Christmas is a time of family traditions, of gathering together, of sharing intimate rituals of gift-exchange, food and cheer, of exchanging stories that forge memories that shape us. In every family, Christmas is birthed anew with the presence of the new generation, as we take the opportunity to relive memories and create new ones through the eyes of our little ones.
Indeed, in my own family, it was my children who taught me the true meaning of Christmas. My first child was born just weeks before Christmas, her birth traumatising, her first days complicated. When you’re not sure if your child is going to live or die, that first scream after birth remains a memory of hope conquering fear.
But sometimes, a scream is not enough to dispel darkness, and in those weeks, I learnt not just about how fine the line is between life and death, but of what stuff I was made of. Motherhood is not the idyllic picture of Madonna and Child, nor parenthood the joyous tranquility of the traditional Maltese crib.
Exhausted from the ordeal, on Christmas Day that year I managed to go to church with my child, grateful for the miracles I had received. Little did I know that I would relive this drama of life with all my children; and share it with many women who experienced way worse.
Christmas is a celebration of the rupturing of certainties, of being reconstituted through their shattered fragments by letting oneself go in God’s hands. Christmas is knowing in one’s soul that God-is-with-you… because if he weren’t, I would have perished.
As the raging abortion debate goes on, I cannot but remain silent. I know doctors save mothers’ lives. They saved mine with every pregnancy. I know doctors save children’s lives. They did with mine, and not just at birth. We are grateful to the medical profession for saving lives.
But pregnancy, birthing and the months after, are not just about making your way out of the uterus in one piece. And perhaps that is the dimension being lost in the noise between the ‘camps’, that – ironically – seem to agree that heartbeats are necessary, but personhood and dignity assume a voice. For choice – the whole point of voice – is what makes us persons: beings in relationship who act freely.
Indeed, true freedom is caring for one another through our responsible actions. And as we care and love, perhaps our children above all, we also acknowledge life’s limitations, as at one point or another, death is inevitable.
But our discourse is now shaped by complexities where what saves us is not God, but technology. And what saves us also shapes us, and in shaping us, technology risks robbing us of much dignity. Quoting Romano Guardini, Pope Francis spoke of this danger in Laudato Si’ (108), the encyclical that reminds us that only God is Lord of life: “Technology tends to absorb everything into its ironclad logic, and those who are surrounded with technology know full well that… ‘in the most radical sense of the term, power is its motive – a lordship over all’. As a result… our capacity to make decisions, a more genuine freedom, and the space for each one’s alternative creativity, are diminished.”
What saves us also shapes us, and in shaping us, technology risks robbing us of much dignity
Christmas celebrates genuine freedom and creativity, the fullness of life emerging in the midst of ruptures. May this spirit of childlike resilience guide our journeys, personal and as a people.