited coming of our Savior helps us.  Also, reading about present day miracles helps us too. 

My sister and I spent time there in the mid to late 1980’s as live-in volunteers at the Gift of Peace in D.C., at the time a hospice for AIDS patients run by Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity.  We washed, cleaned, fed, and kept company with the patients, and spent many hours with them when death was near.  

As we know, D.C. summers are hot and humid.  One year while we were working at the Gift of Peace, the month of July broke records.  The heat was especially bad in the hospice because the patients were terrified of air conditioning — which they thought would bring on pneumonia, leading to death.  Consequently, we did not use air conditioning and we kept the windows shut.  On a particularly bad night, one of the men who was alone in his room was unable to bear the heat anymore and called for the night volunteer, who hustled into his room.  This volunteer was Mike, a young, strong-looking guy, a devout Catholic, who was finishing college and had volunteered since he had come to D.C. for school.  The patient, Jerry, had become very frail due to the ravages of the disease, but had worked as a truck driver before getting sick.  Jerry begged Mike to find a fan for him.  Mike told him he would look around, but he did not remember every seeing a fan in the building.  He looked all over, even knocking on my door to see if I had a fan.  Finally he gave up.  All he had been able to find was an old wreck of a fan we kept in the room one of the auxiliary bishops used when he came to visit.  We really should have thrown it out long before.  It was probably a fire hazard.  So Mike went back to Jerry and sadly explained that he had not found a fan anywhere.  Jerry was really suffering and Mike felt badly for him.  The sweat was pouring down his face and arms and his pajamas were stuck to his skin.  

While Mike was fanning Jerry with a magazine, the young woman, Melany, who was watching the women downstairs that night appeared in the doorway.  As in the case of Mike, she had also volunteered for the past few years.  Mike jumped when he saw her, and asked her why she had come up, as it was against the rules for the volunteer on duty to leave their charges alone.  She ignored the question and told him that if Jerry was hot, he should bring the fan in the bishop’s room for him.  Mike gave her a look.  “You know that thing has never worked,” he reminded her.  “Don’t you remember we tried to get it going a few weeks ago?  It doesn’t work.”  Melany insisted that he go fetch the fan, and then Jerry began to plead with him too.  After a bit, Mike shrugged his shoulders and went down the long, dark hallway to where our rooms were and he returned a few minutes later with the fan.  This was a small fan that could be set to oscillate.  You could see parts of the motor from little windows in its casing.  Not only was it plainly broken — some of the wires inside were cut — but you could see rust on it, too.  So Jerry came back and stood in front of Melany, as though daring her to tell him to plug it in.  When she did, he plugged it into the wall and stood next to it.  The fan did not even twitch,  Mike said, “See, I told you — ”  And then, in that moment, he absently turned on the fan’s switch, and the blade began to turn.  In another moment, it was blowing full blast.  Mike could not believe it.  He looked at the fan all over and tried the three different speeds.  There was no reason for it to work.  Mike looked up to ask Melany what made her think of the fan, but she had already gone.  Jerry was feeling relief and a broad smile broke out on his face.  The air was still very hot, but at least it was moving.  Within half an hour, Jerry was asleep.  

That morning, my sister and I met with Mike and Melany down in the vast kitchen for breakfast before we took over for the day.  Melany was a little late coming in.  Before she did, Mike was regaling us with the story about the fan and making himself out as a meathead for not trying the fan earlier.  And then Melany came into eat.  She sat down at the table with us and poured some cereal into a bowl.  She looked tired.  Mike was grinning at her, though.  “You really should not have come upstairs like you did last night, but I’m glad you did.  Jerry slept all night.”  Melany sat in front of her bowl of cereal with her long dark hair hanging down over it.  “What are you talking about?” she asked.  Then she lifted up her head a bit and started to eat.  “Last night.” said Mike, “You broke the rule and came up and saw that Jerry was too hot to sleep, and you made me get that broken down fan from the bishop’s room for him.”  She shook her head.  “No I didn’t.  I was downstairs all night.  One of the women was throwing up all night and I had to stay with her.  What are you talking about?”  Mike sat back in his chair for a moment and then told the whole story from beginning to end.  When he had finished, we all sat silently for a few minutes until Melany suggested, “Maybe it was an angel.”  

Let us remember to wonder and marvel this.Christmas at all God has done to show us his love.  Oh, Mike and Melany married about a year after the incident with the fan.