Does anyone else ever forget that we are not entitled to a tidy Christmas season? Does anyone else sometimes find themselves in the midst of a snarl, or a struggle, or a season they want to wish away, and find this lie niggling in the back of their head:
“But it’s Christmas. Why does this have to happen now and mess up the whole beautiful season?”
Maybe it’s just me, but I realized this week that I somehow expect sin and worry and inconvenience and trouble to take their own holidays while I pause and celebrate the the coming of Christ.
As if that wasn’t the whole point.
As if Jesus wasn’t born because of the trainwreck that is this world and every messy person ever born into it.
As if the sound of our lament can drown out the voices of the angels beckoning the shepherds to come.
As if hundreds of years of prophecy fulfilled in one night isn’t powerful enough to smooth over my worries, big and small.
There is no pause button on the hurts of the human heart. There is no grace period during which we are free from the experience of pain or suffering, of concerns or loss. These things are part and parcel of what it means to live in a fallen world, with unfulfilled longings that leave us grasping for hope and clinging to faith. We have earned no respite from our struggles simply because the calendar says Advent tide is upon us.
On the contrary, maybe December is the month we ought to feel every ache and pain. Maybe this is the time to look inward, and outward, and see the brokenness and sin and selfishness and mourn it the most.
Maybe this season is the perfect one to reflect on what we thought our lives would be like, or what our expectations were in the past, or how deeply our hearts feel shattered, and hold these things in our hands for a bit, shedding a few tears and wondering over the “what ifs” and “if onlys” and “whys.”
Because maybe in doing that, maybe in wrestling with the bumps and bruises we want to blot out with bright lights and tinsel and rousing carols, maybe we create a space in our hearts where the notion of God With Us becomes more real and needful than we could have otherwise have hoped.
Maybe the hard stuff helps. Maybe the sting of rejection, or the heartbreak of distance, the disappointment of perceived lack, or the crush of unexpected tragedy gives birth to something in us that prepares us to receive Christ in a deeper place than the safe, established spot we had set aside for him amongst the cookie baking and decorating and reading of beautiful words by the light of softly glowing candles.
Maybe the hardest Christmases are the best. Maybe the ones where we can’t quite catch our breath before the next wave crashes over our heads are the closest we will ever come to sharing the burden of those who walked for generations without the Light that dwelt among us, the One who is, and was, and is yet to come. Maybe the Advent where we wait with hope and expectation is the one where we feel our lips murmur, “Come, Lord Jesus,” and mean it the most.
If that’s the case, we ought to welcome the messy people and events and moments that thwart our tidy holiday plans. We ought to be happy when the wheels fall off at Christmas, of all times.
No light in the darkness you see
There’s light for a look at the Savior
And life more abundant and free
He passed, and we follow Him there
Over us sin no more hath dominion
For more than conquerors we are
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace
Believe Him and all will be well
Then go to a world that is dying
His perfect salvation to tell
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.
How do your words always hit all the right places? I needed this so much today and shared it with a few friends. You are so introspective and thoughtful, I wish we could be real life friends. Thank you for this blog, I gain much wisdom from it.
Thank you so much for your kind words!