Christ Came Differently This Christmas

I am grateful for the many cards and letters I received from the community after the death of my father. It is an unusual joy to be part of a Christian community during difficult times. One of the things I noticed in the notes I received was how many of you have similar experiences, especially in the last few years. 

These shared journeys remind me that we are all fellow travelers on life’s path, guided by a Savior who walks beside us and supported by a community that embraces us. In that context, I debate whether to share my own personal experiences. I do so, not suggesting that I am unique in some way but because we all are part of God’s story. Perhaps some aspect of my story may speak to some who wish to read. With that in mind, I offer my thoughts on a unique Christmas for the Baker family. 

We left for the Christmas holiday early to be in Phoenix, where my mother was scheduled for surgery. She had been diagnosed with a hiatal hernia several years ago. The doctors had tried to manage the hernia because of the risky nature of the surgery that would be needed to fix the problem. Any surgery is difficult for a person who is 87, but this one could prove very challenging. 

My mother likes to be punctual and it was a 35-mile drive to the hospital so I arrived with my daughter and son-in-law (Rebekah and Joseph) and we picked her up a little after 6 a.m. for the trip to the hospital. We arrived in plenty of time and waited until she was taken into preoperative care where we turned her over to my sister Deanna. We left for an early morning run in the desert and then returned to the house to get dressed and pick up Ruth. My mother was not scheduled to be out of surgery until 11 a.m. 

We arrived back at the hospital in plenty of time and joined a larger group of family in the waiting room. My brother Keith and his wife, Amber, had also come by this time. Our mother finally came out of recovery and was assigned a room where we began the process of encouraging her in the recovery process. Our former board chair, Steve Tatone, had told me that one of the blessings of serving family members in the hospital is that you are forced to slow down and simply wait – wait on the doctors, the nurses, and other caregivers as the entire group focuses on getting your loved one back to health. All you do is pray, reflect and wait. 

Unfortunately, the first two days did not go well. We went home around 8 p.m. on the first night and she had not been able to take anything by mouth. My sister stayed overnight with our mother and her condition grew steadily worse over the next 15 hours or so. Her vitals were not good and she still had not taken anything by mouth by the morning. We learned from the surgeons, following a series of new tests, that the stomach was not functioning. An emergency surgery was required if she were to survive. My mother had high hopes of being home for Christmas when this process started, but we all knew at this stage that would not happen. 

The emergency surgery took two hours. The surgeon came out to see us and said he thought he had repaired the stomach and it was now a matter of time before we would know if her body would again begin to function somewhat normally. This time she went straight to intensive care unit. We visited briefly until visiting hours ended and then we went home knowing that she was in the hands of excellent nurses and doctors. 

I returned early the next morning with my brother Keith and although the sign suggested “no visitors” the nurses allowed us in. My mother was on a respirator and under sedation. She appeared to be asleep. It is hard to know what you really can do when your mother is surrounded by machines and dozens of attachments. You pray for sure. We wondered, despite her condition, if she could hear what was going on. We noticed as we sat in the room that our mother’s hand began to motion to us. Her fingers reached out and then closed. It was obvious that she could hear and was asking for our engagement. For the life of us, we could not figure out what she was saying. "Mom, what would you like?" Her hand kept moving, motioning for us to do something, but we did not know what that might be! 

On the very quiet drive in that morning I had listened to the radio. I heard one of my favorite Christmas carols, O Come, O Come Emmanuel. For some reason, the song spoke uniquely to me while I drove and it came again to me as I watched my mom wave her hand. I thought to myself, I wonder if she might like to hear this song and so I began, 

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel
that mourns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel
shall come to you, O Israel.

O come, O Wisdom from on high,
who ordered all things mightily;
to us the path of knowledge show
and teach us in its ways to go. 

O come, O come, great Lord of might,
who to your tribes on Sinai's height
in ancient times did give the law
in cloud and majesty and awe. 

O come, O Branch of Jesse's stem,
unto your own and rescue them!
From depths of hell your people save,
and give them victory o'er the grave. 

O come, O Key of David, come
and open wide our heavenly home.
Make safe for us the heavenward road
and bar the way to death's abode. 

O come, O Bright and Morning Star,
and bring us comfort from afar!
Dispel the shadows of the night
and turn our darkness into light. 

O come, O King of nations, bind
in one the hearts of all mankind.
Bid all our sad divisions cease
and be yourself our King of Peace. 

While I sat in ICU, I looked up the history of this hymn and had not realized it was an ancient hymn, probably developed in the early Medieval period. I continued to read to my mother, “Mom, did you realize that O Come, O Come Emmanuel  was part of the Church’s Advent liturgy?” Her hand waived, which said, at least to me, “Yes, read more.” On each day of the week leading up to Christmas, one responsive verse was chanted, and each included a different Old Testament name for the Messiah!  As the Church sang each verse they acknowledged Christ as the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy. Although we live in a not-yet Kingdom of God, we sing and invite Christ to come again and perfectly fulfill his promises . . . Her hand beckoned more. The words of the hymn bring great hope to all – Give your people victory over the grave, make safe for us the heavenward road, dispel the shadows of the night. She later told me that this song and its lyrics were just what she needed at the moment. 

When I finished, her hand just kept waving which I interpreted as “Please give me more of the same.” Since there was a sign that said “no use of cell phones”, I asked the attending nurse if she minded if I played music. She replied, “By all means, music can be healing.” The website I was reading had a link to a song I knew and I decided to play it: Simon Khorolskiy's version of “O the Deep Love of Jesus.” Simon’s deep baritone voice began, “O the deep love of Jesus, vast unmeasured, boundless, free, rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!” Wow, as he sang, pictures of the ocean moved across the screen with waves crashing over the rocks and onto the shore. My mother’s hand “danced” with the music and she beckoned the words continue . . . 

Underneath me, all around me
Is the current of His love
Leading onward, leading homeward to
Thy glorious rest above

Oh-oh the deep, deep love of Jesus
'Tis a heav'n of heav'ns to me
And it lifts me up to glory
For it lifts me up to Thee

Oh-oh the deep, deep love of Jesus
Spread His praise from shore to shore
How He loveth, ever loveth
Changeth never, nevermore

As the song came to a close, my mother’s hand rose and closed in a fist as if to say “Yes, the music reaches my heart.” In the midst of a great trial, the only thing that was reassuring was indeed the “deep, deep love of Jesus . . .”  It is mysterious but ever-present. It comes when you most need it. His love promises embrace and like the mighty ocean, it continued to surround my mother in those moments. 

Playing music and reading the lyrics of hymns seemed like such a trivial thing at the moment, but to my mother, it was the strength of God at a pivotal time. I have been amazed over the past month by how God speaks in ways that are unexpected but he clearly speaks. He spoke to my mother through song and he also spoke to me. 

It took several more days in the hospital, but the good news is that my mother is home and recovering. There will be more challenges to come but we are assured that in all circumstances his love embraces us and “changeth nevermore.”   

If Christmas is really about the presence of Christ (which it is) then he came this year in a quiet ICU room in Scottsdale Arizona.