Earlier, I went to the market to buy some items to make soup. I usually thrive on being creative in the kitchen, but even making a new soup seemed mundane and bothersome. And the market was so crowded, I had a momentary sense of panic and hid myself in the dog treats section long enough to pull it together. I know this may not be normal behavior, but I wonder how many others are on the edge during the holidays? How often do we set ourselves up for something so magnificent as the joy of the birth of the Christ child, only to be disappointed and let down by the fol-de-rol that isn’t?
I have no children at home this night. Yes, I have an empty nest, and yes, my daughter is flying in tomorrow evening, but my son is incarcerated and will not share Christmas with us in our home for another four to five years. There are no grandchildren, and my brothers (who both have very large families) and my mother had their celebration this morning. We chose not to travel because I am serving at church tomorrow morning and we’re picking up our daughter tomorrow night. We may not even go to a service this Christmas Eve.
This afternoon, a soul friend of mine now living in Virginia sent me an email note reminding me of a favorite passage from Report to Greco by Nikos Kazantzakis. This Greek novelist is my favorite fiction writer, and along with the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, I have been lifted over and over to places I cannot go on my own willpower. The passage is as follows:
"Stay Madam Soul," said God, "do not leave."
"What do you want of me, Lord?"
"I want you to undress, Madam Soul."
"Lord, how can you ask such a thing of me. I'm ashamed."
"Madam Soul, nothing must stand between us,
not even the most delicate of veils.
Therefore, madam, you must undress."
"Here I am, Lord. I have undressed. Take me."
It seems that I am properly chastened this evening as I think about the incredible timing of this email message. Instead of sinking into the mire of depression and despondency that is attempting to engulf me, I am invited to sit quietly with God who is mysteriously born tonight in a stable. I am invited to be with the Holy who also hurts for all the desperate children of the world—my own two children, those afraid to go to school for fear of being killed, those who live in war zones, those who are hungry and those who are abused. I am invited to be intimate with God, to be God’s lover, and to be present just as I am. That is what tonight is all about. And so, I turn my thoughts now to this approaching holy night, and go in search of the stable. I sit silently gazing beholding the holy. And I hear the angels singing.
