Morning meditation

 

A week from today, wrapping paper will be scattered across the carpet as Christmas music blares from our Bluetooth speaker, and the aroma of ham roasting in the oven fills the air causing our mouths to water.  One week until Christmas, I pray the anticipation is growing.  I also pray that we can confront that voice within us, our inner critic, who likes to point out all the ways that our Christmas preparations fall short.  Maybe it is just me, but the color commentary in my mind delights in noticing that I haven’t spent as much time praying as I could, that there is still clutter in the cobweb corners of my soul, that shouldn’t I tidy up a bit so that my interior heart looks more presentable for God.  It is God after all.  And then, I laugh.

I laugh because God decided that the best place to enter this world wasn’t a posh, polished, perfectly styled palace, but a barn!  God decided that it wasn’t the powerful or religious folks who would be entrusted with the message of good news of great joy, but a powerless couple and some shepherds.  God decided that dirt (which is exactly what Genesis 2 says we as humans are made of) and drafty stable was a great place to start a revolution of love that still captures my heart today. 

If a barn and manger were holy for God two thousand years ago, maybe my amateur attempts this Christmas will be enough too.  This makes me think of a wonderful poem prayer by Madeleine L’Engle entitled the First Coming.  I invite you to read this slowly, savoring each phrase and sentence.

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine.

He did not wait till hearts were pure.
In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!