All is not calm.
We live in a world where healthcare workers giving polio immunizations to Pakistani children are shot to death as infidels.
All is not bright.
We share this earth’s crust with anguished mothers and fathers, empty arms aching to hold stolen children. Precious lives lost because a troubled young man had access to guns capable of firing six bullets every second.
May those beautiful children now sleep in heavenly peace.
That first Christmas, the night was dark and we are told all was calm. Out of nowhere, the black sky ripped open and the angelic fireworks began. Ancient terrified shepherds fell to their knees on that pasture floor, quaking at the sight of glories streaming from heaven afar.
We quake as well, but an angelic chorus is not the cause. We tremble with sadness, grief clouding perspective. It is time to close our eyes to the constant media images flashing all that hate before us. These video clips of pain and devastation playing repeatedly their loops of sadness, only serve to magnify our collective heartache.
We long for the day our Prince of Peace will wipe away every tear. And so we wait. In a twist of beautiful irony, this baby so long ago announced to shaking shepherds has become our shepherd. Gathering us, leading us, holding our own shaking souls, and comforting us.
So consoled, we wait not without hope. It is ours to find the ways in which we ourselves can be light in this dark place. It is ours to look for the kindness and point to the light falling ever so gently on those who would stop to feel its warmth. It is ours to wrap our hurting friends and neighbors in the kind of love and care that reminds us once again of that long-ago dawn of redeeming grace. It tells again the story of love’s pure light. It was (and still is) a holy night.
