Hallelujah

12252016 Hallelujah 

Hallelujah means Praise God 

It’s Christmas night.  I’m sitting in my chair in the dark with only my blood red tree lit, and the sound of O Holy Night and Hallelujah alternating.  I can’t stop listening to these two songs.  They fit so perfectly.  Yes, I know they are holiday songs, designed to give us reflection of the season; however it’s more than that…  The aching notes, the temperance in tone and crescendo.  It isn’t just the lyrics, but the truth within that stirs in me something deeply, tragically personal. 

While I had a list of plans a mile long, as per usual, my plans were but a smile to God, and I spent the weeks leading up to Christmas giving away my time and smiles to everyone I could think of.  I ended up drained the weekend before, and thank goodness, the weather allowed me to rest.  Even after rest and renewal and pouring out again, I could not feel the joyous sensation of preparing for the holidays as I had in past years.  Without a clear understanding of what was happening with my emotions, I determined to simply live each day with the love of Christ and send it out into the world as often as possible. 

Even though we are living a pretty much perfect first world life, there are still troubled times in our family, and the past two years have created tension I am not comfortable with at all.  Yet, through all the tension, I have found a strength and peace which comes from a relationship with Jesus – trusting Him with my whole heart in all that I do and say.  When I overstep, go too far, and do “my own thing”… He still makes all things new, all things good, all things perfect for His own glory.  It is through this relationship that I am able to see that everything is going to be okay, even when I don’t see how it could be true. 

This time last year, we were hanging out with the most loving people after spending time on the beach.  We were surrounded by strangers, yet felt no distance between anyone.  When we reached the home of our sweet friends, we were welcomed in as if we were the most prestigious of guests.  I wanted to make people feel that kind of love this year.  I wanted to share that welcoming and attentive glance with others.  It was my goal as I visited people in hospitals, homes and nursing facilities throughout the past twelve months.  This time last year, we were enjoying the presence of our friends; people we had chosen to keep in our hearts, lives, and to spend the holidays with.  This year, I felt like I was treading water, trying to keep my head up while the world rushed and swelled around me. 

Beef and I decided to keep our holiday simple this year and begin our own Christmas Eve tradition of attending our church.  A simple service, surrounded by those we worship with weekly and those who came to visit their own family, became something quite more complex with emotions I hadn’t expected to feel on Christmas Eve.  We sat in our regular pew (not that we have to, but it’s always open); and rather than following the norm of sitting spread out, we squished together.  Soon, we were joined by a lovely little girl and her mother, who not only brought more light, but also, more love. 

And as we learned our 9 lessons of Christmas, each one read by a different member of our congregation, I couldn’t help but feel the most passionate sense of wonder I’d ever felt.  We belong here. 

I look at my son, blushing at the fact that he’s sitting by a girl in church.  He wrestled with what to wear to church, worked hard at styling his hair, and picked out just the perfect shoes.  He knew not to wear his hat into the church and sat quietly beside me.  My daughter, sitting to my right, looks like a sparkly blue princess in her sequin gown and white sweater with gold accents.  Their father, on the end of the pew, sits quietly in his dress shirt.  He is handsome still, and I’m thankful he’s my partner in all of this. 

There are prayers and stories and lessons, but somewhere, in the middle of standing and sitting, there is special music and a video. 

The mother of our pastor comes to the podium to sing as a video is playing.  It’s the video of the Christmas story, much like the one below.  She sings the words to “Hallelujah” as beautifully as any mother ever could.  As she sings, I look to the screen, and then to my son, who is completely enthralled in the scenes.  He catches me staring, and asks, “Did this really happen mom?!” 

“Yes, son, it really happened.” 

“Jesus was a baby?!” 

“Yes, Jesus was a baby.” 

“How did that happen mom?  How did Jesus get to be a baby?” 

“Well, God put him in Mary’s tummy, like He put you in mine.” 

“But how mom? Like magic?” 

“No son, like mystery.” 

“I can’t believe that really happened…” 

In awe, he sat, watching the movie, as the pastor’s mother sang and tears ran down my cheeks. 

The crucifixion scene came and he asked, “What happened to Jesus mom?” 

“They beat him, and killed him son.” 

“Why?” 

“Because they didn’t believe He was the savior.  They didn’t believe that He would really save us.” 

I know you came to rescue me, this baby boy would grow to be 
a man and one day die for me and you 
My sins would drive the nails in you, that rugged cross was my cross too; 
Still every breath You drew was Hallelujah 
Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelujah 

“I believe it mom! I know this happened!  I really believe it!!!” 

I’m full-on crying now, between the sound of her voice and the haunting truth that the nails I’ve driven throughout my life are painful; amidst the music in the church and those whose candles were shining bright, my heart leaped within me.  My son, the one for whom I’d prayed, believes!  What more can I ever ask for?  My children will one day join me in heaven with Jesus, our Lord. 

There were more lessons, and then, we were asked to join in a circle to hear more words and sing more songs.  In the end, our pastor spoke again, with awe-inspiring grace: 

“This season, as we go about celebrating, we remember those who are no longer at our table…  They are now at The Lord’s Table… Let us whisper their names…” 

When the time came, I stood there, whispering the names of all the people I miss.  Their hugs, their smiles, their laughter, the whiskers, the gum, the friendship, the passion, the grace, the beauty… all missing from my presence, but not missing from His presence. 

And in that moment – in the words to the song, the scenes from the movie, the allowance of grief in the celebration of the birth – I felt the comfort of God come to me.  I’d been searching for something to say that is real.  I’ve been avoiding saying “Merry Christmas” to those I love; because Christmas isn’t Merry this year.  It’s painful and lonely and heavy and dark.  Yet, there was that candle, the Christ candle – burning in the chancel for all of us.  It was a small flame that, when shared between a hundred people, made a bright light.  So, this is my Christmastide greeting to all, Hallelujah. 

It keeps ringing in my head.  The tears keep surfacing, filling, and falling; and yet, I keep singing, “Hallelujah”. 

In a conversation about grief tonight, on Christmas night, the question was posed, “When does this hurting end?”  My answer, as if a gift from God to myself and the other is this: 

“It is never going to end.  Remember, grieving is a part of loving.  Even when the people are alive and walking the earth.  Even when we’re grieving over expectations.  If we love, we grieve.  The trick is to do the grieving and leave our broken pieces at the cross so that the Author and Perfecter of our faith can do His work.  The skill is not in avoiding grief, but allowing it to change us and drive us to love even more.” 

Hallelujah.