I’d been feeling glum as I got to church. But then the parish secretary approached me and asked for my help.
She needed four strong men to carry the Crib from the social center at the back of the church, all the way around the main road to the front door.
It was an immediate tonic. I said I was her man. Or one of four of them. I didn’t mention my bad arm which made lifting difficult.
We all gathered after Mass in the back room to pick up and haul what was a large nativity display. A wooden box with a glass front, with the figurines of the Magi, and the Shepards and the Holy Family, bubble wrapped inside. It weighed a tonne.
We lifted it, then with jokes and huffing and puffing backed it through the doorway, along the corridor and out onto the street.
It was at about the time we reached the sharp right turn that the talking stopped. The box was tough on the hands, and walking backwards didn’t make it lighter. I could feel the ache in my left arm getting stronger.
But then as we approached the front of the church, where the display would go, we heard “rejoice in the Lord” being sung quite happily, as the jokes restarted.
After we lowered it into position by the doorway there were manly handshakes all round on a job well done. I had a sudden urge to stick around and fix things, or clear gutters. There should be rejoicing and feeling useful. But I also needed coffee. And a bag of ice for my sore arm.