CHRIST-mas, 2012
On Sunday, December 9, 2012, in a Primary room geared for Christmas, a counselor held up a candy cane and asked the children what it might represent. Six-year-old Emily Parker quickly raised her hand and, when called upon, joyfully said the following (as best recalled by my wife, who was sitting right behind her): “The candy cane represents the shepherd’s staff. The red on the candy cane represents Jesus’ blood and that He died for us. The white on the candy cane represents that He washed away our sins so we are clean. And if you turn the candy cane around, it’s J for Jesus.”
The adults in the room responded with a collective “wow.” Indeed, although Emily was always smart, what she shared seemed to be not only beyond her age but her usual capacity. Perhaps it was meant to be so, that it was to be so special as to be Emily’s last public testimony of Jesus on earth. Five days later, Emily lost her life in the Sandy Hook atrocity.
Oh, the evil done to sweet, kind, intelligent, innocent Emily! Oh, how it pierced Emily’s mother and father! And the parents and family of the nineteen other first graders and six adults!
Before the instance, Emily and our ward were excitedly preparing for Christmas. After the instance, Emily became the reason why the Newtown Ward did not celebrate Christmas altogether. The senselessness and darkness of what happened seemed to forbid it.
On the following Sunday, a special testimonial meeting was held. Emily’s parents were not able to attend, but perhaps someone closest to Emily there was her Primary teacher. She got up but was so overwhelmed with emotions that she didn’t seem to be able to enunciate words.
Oh, the grief and deprivation and cruelty of innocent death! And how all the more they are when juxtaposed against the promises of joy and peace and love of the sacred season!
Then—those that were able to speak—got up, and, gradually, testimonies were shared about Emily, that all those who knew her knew that she’s loved by her Heavenly Father and her beloved Savior; and about Christ, that all those who knew Him knew that He would make things right for Emily; and about the doctrines of Christ, that pure Emily would be saved in the Celestial Kingdom of God.
And there, as it were, between the contradictions and the dissonant opposites, a person other than Emily came into focus. It wasn’t Christmas’s jolly figure bringing presents. It wasn’t the investigator bringing a sort of closure. It wasn’t the grief counselor bringing tools that could comfort. They all would have been ineffectual. It was, unexpectedly, a wronged, tortured, pitiful man of grief.
But it was this Man who suffered and who suffered so much and who suffered so innocently that offered a way out of irreconcilabilities. It was He who refused to let senselessness be the eventual state of being, so He bore all senselessness. It was He who refused to let darkness cover all, so He propositioned Himself to cover all. And verily, He came into the world to accomplish it, reconciling even justice and mercy, as He, the Holy One and the “Wholly One,” encircled brokenness and became the mend between the pieces.
It’s been ten years since that unforgettable meeting. To me, CHRIST-mas came soundly that strange day amid all our cancellations of Christmas festivities, all our tears, all our consternations—when we noticed Emily in the embrace of the Protagonist of Christmas.
Akron Ohio Stake News 