Gentle Reader,
Maybe it was midnight. Maybe it wasn’t. All I know for sure is that it wasn’t clear.
I am of course referencing the 1849 Christmas carol “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” I can hear someone now – “That’s my favorite! Where are you going with this?” I can hear someone else – “It’s Advent, not Christmas! Don’t even be bringing out the carols!” Deep breath, everyone.
Until recently I imagined that the earth nearly came to halt when the Lord of Creation entered creation as a squalling, vaguely alien-looking baby. (All fresh babies look a little like aliens, and that’s okay). This has long made sense to me. God interacts with all that God has made in ways that we can’t understand. It’s not a stretch to think that the trees and the wind and the flowers and the dogs all paused in recognition of their Maker. And, to be fair, maybe they did.
But this year, as I listen to the sound of construction noises in the backyard (my husband is finally getting the shop he’s always wanted, and maybe I’ll be able to park in the garage again in a year or two)…as I count down the days until my mom has a life-saving double mastectomy (eleven, if you were wondering)…as I read the news…as I lean over the sink each morning and evening to flush out my nose in the hopes of staving off further sinus infections…as I hear heart-wrenching stories shared with me by members of my congregation…
I think that the world has never in solemn stillness lay.
Isn’t that why Christ came?
My second semester in seminary I took a class covering the Megillot. We could study and write a paper on any passage out of the Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, or Esther. I chose Lamentations. Even if COVID hadn’t descended upon the world, I probably still would have chosen Lamentations, but it seemed especially appropriate given the fear and devastation circling the globe.
As I began to craft the presentation we were required to give in conjunction with our papers, I ended up emailing my professor to ask if it would be okay for me to use a swear word. I know. This is not the norm. I don’t necessarily think it should become the norm. But there was only one word that was truly applicable for both the spring of 2020 and the poet (probably Jeremiah) who watched as Jerusalem burned in 586 BC.
Bullshit.
That single cuss word wove together all the confusion, rage, and sorrow of the ancient poet and the seminary student. It fit. It’s not appropriate, sanctified language. It’s not polite. My professor gave permission. I received some messages of thanks from fellow classmates after I’d finished my presentation.
So I think you have to name the thing. The appropriate, sanctified, polite words aren’t always the words to use. Again, I’m not saying, “Cuss your heart out! Who cares?” Our words flow from our hearts. I can only speak for myself, but swearing and anger are deeply connected for me. It’s far better for me to take those angry feelings to God than to give way to stream of blue steam.
But really, you have to name the thing. Which I’m very bad at. But it’s only in giving honest voice to something, giving that situation or brokenness a proper name, that we give space for God to enter in. For peace to displace the unpeace. Love to consume the unlove.
The world wasn’t still the day that Jesus cried for the first time.
The world’s not still today.
Name it.
God knows you’re thinking it.
God is there.
GRACE AND PEACE ALONG THE WAY,
MARIE
Image Courtesy of Katie Smith