I
immensely enjoy listening to the local FM station that provides a continuous genre of
Christmas music which began the day after Thanksgiving. I was captured one morning last week when I pulled from the garage and playing was the song; “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Then Jason, my son-in-law mentioned the song, last Sunday, in the introduction of his sermon. I’ve been familiar with the song for I don't know how many years, yet couldn't
remember the last time I heard it. But I've notice, at various times, and for long periods during the day it seems to be stuck in by head. With kids jingle belling/and everyone
telling you/”Be of good cheer,”/It’s the most wonderful time of the year. I
caught myself humming the tune, repeating phrases of it silently and at other
times out loud. I still am curious as to
the psych of it all but feel uplifted as if it truly is the most wonderful time
of the year.
On The
other hand, I'm thinking that for too many individuals I hang around with at
the shop or coffee shop, Christmas seems anything but wonderful. I think of my best friend, maybe in this world, that has just broken his leg, at seventy three and may spend Christmas day in a rehab center. My humming comes to an abrupt halt when I think of the possibily. In fact, the
joviality, décor, and holiday music played at the coffee shop or other places
of business, I visit, simply seem to strike dissonant chords
because of the memories, emotions, and experiences associated with this
season. I hear stories of sorrow and loss from neighbors, acquaintances,
and folks in general. I suspect some of
these sorrows will mark their tellers' Christmas seasons for the rest of their
lives. An acquaintance told me how he grieves the loss of a loved one from the
violence of a body turned against itself through cancer. Another of the debilitating and destructive
disease of dementia. For them, Christmas
reminds them of yet another empty chair. Then there are others who are experiencing
joblessness or underemployment, numbing loneliness, disappointed expectations,
ruptured relationships, and rejection that twist and distort the joy of the
season into a garish spectacle. I wonder if my outward demonstrations of uplift
celebration this season will introduce an uplifting celebration, as well, or
will friends and neighbors walk away thinking the most wonderful time of the
year seems a cruel mockery? For
all of these, and many others, the Christmas season seems more like the opening
verse of Christina Rossetti’s haunting Christmas hymn, “In the Bleak
Midwinter.”
In
the bleak midwinter, frost wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone.
I sort of sense, sitting here this morning, maybe for the first time in my life, I'm grappling with the realization that all the
excitement, anticipation, and beauty of this advent season can easily be frozen
by pain, disappointment and grief; instead of singing songs of joy, a bitter
moan emanates like the cold, frost-bitten wind. What can I do? How can I fix it? What an awful sense of hopelessness floods my soul!
But not
for long; I begin to think on the facts!
The fact that: Into this world—the world of the bleak midwinter—God arrived. The fact that: He was not sheltered from grief
or pain. The fact that: He descended into a world where poverty, violence, and grief were
a daily part of God’s human existence in the person
of Jesus. The fact that: Joseph and
Mary, barely teenagers, were poor, and Mary gave birth to the Messiah in a dirty barn. The fact that: Herod the Great used his power
to slaughter all the male children who were in Bethlehem under the age of two. The
fact that: Shepherds slept on grassy hills, their nomadic home. The fact that: even
in Jesus’ public ministry, his cousin, John the Baptist, would
be beheaded. The undeniable fact: that Jesus would experience rejection
and eventually die a criminal’s death, with only a few, grieving women
remaining at his side.
I am
convicted this morning, to keep right on celebrating, joyously, reverently, feverously,
humming and testifying to the fact that God is on every scene of this
world—this world of bleak midwinter—God arrives. I'm going to shout the fact that God arrives in the midst of my acquaintances'
pain and suffering, doubt and disappointment, longing and loneliness to make a
home with everyone living on earth, to be alongside us because of “great,
eternal love.”
The gospel of John says to me that God did not stay removed from any
of us or from our sufferings, but that “the Word became flesh and dwelt
among us.” Immanuel, God with us, is here today to be my acquaintances' consolation.
Father, God, I thank You that it is possible for me to celebrate
this season as the most wonderful time of the year. I call on Your Spirit to guide me in my demonstration
of beauty, joy, and celebration by reaching out to those in bleak midwinter,
doing my part, giving my all, sharing my heart.
Amen
