As we move into the new year—how can it possibly be 2020?!—this poem by Howard Thurman, an African-American theologian, educator, and civil rights leader, seems to be the perfect jumping off point for reflection:
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and the princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart.
As I reflected on this poem over the past several days, the proverbial light bulb suddenly switched on in a brain that's been dimmed by the too-muchness of Christmas. The "work of Christmas" of which the poet speaks is what we do every day as we parent children (and adult children) with disabilities.
We not only find the lost, we scoop them up and make them a part of who we are. We love and care for those the wider community would turn away from without our emphatic, daily shout: My child has beauty! My child has worth! My child has purpose!
We heal the broken. As parents of children with various disabilities, we are ministers of Jesus's healing power. Each time we bathe our child, help him dress, change the sheets, lug the wheelchair into the car, listen carefully to decipher what she is saying; our hands, hearts, and voices bring God's healing love. Sometimes that healing is physical, sometimes it's emotional, sometimes it's spiritual.
We feed the hungry. Sure, all parents feed their hungry kids. But for some of us, this is something we will do—cutting up food, pureeing food, guiding the spoon to the mouth—for the rest of our lives. We also serve spiritual food to people far beyond our family circle as we care for and love these beautiful children God has given us.
We release the prisoners. How? I think we do this by helping others see our child's inherent value and dignity. The world is imprisoned in the way it views vulnerability, wholeness and brokenness. Our lives speak the message that ALL life has value.
We rebuild nations. According the the Washington Post, "In Iceland, upward of 85 percent of pregnant women opt for the prenatal testing, which has produced a Down syndrome elimination rate approaching 100 percent." Parents of children with Down syndrome are rebuilding nations as they witness to their children's value, worth, and dignity, as their children grow and advocate for themselves. We can, and do, make a difference in turning these numbers around.
We bring peace as others watch how we live our lives as families where disability is present. As they read our funny, quirky posts on Facebook. As they read about our struggles and how our faith helps us through those struggles. As they sit next to us in church and watch with wonder as our children worship with abandon. Those around us see that the peace of Christ is not peace as the world knows it, but a much deeper, uplifting, and necessary peace in the midst of struggle.
We make music in the heart simply by being who God created us to be; as we accept our children for who God created them to be. One of my favorite Scriptures, from Zephaniah 3:17, shows the source of that music in our hearts: Adonai your God is in your midst— a mighty Savior! He will delight over you with joy. He will quiet you with His love. He will dance for joy over you with singing.
Yes, the Christmas decorations are put away, and the new year has come. But the work of Christmas is still going on in our homes, every single day. Jesus came in the flesh to show us the way forward in this daily work of God. Alleluia!
(The poem “The Work of Christmas” is from Howard Thurman’s The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations).
Kathy is a spiritual director, author, and co-owner, with her husband, of Cloudland, a contemplative retreat center outside of Oxford, Ohio. The mother of 3 sons, 1 daughter-of-heart, and 1 grandson, she also enjoys writing middle grade fiction. You can reach her through her website, kathleenbolduc.com.
