still the dear christ enters in.
where children pure and happy
pray to the blessed child,
where misery cries out to thee,
son of the mother mild,
where charity stands watching
and faith holds wide the door,
the dark night wakes,
the glory breaks,
and christmas comes once more...
My husband and spawn humored me (once again) on Monday night. We went to hear the Harvard University Choir perform their annual Christmas Carol Service. Hark! The beauty my ears beheld! Traditional carols--Scottish, Flemish, Welsh, and American. A freaking PIPE ORGAN! Procession hymn in Latin; Silent Night sung simultaneously in German and English. Such glorious music vibrating through my core! When Gizmo was not climbing the balcony wall in his snow boots, I was in pure bliss.
Obviously, we're talking about Harvard here. I take my kids to these (free) types of events to expose them to the finest forms of music and art. A "worship service" held at One Harvard Yard isn't exactly where I expect to worship. But neither was the side of my baby's crib, the mall bathroom, or the pond where my kids were knee-deep feeding the ducks their lunch. He surprises us sometimes with joy.
Even sad joy.
Our hearts are still sore and aching for all the babies and their parents who are reeling with grief.
Our minds combatting this side or that of gun control, mental illness, politics.
A world that is so broken, our hearts strike with fear.
But hasn't it always been broken?
Why should we expect America to fare any better than Isreal or Sudan?
I'm not very good at political thinking. I have a thorough distaste for such discussions on T.V., Facebook, or in my living room. I'm wired for Ground Zero. Ground Zero is the people I love. I couldn't give a rat's what's going on in the news, so long as I'm able to love and nurture those closest to me. Maybe that's short-sighted, maybe it's self-centered. This is what I know: if B.daddy and I are not good parents to our children, this world is just going to have a few more souls to heap on the pile of Messed Up. Ground Zero is where I work to lift up those who will lift up infinitely more.
My mind has been spinning with all of this since Friday. Pulled in all these directions, then shaking myself back to the reality that all I can do is love.
Love my Lord,
love my man,
love my babies,
love my brothers and sisters,
love the broken-hearted and despairing.
I have plenty of these in my life. With eyes to see and ears to hear, we all do.
So in this High Church-esque service, surrounded by stupidly smart, intimidating brains, I find myself singing O Little Town of Bethlehem. And in an instant, I'm at my Father's feet, crying misery and tiny coffins and aching arms, and Oh, dear Lord have mercy on me! I can't stand knowledge of such pain. What hope do I hold out to my babies that's not followed by, at least I hope so?
Oh that my faith would hold wide the door...
that I may hope no matter how many tragedies I file under Seen It....
that I may love these children pure and happy.
the dark night wakes,
and glory breaks,
and christmas comes once more...
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