Christmas

I’m used to telling a Christmas story each year. It was a part of the 11:30 service at our church for many years. I tried to find stories that were relevant and somehow fresh to go alongside the familiar and ancient story of the birth of Jesus. One of the problems of being a pastor and a storyteller is that pastors know a lot of stories that aren’t theirs to tell. We are told the real stories of the lives of people. Some of what we know has been gained from confidential conversations. Other stories we know simply don’t belong to us. Telling someone else’s story is never the right choice unless permission has been granted or some authority has been given to tell the story.

I’m not sure that this is a story that I would have told in church, but it is a story that I have been granted permission to tell.

I served seven years as a Sheriff’s chaplain towards the end of my active career as a minister. I got into the chaplaincy through the back door in a way. I had been providing support services to persons who experienced the loss of a loved one to suicide for many years and through that process had met and spoken with a lot of Sheriff’s Deputies about their experiences of being first responders to scenes of tragedy and loss. I realized that the deputies themselves were survivors of trauma and suicide and were in need of support and care. Thus I became a chaplain.

In that role I met a young officer who was married to another officer who worked in a different area of the Sheriff’s Office. They experienced the tragic death of their son. The death was probably caused by a congenital heart condition. The two were well trained in CPR and were able to transfer their infant to the care of paramedics and he lived through an emergency life flight to a hospital 350 miles from their home. However, death came to their family. They were able to gain some consolation from the process of organ donation. The Sheriff’s Office rallied around the couple, but their journey of grief has been really tough since that loss.

As chaplain, I walked with them through the funeral for their son and checked in with them during the following weeks. I was there with a treat when they returned to work after the funeral. Etched in my mind was a conversation that I had with the mother’s father at the lunch following the funeral. He said to me, “These are my kids. Take good care of them.” I responded, “I’m one of the oldest persons serving with the Sheriff’s department. Most of these officers are younger than my children. I think of all of them as ‘my kids.’ I’ll take care of them as best as I am able.”

In the time since those sad days, a lot of changes have taken place. I came to the end of my work with the Sheriff’s Office and retired. The mother applied for and was accepted for service in another area of the Sheriff’s Office. There have been plenty of tears. The first Christmas was tough for the couple. Friends from the Sheriff’s Office decorated their home. They just didn’t have the energy or desire to decorate. There were other tough days, but they were there for each other and the community of the office was supportive of them.

When a pastor retires, one of the ethical requirements is that the pastor move on and cease to offer pastoral services to those who the pastor served prior to retirement. This is to create space for the new pastor to form important relationships. A similar practice is expected of chaplains who retire. There are new chaplains in the department and the care of those who I thought of as “my kids,” now has passed to other hands.

Still, I keep up with FaceBook, and continue to read the news from the department. I know that this Christmas there is a new baby boy in that family. I can only imagine the mixture of feelings that those parents must be going through. Fortunately, they gave themselves time to grieve after the death of their son. They also were there for each other and able to keep their relationship strong during trauma that sometimes forces couples apart. And now they have a new life in their family to celebrate and nurture. I know, however, that they are even more intensely aware of how fragile this new life is. All new parents have occasional fears about their children. They check on them as they sleep and make sure they are breathing. They wake in the night and have to go check again. They do everything they can to make their home safe for the new little one. This must be even more intense for this young couple. The next couple of years will be especially hard for them. Their son may have to grow quite a bit older before they will be able to relax.

Then again, I’ve never completely stopped worrying about our children and they are grown with children of their own.

Knowing how fragile and how precious life is makes love even more powerful. We know that our time together is finite. We all will one day die from this life. Each of us will experience the death of a loved one. Grief is part of what it means to be human and to love.

On this Christmas morning, I celebrate the birth of this little one. I’ll probably never meet him face-to-face. I’ll probably never get to hear the full story of his birth. But I know that this child, like the Christ child, is a child of God. I know that this child, like the baby in the manger, is a miracle of God’s grace and love. I know that his story gives me hope and peace and joy. I know he is welcomed with love.

Christmas has come. Alleluia!

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