Dark = Holy

This year I'm acutely aware of the duality of Christmas. I have some dear friends who are bringing home their LONG AWAITED adopted son tomorrow [!!!], and other friends who are filled with Christmas joy [new babies, marriages, relationships, or just a great year of life!]. I also have other friends who are experiencing their darkest holiday season: death, infertility, relationship destruction, away from those they love... This is the most dreaded time of the year...the song got it wrong for them. And they wish they could hibernate for 6 weeks until this season is over and the decorations have been put in storage. I'm living somewhere in between those worlds most days.

But there must be some hope and perspective in those dark places. C.S. Lewis says, "Why must holy places be dark places?" So darkness and holiness go together?!?! Apparently. They have for me and others I love. It's interesting that God's not afraid of the darkness. He's not adverse to it even. Stark contrast: dark places are holy, blameless, divine, sacred places to God.

My best childhood friend is mourning a miscarriage this Christmas, but her Christmas letter started with this verse: Psalm 118:5

"In my anguish I cried out to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free."

Freedom. Holiness. Those are descriptors of Christmas. So perhaps pain and Christmas have more in common with each other than a commercial Christmas leads us to believe!?!?

May you experience freedom and holiness in whatever place you are in this Christmas.
May your heart be tender toward those who are in dark places.
And may you find the ultimate Life this season.

Prayer for Orphans

My mom sent me this passage from Psalm 71. I had to read it at 2 different times because of the tears. May this Psalm be a prayer over our babies today and the 143 million orphans globally...

Psalm 71:1-8

O Lord, I have come to you for protection; don’t let me be disgraced.
Save me and rescue me, for you do what is right. Turn your ear to listen to me, and set me free.
Be my rock of safety where I can always hide. Give the order to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.
My God, rescue me from the power of the wicked, from the clutches of cruel oppressors.
O Lord, you alone are my hope. I’ve trusted you, O Lord, from childhood.
Yes, you have been with me from birth; from my mother’s womb you have cared for me. No wonder I am always praising you!
My life is an example to many, because you have been my strength and protection.
That is why I can never stop praising you; I declare your glory all day long.

Zechariah's Poem

Our friend, Craig Joseph, wrote this poem last Christmas partially in response to a bunch of friends [us included] struggling with infertility. This Christmas, I stumbled upon Zechariah & Elizabeth's story again [Luke 1]. It's a different perspective of Christmas, but for myself and our friends who struggle with Christmas spirit this year, may Zechariah's story nourish you...

"Zechariah"
My silence speaks volumes:
Speaks of hollow reverberations in an empty womb,
Of my beloved’s muffled cries, hopeless, late at night,
Of unbroached topics between man and wife,
Isolated in their grief.

Speaks of a mute God
Who would not stoop to answer
The cacophony of impotent noise made by the righteous,
Striving to keep his commandments.

All this – echoes of despair, lost faith, abandonment.

My silence is God’s silence.

The lack of sound then resounds:
With the rustle of angels’ wings,
The gentle roar of a majestic announcement,
The metallic ring of a sword drawn in anger
Upon a fearful gasp
(An inrush of air
That cloaked a more resounding unbelief:
Faith as barren as a womb).

My silence is God’s answer, disbelieved.

But now I, mute and wildly motioning,
Fill the air with your laughter and endless queries,
Hearing what you cannot be aware of –
That to which divinely-imposed silence has bent my ear:

A distant cry from the beginning of time – from Creation –
Declaring that God will make the hearts of his people fertile again.
Yelled through the prophets (though most were deaf to this meaning),
Hollering through my son (hear that, and do not scoff,
Lest you be considered, Like I,
the town clown),
To announce itself shortly in a Bethlehem stable,
Calling to God’s people in stereo-surround sound.

My silence, alas, is God’s provision
That will not be silent for long.

Copyright 2008 Craig Joseph