The God of small things

 

Towards the end of 2008 Fr Michael was diagnosed with motor neurone disease. Even for someone who has spent the best part of his life reflecting on the human condition, Fr Michael still struggles to make sense of his illness. In a series of articles he reflects theologically on what it means to be ill.

 

Suffering from motor neurone disease has had a catastrophic effect on my life. But (this has surprised me) it is not the major disabilities that upset me most; what makes me sad is the loss of small thing.

 

Of course, I deeply regret the ways in which my life has become so limited. I can no longer walk, drive a car or go on holiday. I need help in practically every aspect of my daily routine. Taking services in church has become a struggle; I have had to give up many practical aspects of church life.

 

The loss of my ability to do these and other tasks that were once routine is, of course, deeply felt. But such disabilities have crept up on me so slowly that I have found it surprisingly easy to come to terms with them. Indeed, I have often found ways to adapt and to compensate for such things.

 

What I find more difficult is the loss of small thing. I can no longer hug my wife or help with the cooking. I have had to stop eating jellybabies as they are likely to get stuck in my throat or 'go down the wrong way.' My fingers are too weak to change the channel on the television. One of the most upsetting things was when I had to have my wedding ring cut off because my hands had swollen (the ring has now been enlarged and is back on my finger).

 

These are things that I know I have to cope with. Does my Christian faith help? Yes, of course it does, but not in the way you might expect.

 

It would be easy to say (rather piously) that the gift of faith offers a wonderful compensation for the things I have lost. I might no longer be able to thump out a hymn tune on the piano, but I can still be uplifted by the vision of the heavenly host offering its praises to God. I might no longer be able to roll over in bed, but I can rejoice that the resurrection released Jesus from the nails of the cross. I might no longer be able to take part in the little dramas that I sometimes write as parish entertainments, but I will always know that I am not cut off from the great drama of salvation.

 

All these things are true gifts of faith, but I actually find more comfort in less theological places.

 

If I suffer the loss of the small, mundane things of life, I have discovered that there is still joy all around me. There are so many things that I used to take for granted and that, at the time, I hardly noticed. Familiarity bred indifference. I now discover that such things have the power to feed my happiness.

 

I am surprised by the joy I find in the birds and wildlife I see from my windows. I savour my food more than I did in the past (surely, it tastes better than it used to). I find myself more deeply moved by music and poetry, and even the emotions of a trite television play. I am grateful for the opportunity to sit and think without the distraction of a busy life. The value I place on relationships, particularly with those close to me, has become much more important.

 

These are perhaps small things. Perhaps you think they are of little importance. Perhaps you think it rather sad that my life revolves around things of such insignificance.

 

But to me they have opened my eyes to the blessings of God that are found not only in the grand things of life but more often in the details. And that is as valuable a gift as any great theological insight.

 

Fr Michael