What do you do with Christmas, on a chilly Friday morning, when the sun gathers itself into a point on a car windshield and shoots through the coffee shop window into your eyes to dazzle and delight?
What do you do with it, listening to carols and washing cups in your kitchen with windows beaded with the night’s condensation?
What do you do with it, stitching green Christmas trees and gold sequins onto red felt?
What do you do with it, when your grandpa’s heart has him in the hospital far away, and a boy who used to be in your children’s choir started chemo this week?
Where do the garlands and lights downtown meet the people with ports and IVs and monitors? Where do they meet the women enslaved by ISIS? Where do they meet ugliness and grief and pain that tinsel and cookies can’t comfort?
Have we got it wrong, with gaudy celebrations and songs? Or is it that this season is at its heart exactly about meeting those pains — about the only thing that can heal those wounds — an extraordinary event demanding extraordinary celebration.
Meet it with awe and reverence: God walking in human feet, come to bear human woes. And meet it with loud songs of joy: whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.
Writing more than five minutes, but still linking up with Kate Motaung on her prompt, season. The “season” button above takes you to her site.
©2015 by Stacy Crouch