The best Christmas Movie, Mothering Sick babes, and Our lady of guadalupe
Last night, while taking turns holding a feverish 2 year old, Brian made the executive decision— let’s watch Joyeaux Noel. It’s one of our favorites, a 2005 film depicting the Christmas cease fire that occurred during World War I. As we sat in the dark, a rosy cheeked bundle sleeping on Brian’s chest, I again was struck by the beauty of human life, seeing the humanity and suffering of main characters from each side of the war. The film awoke in me a deep yearning for peace, understanding, goodwill among men.
Add this beautiful film to your list!
As a sidenote, this was on Gaudete Sunday— Rejoice Sunday. Not necessarily the appropriate movie for the occasion, perhaps, but interestingly enough, at mass earlier that morning O Come O Come Emmanuel was sung in all 7 verses. Somehow, with dyamics and and artful expression of the hymn, the masterful organist was able to make me realize something I have never noticed in this steady, minor song— over and over again the refrain rings out, ‘Rejoice! Rejoice!’
And I was rejoicing until the final verse. It took me by surprise, as it seems no one ever gets to verse 7 and I have forgotten that last of the O antiphons, the great titles of Jesus coming at Christmas. Come, Desire of nations. I was overcome by some sudden, strong emotion. Tears spilled over onto my cheeks as I looked down to avoid eye contact on the side aisle with those inevitable persons who were swishing past in coats and hats, often enough multiple children in tow and so thankful our church typically sings every verse. Words caught in my throat and I couldn’t finish the words:
O Come Desire of Nations bind, in one the hearts of all mankind. Bid thou our sad divisions cease, and be thyself our king of peace.
Now, as I read over this, I don’t have the same striking reaction, and I guess that is why historically, the church has spoken of the ‘gift’ of tears. It is a gift. This same yearning. I’m not sure why it struck me so deeply in that moment. I could laugh it off as pregnancy emotions. But, if so, then I can see why the church speaks of the feminine genius. It wasn’t just random emotions— these emotions were ordering me toward greater contact with reality: the reality of our world’s desperate need for a Savior. Deeper vision into the human condition and the necessity of the mercy of God to step in and fill the gaping holes of our charity and all of the places it seems impossible to have unity: between countries, ideologies, political divides—even within our own families. This same vision and yearning for unity was then was brought again to the forefront in watching these soldiers, in the climactic scene, slowly, cautiously emerge up from the trenches. YES! Arise! Do not be afraid!
I cannot imagine the sheer relief of this moment. In the film it begins by hearing the other side playing Christmas carols. One side plays a carol and then the other ‘answers.’ Soon enough, a lone tenor soloist from the German army begins to sing ‘Still Nacht.’ In a display of risk and betting on the goodness of men, he slowly rises out of his trench while singing. Becoming more emboldened, he takes a Christmas tree and walks deep into no man’s land. Fully vulnerable. Fully trusting. Fully human.
After this there is a temporary ceasefire called by the upper military officers and the touching moment occurs. From each side, men slowly arise. Overcoming fear, they arise with the promise of safety, even though the other side is now right in front of them. To lay down one’s weapon. To look at the faces and eyes of ‘the enemy,’ and to see staring back at you the same fear, the same hopes, the same loves. The sheer relief of one moment of feeling safe amidst the hellish anxiety of having to be always on guard. To stop and be a human being again.
Am I not here, I, who am your mother?
Rolling over in a foggy daze. What time is it? Oh yes, there is still a hot little body cleaving to my back as I lay on my side towards the outside of our king bed. It is a king bed, but as of right now I have 10 inches, max, to which I have been relegated by Vincent’s need to not just be next to me, but to be really next to me. There is a towel haphazardly placed under his naked legs, as inevitably (after giving him as much liquid IV as he would drink—strawberry drink, as it is known around here) he awoke surprised, “I’m peeing!” and those darn pull ups really are not quite absorbent enough. The pediatric nurse in me is just relieved he is still having adequate urine output, the greatest indicator we are doing just fine, even if his body is burning up. The background thoughts of mom, always watching, vigilant, carrying the ultimate responsibility for this child’s well being.
The empty ibuprofen syringe lies on my black, iron bedside table next to two water bottles, a pair of glasses, a temporal thermometer, and my alarm clock. The alarm clock, gifted from my always thoughtful dad, projects the time in red on the ceiling, a feature which you never knew you needed until you’re up with nursing babies or sick babies or whatever other children are waking you up at whatever time. Now, at the very least, you know it is 1:15 am when Vincent is writhing around, likely close to 105 degrees, and the dose of said ibuprofen is not due until 1:45 at the earliest.
As I held and rocked and cuddled this sick little buddy the next morning, our Lady of Guadalupe’s words were in my ears. I felt just a sliver of the dignity of this role of mother, as I intuited in my presence with my own sweet child the ability to say what she had said. ‘It’s okay. I’m here. Mama is here.’ She had appeared to a peasant, Juan Diego, asking him to go to the Bishop and have a church built. To complicate matters, Juan Diego’s uncle (who was more like a father to him) became deathly ill in the midst of these exchanges, and thus, Juan did not go back to the place Our Lady requested where he should meet her. Nonetheless, she appeared again to him as he tried to avoid her, ashamed he had missed this ‘appointment’. She said this time, “Listen and understand, my littlest son, let nothing frighten or afflict you or trouble your heart… Am I not here, I, who am your mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection?”
This feeling of safety, of being taken care of, being nurtured. The shelter and love we are seeking. It is this we must experience first before we can overcome our fears. It is this love we must experience before we are able to be vulnerable, which takes courage. The moment of vulnerability and courage of coming up out of the trenches was preceded by the promise of safety. But where does this intangible feeling of safety come from?
When we are fed a warm, delicious meal around a joyful table. When a person takes you in while having a conversation—truly interested in what you have to say. For me, one vivid time of this feeling of safety and calm (besides the myriad of examples of my own mom!) was when I visited the Nashville Dominican sisters for a week long discernment retreat. The beds they gave us were simple, yet in the simplicity was a certain cleanness. I couldn’t describe it. White linens. A white cotton blanket. A small desk, perhaps. Every day laid out before you in perfect order. And in some intangible way, it was as if I could feel the care and prayers of the sister who had made my bed, who was making my meals, who was softly singing— the quietest angel at their mysterious and sacred candlelit night prayers. I will never forget it. I was very tangibly being mothered by these religious sisters. I could stop, rest, receive. I was taken care of.
“The woman’s soul is fashioned as a shelter in which other souls may unfold”
Women, who are all made to be mothers in one capacity or another, whether through natural means or spiritual motherhood, are shelters in which others can rest and receive the love they need to carry on. Our emotions and yearnings for peace among all people, our desire to bring unity to a situation. Women in their fullest development are meant to bring with them a sense of confidence, warmth and safety, which is completely necessary to the human being, very obviously in childhood, but also throughout the rest of life. What a privilege to be a woman and mother, enabling others to overcome fear, be vulnerable, and receive love!
Our Lady of Guadalupe spoke to Juan Diego, but it is a comfort to me that not only have I been charged with the tremendous responsibility and honor of mirroring her in my own motherhood and life as a woman in the world, but I also can count on her maternal care for me.