Listen Lord: We Hate it Here - Day Nine
Praying with Mary
“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.”
Christmas in March is a simple but sweet idea for spreading cheer to battle an epidemic. Banks and breweries, residents and restaurants are putting up lights. I’d label the Rihanna sing-alongs in Italy something like community karaoke, which is basically caroling, amiright? This is not only genius, it’s healthy.
Emotional well-being is a critical community effort that we mustn't overlook, and we would all do well to invest our time and talents. This notion is evident in the public morale events available on social media.
DJs and musicians are sharing their gifts out of gratitude for the people working to keep us alive, and certainly out of sympathy for everyone who knows that the best way to be neighborly in this season is to give one another more space than we’d ever demand. The Christmas season is one of connection. Whether reflecting on relationships lost or holding friends and family close, we are invited to ponder over the peculiar design of a rescue plan that involves God becoming a human.
It sounds impossible because it is impossible. It’s an impossible reality. Much like finding love and connection during a season of isolation that we have grown to hate. It’s needing a nine hour dance party (twice), as much as we need to know what impact the spreading virus has on our world. It’s sharing our own resources with joy, while demanding swift and responsible government action.
Wisdom makes it possible to sing in this strange time. It makes Christmas in March the most reasonable reaction to the month of March feeling like a whole decade already. We are worn out from un-surprise, yet determined to survive this shock-laced season. Working class and poor people are oppressed by extensive political quarrels that waste precious time for the sake of hoarding money, and we hate to see it.
We are distressed to the point of mental health crises, self-harm, eating disorders and panic attacks. We hate it. I hate the waiting, hate the distance, hate the loss. We need Christmas; both lights and story. All of the above. We need tenderness mingled with our toil. Merciful reminders of a God whose grace granted us a global, eternal gift. How can we face this day of terror without a promise that a different type of tomorrow will come?
Mary was astonished at the gift of God’s presence in her humble life; the task of carrying the Ancient of Days within her young body. In many ways, she was the physical manifestation of the gospel paradox. All of the oppressed women in her were waiting. And yet she knew, her every breath testified, that they would not be waiting much longer. When she saw her cousin Elizabeth, she sang a prophecy of praise. The Lord of Life lept within her. I believe that we share in her testimony too.
Let’s pray together.
Lord we come to You this morning, like children hoping for joy on Christmas day. We ache to experience life anew in our midst. It’s been a long year already.
Long nights of trouble have covered what light you have given us in the day. The valleys seem deep and wide, but you O Lord exalt the humble. You birth within the womb of our being a song of praise. Our souls rejoice when we feel your mighty works in us. You fill us with good things.
History rests in your hands and bad dreams break at the light of your gaze. You who cradle all of time, will you rock the kingdoms of this Earth until the tantrums cease? Until peaceful rest finds its place where frustrations flash and anxieties roar. In your mercy, O Lord, remember us. Set your sights on our sin-sick overseers and make oppressions cease.
Give us sight too, that Your children walking in darkness would see the dawning light of salvation, coming into this world not by the strength of our arms, but by the magnitude of your mercy. Help us to celebrate, like Mary and Elizabeth, with our songs and with our lives, that Christmas is on the way.
Scriptures: Luke 1, Ecclesiastes 5
Images: Sisters, Antonio L. Roberts // Two sisters, Oluwole Omofemi