Years ago, an old friend was dying of cirrhosis back in New England. In "real life," he'd been restless, flighty, evasive, tormented (as is so often true of alcoholics, he was also handsome, charismatic, talented, funny, and smart).
He was lying in a hospital bed and I could hardly believe he was alone and the snow was falling gently and that I could sit quietly by his side. People who are dying lie still and are approachable in a way that live, healthy people almost never are.
Christ allowed himself to be that poor--Flannery O'Connor entitled one of her stories "You Can't Be Any Poorer than Dead."
And in the dying he allows us to sit with him, to talk to him, to pray with him, to touch him, to eat him.
|astro burger/Christmas star|