It is certain to be the longest night, tonight. Let’s honor it, shall we? Let’s sit in the darkness and feel the tensions. They are so very present in our world. They are so present you can hear them like howling wolves starved for meat and heat. You can feel them vibrating on your skin like deep, bass notes stroked longingly and slowly over strings held taunt. They pound in our hearts and minds. They wake us in our sleeping and disturb the sweetest of dreams. The sadnesses of our world cannot be ignored even in the midst of what is billed as the happiest time of the year. We work hard to honor what is good. (And how we must daily tend that which is balanced and healthy and happy.) But let us not grow blind to the shallowness of our living that keeps us focused that which will never last or heal or bless.
It is a dark night in a dark time. Christmas is as lost as we are. We have forgotten the simple elegance of a starlit stable where humility and love and grace arrived unobtrusively. Don’t you think God came to us that night in that way to show us how simply wholeness can be? We need so much less than we think. We need each other more than we know. We need to stand together in the darkness and remind each other that we are not alone. Jesus and Mary and Joseph were not alone in that stable, for we were all there with them. We were there in the shadows hoping for what we could not name. And we stand here still, here in the shadows questioning our pain and purpose in this life.
Sometimes, it is most worthy to journey outside and look into the face of the dark sky. We need not think or pray or promise. We need only to lift our faces toward the heavens and breathe. We can stand present to all that has been, all that is, and all that will be and accept it as gift. That’s what I imagine took place in that stable birth. Like that sacred family, we can open our hearts and accept what is given with grace and with love. (And yes, these words come to mind… If God is for us, who can be against us?)
Tonight, let us gather in the darkness and trust with one another that we are finding our way. The darkness is teaching us exactly what we need to know to find the light. Or maybe it is teaching us that the light is always within, simply waiting for us to recognize it.
It is a dark night in a dark time. Christmas is as lost as we are. We have forgotten the simple elegance of a starlit stable where humility and love and grace arrived unobtrusively. Don’t you think God came to us that night in that way to show us how simply wholeness can be? We need so much less than we think. We need each other more than we know. We need to stand together in the darkness and remind each other that we are not alone. Jesus and Mary and Joseph were not alone in that stable, for we were all there with them. We were there in the shadows hoping for what we could not name. And we stand here still, here in the shadows questioning our pain and purpose in this life.
Sometimes, it is most worthy to journey outside and look into the face of the dark sky. We need not think or pray or promise. We need only to lift our faces toward the heavens and breathe. We can stand present to all that has been, all that is, and all that will be and accept it as gift. That’s what I imagine took place in that stable birth. Like that sacred family, we can open our hearts and accept what is given with grace and with love. (And yes, these words come to mind… If God is for us, who can be against us?)
Tonight, let us gather in the darkness and trust with one another that we are finding our way. The darkness is teaching us exactly what we need to know to find the light. Or maybe it is teaching us that the light is always within, simply waiting for us to recognize it.
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