AfterWords | And the Shadows Flee Away (December 17, 2023)
AfterWords is a series of community-contributed reflections intended to further the conversations that begin during Parish sermons.
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A 3-Minute Read
by Laura Boggs
In the face of seasoned waves of evil
that we would sing that old noel,
that we would hang lights on branches,
that we would give gifts to others
even if that gift is only ourselves—
this, this is a defiance seemingly impotent
against the principalities and powers who
daily conspire to convince us that
we are alone and love is a lie.
But do not be deceived for the demons themselves
tremble at such quaintness.
Sisters and brothers, Christmas on.
—John Blase
Christmas is war.
The keeping of it, that is.
This December, some of us have washed up on the shore of Advent. We face the newness of the liturgical year feeling anything but new. A daughter suffers a seizure in her bed. A widowed parent sinks deeper into depression, dreading the empty chair at the holiday table. A friend succumbs to cancer. Another year, another batch of troubles ranging from tragic (see above) to trivial (the vexingly ineffectual dishwasher drain).
And yet here we are, approaching these glad and golden hours. We know we can’t prepare with boxes and bags, wrap and ribbons (though I do love a good double-faced satin). We’re going to have to tackle this thing empty-handed—and open-hearted. We’re going to have to use our spiritual imaginations. We’re going to have to strip down to suit up for battle—the fight for all the things we long for: hope, peace, joy. If the aim is quickening our hearts to the season’s true gifts, I say: Let the joyful rebelliousness begin!
On the third Sunday of Advent at The Parish, we lit the “joy” candle and waged our crusade against the darkness. We packed the seats for a family service bustling with (joyful) chaos. Sheep-children, shepherd-children, angel-children, and plain old grown-up children like me listened to Sarah tell—no, radiate—the Christmas story.
The Lord loves you, and the Lord is with you…
No word from God will ever fail…
Mary took all these things and held them in her heart; she held them like treasure…
The story’s upside down-ness—the infant holiness/infant lowliness of it—shimmers with life and stubborn hope. God doing a new thing. Those brave, bewildered young parents-to-be, making their way.
As Sarah spoke, I watched as two young Parish parents watched their small sheep-children, sitting in the middle of the aisle, enraptured. Big brother put his arm around little sister, and she curled into him and returned the favor with her tiny arm. There they sat, two cotton-wad-clad kiddos, leaning into the story and each other. Perhaps their parents were tempted to pull out their phones and record the tender sibling moment. (I know I was.) Instead, they held this treasure in their hearts.
Heart-treasuring, to be pondered again and again, is probably worth a thousand pictures.
All moments are fleeting, and this one came and went like all the rest. Left in its wake was a trail of errant cotton clumps. We moved on, transitioned into other moments. We shared the bread and wine. We sang. We set our hope on the risen Christ. We opened our hands to a benediction.
The audacity of these moments, such weaponry against the weary world! Storytime and a cookie table in the back corner and the peace of Christ be with you! And also with you!
The soul, it feels its worth. Today, we are not depraved. I daresay that when we mirror the One in us, our very Breath, we dazzle.
Our cause is worthy; we are kindling for the white-hot love of God. We are not alone, and love is not a lie.
Christmas on, friends. Christmas on.
The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.
Take joy!And so, at this Christmastime, I greet you, with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.
—Fra Giovanni
Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone… Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice.Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into the
conversation…—David Whyte, “Everything Is Waiting for You”
I’m doing a new thing, soon you will see… I’m coming among you…
