We've been reckless, we've been good,
doin' most of the things we should --
but the picture is much bigger than we knew...
- Over the Rhine
Here's what I like about Advent: it puts things in perspective. At all times of the year people get sick, have surgeries, fight with family or spouses, break up with girl or boyfriends, lose jobs, get great news, give birth, feel lonely or frustrated or lost... but it all seems to matter more with the backdrop of Advent and Christmas. Things take on a weight and a poignancy that rarely gets equaled elsewhere in the year.
In this final week of Advent, the Advent Music Project is considering, How do we dwell into this Christmas-tide? My first instinctive response: We dwell into Christmas by dwelling into everything else - especially the difficult stuff -, too.
In our church communities we often have this urge to leave the unruly, disquieting issues of world affairs, broken relationships, and scattered hopes back at the beginning of Advent when in fact, that is exactly what we should bring right into the center of the quiet manger scene. As somebody was observing the other day, that "peaceful" manger-scene we carry in our collective imagination is really a moment of quiet in what's truly been a chaotic, stressful story involving an unexpected pregnancy, discernment in a marriage, travel, overbooked lodgings, and then... labor.
We usually politely ignore this last part of the story, maybe because it's disconcerting to think of Mary not looking perpetually calm and beatific, but I'm pretty sure that was not the expression she wore when Jesus was, you know... "about to emerge." I actually find this rather helpful, since I can get panic and confusion, dismay and even a little fear (let's remember Mary was likely between 13 and 15 years old, after all) ... it's the peacefulness that I sometimes have a hard time embodying.
Last December I worked every single day between Thanksgiving and Christmas managing a book store. There was no "Advent," there was CHRISTMAS... yelled in my ear for almost a month. So I can tell you, my physical and emotional fatigue walking into a late-night Christmas Eve service (the first time I'd been to church that season) was extreme. I had literally been forcing myself to not think about how miserable this month was making me, and suddenly I was in a dark room with people who wanted to sing and think about Jesus... and proceeded to surprise myself by crying during the whole service.
Maybe this sounds crazy to you. Maybe you've yet to experience a really terrible Christmas season, and God bless you if so. Or maybe you know exactly what I'm talking about, only much worse. I've talked to people who were sitting in inpatient behavioral health units during Christmas, people who were undergoing surprise chemotherapy at Christmas. It happens. All. The. Time.
What I love about We're Gonna' Pull Through is that because the issue they need to "pull through" never gets identified, it can become all of our issues. I love that there's some humor in here, there's some solidarity, there's some small admission of hope:
maybe, sorta', kinda'
if I really had to say,
something good is on its way...
We're Gonna Pull Through - Over the Rhine (lyrics HERE)
This is the permission we need: to dwell into the difficult places we can't just leave behind in Advent, we can't just stop feeling and we can't just fix. Life isn't that simple, and the picture is always 'bigger than we knew.' Instead, what we can do is give ourselves some space to deal with what we're ignoring without trying to solve it, and then... lay it in the stable door.
In the end, this is where the fabled peace of that manger-scene comes from: from a mother who lays aside her pain and her fear for the future to look into the eyes of new and marvelous life. From a father who lets down his guard and dwells into the moment with them. From a child who carries all the hopes of a thousand generations as if it were weightless because it is carried in love. This is where we lay down our hearts and realize that it is this releasing, even for a moment, that allows us to make it through. This simple act gives us the grace of perspective - a reminder that these things do matter, and that there's hope for it all.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.
- John 14: 27
May we remember that the manger scene isn't a place to keep out our real lives, but a place to fearlessly invite the mess of the world that we may receive healing, peace, and grace from the God of Love.
- Anna
nice post.
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