Christmas comes early?
I do not know if it is I am becoming older and more cranky, but Christmas 2021 seems to be upon us already in November—it is not even Advent yet. In the United States, the national celebration of 'Thanksgiving' towards the end of November seems to slow down the advertising juggernaut that we are seeing daily on our screens in Britain and Ireland at the moment. Come 'Black Friday' our American cousins will be sharing the same onslaught: together we will be told what we need and must have to make Christmas that extra bit special.

There is no doubt that Christmas 2020 went down in history as the 'quiet one'. Covid-19 lockdowns and restrictions made it very different for everyone in our part of the world. Office parties had to be cancelled and care and physical distancing had to be observed at Midnight Mass. All the festive traditions that we associate with the typical family Christmas had to be placed on hold. In spite of what certain newspapers and some anti-vaccination activists would have us believe, Christmas 2020 was not cancelled—it was simply celebrated in a quieter way, with lack of fuss and crowds. While we were unable to call on friends for the Boxing Day drinks, many of us came to have a much clearer and positive image of what the feast of Christmas was about. We came to appreciate and value that small family unit with whom we were celebrating with. We realised that we did not have to spend thousands of pounds and visit countless homes in order to have a 'Merry Christmas'!

Due to health issues, I was unable to take my summer break with my family during the normal time. However, my recent autumnal holiday was brilliant. New protocols had to be followed: I could not just simply arrive on a family member's doorstep and catch up. Emails and phone calls had to be made to ensure that they were comfortable with such a visit. Covid-19 has certainly forced me to be more considerate and think of the needs of those I perhaps have taken for granted. Does my old school friend, with a cancer diagnosis, really need a visit from me, when we can reminisce very well over zoom? My recent holiday was certainly very restful as I was able to re-connect with my ancestral home and walk, once again with our donkeys, my beloved Millie and Milo.

I suppose the biggest thing I noticed about this autumnal break was the fact that it got dark much earlier. Weather allowing, during the summer, we could be able to sit outside watching the sun set in the western sky over Croagh Patrick at 11pm! Roasting marshmallow s'mores over the fire pit made it that bit more special, especially since the younger family members did not have to be in school the following day. A holiday in Mayo in November does not give you that luxury. However, I was able to see the rich tapestry of colour that the woods offer at this time. This annual autumnal kaleidoscope offers a chance to reflect on change, and the overwhelming beauty of the natural world. The dark nights allowed me to gaze on the Milky Way, so often shielded by light pollution in more populated areas. I never fail to look up to those stars and think of Michael Winstanley singing, with such emotion, 'Vincent' by Don McClean—Michael's gentle interpretation never fails to move me. Looking up at the 'starry, starry night', I realised that this night sky offered hope and challenge. McClean wrote his 1971 hit after he had read a biography of the Dutch artist, Vincent Van Gogh. The singer-songwriter was inspired by the evocative 'Starry Night' painted by Van Gogh; it led him to reflect on the gift of his unusual artistic style that still inspires to this day. Sadly, that style that gave us 'Sunflowers', 'The Potato Eaters' and 'The Siesta' was not appreciated during his lifetime. Penniless and prone to deep bouts of depression, he shot himself in July 1890. It is such a pity that this deeply gifted man saw suicide as his only way out. His brother, Theo reported his last words, "this sadness will last forever." McClean captured that deep melancholy as he writes in 'Vincent':

Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget

Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now, I think I know what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will.

Looking up to the vastness of the bleak Mayo sky, those stars offered beacons of light and hope. I am especially moved by Van Gogh's 'Sorrowing Old Man (at Heaven's Gate)'. It shows a seated man with his head in his hands—one can almost feel his sense of hopelessness. It was painted shortly before his death while he was in a treatment facility. Critics have long speculated that this was a type of self-portrait, with Van Gogh trying to express his deep inner feelings. It is interesting that this work is also entitled 'Worn Out'.

There is no doubt that this pandemic has left so many of us feeling worn out. We rightly clapped for the NHS workers on our doorsteps last year, but it could not make up for their care and service. They are still worn out by the demands of this virus—yet people still choose to ignore the need to mark up in public. Some have become very vocal about their right not be vaccinated, while emergency wards are stretched, and ambulances are parked up unable to answer urgent calls. We can show our appreciation and care towards these NHS heroes by taking a vaccination, as we have been urged to by Pope Francis. As we move towards Christmas 2021, we need to look up to the starry night sky and look for those symbols of hope in our darkness. Perhaps it is right that we anticipate Christmas with a sense of fun and energy, but we must never lose those insights we gained only last year when life was so much simpler.

In my walks with Millie and Milo, I learnt a great deal about the need for kindness in our world. A cruel world could not see the beauty and originality of Van Gogh—in his despair, suicide was the only way out. You will meet so many beautiful people today. To the public eye they might seem very alive, but behind the smile, there could be suffering and pain that you will never know. It is all too easy to point the finger and condemn. Each of us have had to react to the pandemic in our own ways—ways that help to keep us sane and very much alive. Please be gentle and please be kind: make Christmas 2021 be remembered for all the right reasons. In our scripture readings for Christmas, we will hear of the exotic Magi and simple shepherds looking up to the night sky and finding hope, and answers to their questions. It was in the darkness that they found the ultimate light that would guide them forever.

I am thankful for my 'summer holiday' in the depth of autumn, with winter approaching, as it has given me a new appreciation of this wonderful world we share. Things can seem bleak, and we may well be worn out. The world turns and even Covid-19 cannot stop that onward march towards a future. Darkness has its purpose too, as Victor Hugo writes in 'Les Miserables':

'…even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.'