It came.
This year, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of wedding preparation came Christmas. The funny thing about wedding planning the second time around is how much more aware one is of cost. Anyway - those “little” costs found me extra thankful for my hometown and the can-do spirit of my people this Christmas. As Christmas was approaching, my heart was full of gratitude for these people, this spirit, this place.
….and then, tragedy struck. Two days before Christmas, a young woman - a bright light - in our small community lost her life in a tragic accident. Suddenly, swiftly…the breath extinguished. The level of pain, the extent of the loss…the bewilderment that this could even have happened - it was a numbing shock to the community. The ache already setting in.
Some ask, “why do tragedies always happen at Christmas?” Logically, we know they happen all the time. It’s just that at Christmas, it’s in stark contrast to what is supposed to be. Christmas is supposed to be revelry and celebration and unabashed joy, right? ….and all of that just feels wrong when tragedy strikes. It all feels wrong to rejoice in a gift or many gifts - when your neighbor is sitting with the darkness of the void in place of their daughter’s brightness.
Christmas Eve services were dampened with tears.
Yet, on Christmas morning…the sun rose.
As we drove to Mass on Christmas morning, every hill in southwest Iowa was illuminated - arrayed in festive golden light. It was peaceful. The light shining…the darkness subdued by the light.
And I realized - that is the essence of Christmas.
Christmas isn’t about the gifts. the abundance. the perfection. the ‘getting it all done’ in time…. The joy isn’t in that.
The miracle of Christmas - is that it came.
He came.
The miracle of Christmas is that Jesus came. He came. He came to his own. He came to those who weren’t his own. He came - and He continues to come, each Christmas - each day - ready or not.
Three years ago, I didn’t “feel” very Christmassy. It was six months after Dan’s death…and I just felt tired. I felt like the weary world. …and the miracle was that Jesus came.
In our little corner of southwest Iowa, our hearts are all pierced by the death of Sammi Long. It’s unfair. It sucks. It’s awful. It is all of those things. We all weep for the pain her family feels. On Christmas morning, Father Philip shared in his homily how God has breathed into each one of us…and when we die, God gathers that breath back into Himself. I can think of no greater picture of Heaven - and that at our death, our tender, merciful Father is holding us and drawing our essence back into His - reunited with all who have come before us.
Death is tragic. Death is separation. …but because of Christmas - because Christmas came anyway - it is not final. It is not. In this world, we will have trouble; we will experience pain and loss and death - but, take heart! Christmas as overcome the world. Jesus’ coming at Christmas - it brought LIGHT and HOPE back into this world. His arrival began the redemption of all that has separated us from all that is good and right - light and justice and love.
Whether we feel like it or not - whether we are ready or not -
Christmas came.
The good news is that Jesus came - and Jesus still comes - to offer Himself to us. He came to bind up the broken-hearted. He came to be close to those who mourn. He came to redeem all that hurts. He came to destroy death.
“O Little Town of Bethlehem” always reminds me of our community. (Our community, by the way, covers all of Adair County and really all of places where “my” people reside - spilling into all the neighboring counties.) I picture little Orient, Iowa when I sing those words. This year, Christmas Eve/day meant THREE services - and we sang every verse at each place.
Our invitation and gift this Christmas season:
“Where meek souls will receive him still, the dear Christ enters in.”
Amen.
