The day the Christmas Child came to me

Hope and encouragement from an unexpected source

Sister’s Christmas card is like no other.

At Mass this past Sunday, December 22, I was feeling sad, for a number of reasons.

First, I was frustrated with myself. After foregoing traveling to visit family for Christmas due to needing to stay home and work on my Father Louis J. Twomey, SJ, biography A Priest in Good Trouble, I had failed to make as much progress as I had hoped. The quality of my writing was what I wanted it to be, but it was looking like another one-chapter month, when I needed to be doing two-chapter months to stay within my means and make my publisher’s deadline.

I was also feeling sad because I recently learned from my apartment’s manager, who is my point of contact with the owner, that I’ll likely have to move in early 2025, as the owner plans to sell. Since I’m unable to drive, my options of where I can live are limited.

But most of all, despite having told myself that I was perfectly happy with just going to liturgies during Christmas and not seeing people, I was feeling sad because I was lonely, far from family, and without opportunities to see friends (most of whom are away for the holidays).

As I prayed, my thoughts turned to Buddy Harrison, who used to attend Sunday Mass at my parish but was gunned down in September 2022, in what appeared to have been a martyrdom in odium fidei. Buddy was like a modern-day St. Dismas combined with St. Francis of Assisi. An ex-con, he had turned his life around and gave himself over to accompanying and helping the poor, particularly inner-city youths, whom he trained at his boxing gym. Whoever killed him or ordered his killing apparently wanted to put a stop to the good work he did, which was fueled by his deep Catholic faith.

I never had the opportunity to meet Buddy, but I attended his funeral, and his life and story touched me deeply. So, while I was there in the pew at Sunday Mass, in the church he loved (as you can see in the video tour he recorded of it), I prayed for Buddy’s widow and son, and asked his intercession. The prayer brought tears and I felt close to Buddy.

Several hours later, I was working on chapter four of A Priest in Good Trouble (yes, I realize it was a Sunday; no, it is not “servile work”) when I checked my email. A message had come in from a priest I didn’t know; the address at the bottom of his email was a parish thousands of miles away.

The priest wrote that he had been giving pastoral accompaniment to a nun who was a survivor of sexual abuse: “She is on her healing journey now. I’ve accompanied her from the day she came to me for help. I’ve introduced her to your books and talks.” I knew which books he meant: My Peace I Give You: Healing Sexual Wounds with the Help of the Saints¹ and Remembering God’s Mercy. “She’s been benefiting tremendously from them,” he added.

This nun lived in my area, the priest went on: “I know she would be very happy to hear from you, if possible: a visit, a phone call, a card … .”

I called the priest immediately; of course I would meet Sister! He was thrilled and arranged with Sister’s superior for me to visit her the very next day.

The convent was one that I had never visited before. I had to take a train, followed by a bus, and then walk. When I arrived, the nun’s superior met me first and we spoke for a bit. She told me what the priest had told me, and filled in some gaps. I learned that this was a nun who had suffered terribly. Although she was receiving professional help, it was the spiritual help that she had received from my books that had enabled her to turn the corner and begin to heal.

Although the healing that was described to me was dramatic, it’s not unusual for me to hear from readers of My Peace I Give You and Remembering God’s Mercy that my books helped kickstart their journey of recovery from trauma. What really moved me in this case was hearing about how this nun had seemed unreachable until she learned about my books and talks. Something in my story had touched her and opened her life to grace. I have a special love for people who are living celibacy for the Kingdom, because of the depth of their gift of self to God. Whenever I learn that my work has helped someone in that state of life to find greater peace in Christ, it is a tremendous validation.

Finally, I was introduced to the nun I had come to see. I had been afraid that she might cry, but she didn’t. She was totally joyful. For two years, she said, she had been praying that we might meet.

The nun told me about how the priest who was her spiritual director—the one who had contacted me—used to meet with her, back when they were both stationed in the same city, and he would play for her my videos where I speak about healing from the wounds of child sexual abuse. Those videos, and my books, she said, gave her hope that healing was possible for her as well.

One story that the nun told me made a particularly deep impression upon me. She had read in my memoir that I sometimes prayed at a certain local church (not my home parish). Just the day before—Sunday, December 23—she was in that very church for a Christmas concert. But, she went on, she wasn’t paying attention to the concert; she was looking around in the hope that I might be there. And she prayed again that she might meet me.

I told the nun about how, on the very day that she had been praying, I had been praying for healing from the sadness and loneliness that I had been feeling this Christmas week. And I also told her how I had been feeling frustrated over not being able to write as quickly as I wanted, and how I had felt brought down by the challenges of trying to support myself as an author.

So, I explained to the nun, it wasn’t just her prayer that was answered. It was my prayer too. She had given me a great gift in meeting me and letting me know that my writings made such a difference in her life. I told her that without doubt, if I had a choice between (1) living a comfortable life without anxieties over employment or housing but also without the opportunity of being an instrument of God’s healing, and (2) having those anxieties and being that instrument, I’d choose the life with anxieties.

This dear sister helped me believe, if only for a day (though I hope longer), that God keeps me on a short leash for a reason.

The photo at the top of this post is a handmade Christmas card, mixed media on wood, given me by the nun who has changed my life. I do feel that the baby Jesus has visited me this Christmas and has enabled me to visit Him in his beloved sister. He has given me a needed encouragement that this work that I am doing in writing A Priest in Good Trouble will bear the fruit that He wants it to bear, in His time.

I also believe that Buddy Harrison was indeed praying for me. That leaves me to wonder whether, if I am given the opportunity to write another biography, it will be of Buddy or of the other life that interests me, Father Martin Royackers, SJ. (I would probably do a much better job with Royackers, but somebody should tell Buddy’s story.)

Merry Christmas! Thanks so much to all of you who are supporting or have supported my writing, whether with funds or with prayers. Praying for you and wishing you all the blessings of the season, in His love.

1. As an Amazon Affiliate, I earn a commission from purchases made through Amazon links such as this one.