Reflections on An Advent Dialogue with the Sick

This weekend I had the joy of beginning Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Emeritus XVI's short book The Blessing of Christmas.  The first part of this book is An Advent Dialogue with the Sick.  There is such a great wisdom and love in his words that just lifted my heart, so I wanted to share some of it with you.

First, though Benedict XVI is speaking to those who are sick, I found myself thinking of all the ways we can be isolated during this time- those who, like my husband and myself, are far from their families, those who are new to the area and have not built up a community of friends, who are in group homes or care facilities, those who work long or odd hours or solitary work, or who struggle with seasonal depression to name a few.  All of these things can prevent people from being able to share in the joy others feel at this time of the year.  In fact, in one way or another, I would imagine this is something we can all relate to, and he presents Advent as "a medicine for the soul that makes it easier to bear the enforced inaction and the pain of your illness. Advent can help us discover the unobtrusive grace that can lie in the very fact of being sick." [or isolated]

The word "Advent" (adventus in Latin) can actually be translated as "presence" or "arrival" (cf Ratzinger).  Typically that is not the first thing we think of: we think first of the waiting, or anticipation of the arrival.  This lends to a different focus- the word is intended to show in a very real way God's presence and closeness, his love- and the blessing he brings in his presence.  Benedict tells us, "in general terms, when they used this word, they intended to say God is here. He has not withdrawn from the world. He has not left us alone. Although we cannot see him and take hold of him as we do with objects in this world, nevertheless he is here, and he comes to us in many ways."

 

Roger van der Weyden The Visitation



When we are sick, isolated or lonely, we are taken out of the rush and routine of typical daily life, where there is little time- and frankly often little encouragement to reflect and make conscious and intentional choices in our external activity and inner life.  Benedict tells us "When I am sick I am obliged to be still.  I am obliged to wait.  I am obliged to reflect on myself; I am obliged to bear being alone.  I am obliged to bear pain, and I am obliged to accept the burden of my own self. All this is hard."  Yet, this is where the time of Advent can be especially full of blessing and meaning, especially for those who are sick, or who are feeling lonely or isolated for any reason.  Essentially what we are talking about is a visit- a visit from one who knows us and loves us more deeply than we can imagine, and who desires to come to us personally. 

 

In this sense, this time, difficult as it really is, can be seen as an opportunity, and Benedict challenges us to see it this way: "The Lord has interrupted my activity for a time in order to let me be still."  He proposes that it is in the stillness that God is waiting for us, and not only that but USING it.  He says, "we rebel against it, this is not only because it is painful or because it is hard to be still and alone: we rebel against it because there are so many important things we ought to be doing and because illness seems meaningless. But it is not in the least meaningless! In the structure of human life as a whole, it is profoundly meaningful. It can be a moment in our life that belongs to God, a time when we are open to him and thus learn to rediscover our own selves."  [my emphasis]

Myself, I begin to imagine the possibilities for someone who has a long-term illness, or who perhaps has more solitary work, or who has yet to build a community.  I have been inspired by the examples of the saints, and the stories of those who strive still, such as that of Kara Tippets (check out her blog at http://mundanefaithfulness.com/).  Benedict poses this question... "If I learn to accept myself in these days of stillness, if I accept the pain, because the Lord is using it to purify me- does this not make me richer than if I had earned a lot of money? Has not something happened to me that is more durable and fruitful than all those things that can be counted and calculated?  I hope I can remind myself of this when I'm fretting because I'm home by myself for a few hours on a Saturday morning because my husband is proctoring a test, or when I wake up at 2:45 am with back pain.  It is a moment, an opportunity I have been given, and He is there, waiting. 

I won't say this is true in every case, but often I have noticed that when a person is chronically ill, or feeling lonely and isolated, small gains, good days, little gestures of genuine friendship, become a beacon of light, and a moment to celebrate.  These memories also remain, and they have the ability to sustain us in the hard days when we are not feeling consolation.  They remind us of the truth that we are loved, that we are not really alone, and that there is good.   

 

Benedict ends with a great challenge, and a reminder:
"Perhaps we should try an experiment.  Let us understand the individual events of the day as little signs God sends us.  Let us not take note only of the annoying and unpleasant things; we should endeavor to see how often God lets us feel something of his love.  To keep a kind of inner diary of good things would be a beautiful and healing task. 
The Lord is here.  This Christian certainty is meant to help us look at the world with new eyes and to understand the "visitation" as a visit, as one way in which he can come to us and be close to us."

**If you are interested in reading the book yourself, here is a link: http://www.amazon.com/Blessing-Christmas-Joseph-Cardinal-Ratzinger-ebook/dp/B003UNLARG