Joy to the World!

My wiper blades scraped against the icy windshield, sparkling with the reflection of inflatable reindeer dotting the front yards in our small northwestern Ontario town. The snow was falling gently in Dryden as I made my way down quiet streets to the local hospital. It was Christmas Eve. In just a few hours the church would be full of all ages, as children dressed in bathrobes and angel wings retold the familiar manger story. In the charged silence of that space, one voice, with trembling lips, would begin singing “Silent Night, Holy Night” while hundreds of faces, illuminated in the flicker of a candle’s flame, waited to join in.

It would be a particularly difficult Christmas in this remote northern city, in light of the devastating layoffs at the local pulp and paper mill. Unemployment coupled with ongoing economic uncertainty made it difficult for many to “Deck the halls with boughs of holly” even though “tis the season to be jolly” or to declare boldly, “It’s the most wonderful time of year” telling everyone to “be of good cheer.” Even Max the Moose, our town mascot, looked a little forlorn in the deep, dark cold of winter standing alone on Highway 17, his big eyes and silly antlers pleading for someone to stop and lend a hand. No, for many in this one-industry town, this Christmas would have a decidedly low-key feel. As I went about my preparations for the evening services, I had one more stop to make.

The parking lot at the hospital was almost empty by 5 p.m. on Christmas Eve. I stepped out of the car and crossed over icy ruts where cars were parked earlier, oil leaks mixing with fresh snow leaving dark smudges on Creation’s canvas. Through the swirl of snowflakes, a pale blue “H” appeared in the distance and a red sign brighter than Rudolph’s nose declaring “Emergency” stood just a few short steps away. The motorized doors opened with a swoosh as I strolled through the empty waiting room, pausing for my usual chat at the nurse’s station while checking the roll of reluctant patients. A singing Santa was perched upon the countertop beside hand sanitizer, coffee cups and medical charts. The next hour was spent visiting room to room, passing out candy canes and making sure that those who could not be in church were comforted and remembered. Mindful of the time and needing to get back to open the church doors and crank up the heat, I paid one last visit to a quiet corner room where one of our longtime members was losing a battle with cancer.

Several Christmas cards dotted the room and a small poinsettia plant was perched precariously on the windowsill. “Merry Christmas!” I said as I walked into the room and pulled up a chair at the bedside.

“So it is!” said the congregation member, a warm smile on her face. After a brief discussion regarding her latest medical tests she moved the conversation back to the holiday. “This will be my last Christmas,” she said with a hint of resignation. We sat in silence for a while. “All those Christmases gone by are dear to me you know,” she said with determination.

“Tell me about them,” I replied.

For the next few minutes we traced her life history from early years through marriage and raising a family to widowhood and these final days. “Pastor.” She paused as the wave of memory rolled over her. “This year I need Christmas more than ever… I need our hope in Jesus.”

She shifted her weight uneasily in the rigid hospital bed and said, “Even like this I am still ready to celebrate Christmas, you know. I am sorry that I can’t be in church tonight. I’m going to miss the carols especially.”

“Which carol is your favourite?” I asked as the setting sun moved behind the horizon through the frosted hospital window. “Joy to the World!” she replied eagerly. And then in a move I did not expect she asked, “Would you sing it for me?” My first thought was that I was glad it was a private room!

“Sure,” I replied, stalling in an attempt to remember all the verses. Clearing my throat I began the familiar words: “Joy to the world! The Lord is come! Let earth receive her King. Let ev’ry heart prepare Him room, and heav’n and nature sing…”

By the time I reached, “He rules the world with truth and grace” both of us were singing in hushed voices and tears were welling up in her eyes. There was nothing more that we needed to say. I placed a candy cane on her side table, kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the room. Even now, years later, I can still remember the sound of my feet moving from the squeaking polish of the hospital floor to the crunch of snow on sidewalk outside, the howling winter wind swirling all around and almost whispering, as if in prayer, “The wonders of His love, the wonders of His love…”