CHRISTMAS EVE–2011
In the midst of food and friends and family–all the delicious things of Christmas— I am reminded that all is not right with the world or with me. Those of us who have now lived over a half century know that although the season magnifies good memories and allows us to see our blessings, it also brings into focus hurts and sadness and those things that cannot be changed or seem an encroaching darkness. To express faith in the God of Christmas while living in such a world it is necessary to also acknowledge uncertainty. Indeed, as I grow older I am more intimately aware of the many things I cannot know, facts once assumed I now cannot confirm. For every joy I hold dear I must acknowledge a suffering; in pursuing beauty I run from the ugly, and in declaring my faith in the infinite loving God who entered space and time I must also concede the possibility that I have deluded myself, that the life I lead is a pointless speck in a dissembling universe.
In former years I simply denied the problem, choosing to revel in cultural moments—the carols, liturgies, and nostalgia that make up our contemporary iteration of the Yule season. But, I think we are called to acknowledge our real joys in the presence of real suffering. I am called to lean into the incoherent dissonance of simultaneously enjoying my grandchildren’s delight in the packages of dolls and trains while other grandparent’s children starve. All of humankind walk between these discordant truths with variable amounts of denial and grief, wondering if discouragement and cynicism are the more honest viewpoints in a world so full of violence and grief; as if to express hope in a God of Mighty Deeds and a Christ that “guides our feet unto peace” commits the supreme act of foolishness.
I am comforted by the Biblical doubts of Thomas and Zacharis as well as an entire cadre of characters who spent three years with Christ and still “did not get it.” These folks wanted so much to believe that there was hope, relief from the suffering and despair that was the world Christ entered. And yet, when confronted with this physical Christ it took them a long time to understand the kind and nature of hope did not remove doubt–why, I wonder should it be different for us? Perhaps this is one reason why the Christ is referred to by Isaiah and Luke as the “Consolation of Israel.” We do not need if we are honest, when confronted by our hurts or disappointments or shortcomings, the certainty of correct answers. Rather, our hearts and souls need consolation. Consolation brings with it possibilities but not assurances; it is a comfort that encrusts our present moment but points to an unseen future.
I have come to appreciate the fiction of Wendell Berry–
“You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out – perhaps a little at a time.’
And how long is that going to take?’
I don’t know. As long as you live, perhaps.’
That could be a long time.’
I will tell you a further mystery,’ he said. ‘It may take longer.”
Jayber Crow
I come to Christmas Eve with hope, but it is a hope battered by doubts nurtured in a broth ripe with current wars, present brutalities and ongoing stupidity. I come to the stable knowing this toxic soup is real but is not the stuff of life and that I am not blameless in its creation. I come knowing I can no longer pretend I or anyone else can mend this rent in our human condition. I come to the stable with dirty, scared, and blood stained hands not because I have answers but because I am fresh out.
I come because I have no where else to turn. Mine is a meager hope but it is all I have.
Come, oh Come Emmanuel
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