December 16, 2022

I have been unreasonably crabby and impatient as I go about my days lately. I have been joyful and excited about the Christmas Pageant and Solstice Service, and the return of my daughter from college, and I've been marveling at the beauty of snowfall. I've also been missing the sunshine, missing my Grandma, annoyed at slogging through mushy parking lots as I run errands, feeling weary from the rush-rush-rush of the days tumbling over one another, uninspired about Christmas presents, and every time I get a free minute, I'm turning my house inside out trying to find the (missing) baby Jesus from the creche my parents brought me from Jerusalem years ago.

Hrumph.

In trying to shake the Grinch loose, I reprogrammed all my XM radio presets to Christmas stations, and was immediately treated to my all-time favorite Christmas hymn: O Holy Night. I took the entire 5 minutes of the song to sit in my car in the church parking lot and let its peace soak into my soul. When I mentioned to a friend how grounded I felt after hearing the song, she directed me to a recent and beautiful article by Lutheran pastor Nadia Botz-Weber, about O Holy Night. Here is an excerpt:
 

     So fall on your knees.

     Fall on your knees before a God who Mary bore into this       
     world as delicate unprotected, unarmed, defenseless, lowly     
     flesh. Fall on your knees before the one who loves without
     caution, without measure, without concern for pre-existing
     conditions. Fall on your knees before a God in whose grace
     you can relax and try less hard and know that your flawed,
     imperfect, lumpy self is so totally loved and worthy to be loved.

     And in this season of over consumption and unmet
     expectations - in this season of family obligations and “I should
     feel happier than I do” or “I’m deeply happy and don’t feel like I
     can share that since so many people are miserable” in this
     season of loneliness and warmth and cookies and toxic
     nostalgia and having way too many people around, in this
     season of the very longest nights - may your soul feel its
     worth.

     And when the regret and grief about your errors creeps in, be
     gentle and maybe just congratulate yourself for being
     someone in whom God’s grace is at work. 

  
Now, I don't know exactly how to shake my current crabbiness entirely (never mind finding baby Jesus!), but I do know how to fall to my knees. So I'll keep doing that, and will do my best to remember that my flawed, imperfect self is still worthy. My prayer for you this week is that you feel the same - hopefully without as much slog to get there. But any way you arrive, on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, may your soul feel its worth.