Originally posted in my old newsletter, “It’s Hard Being Human,” on December 23rd, 2021
O Lord, as we draw ever closer to the day of Your arrival, some of us are crawling in on our elbows, wounded, marred, with tear-stained faces.
Let joy refresh our bodies in the midst of this war as we join to celebrate You at the table.
O Lord, some of us are walking in with small faith in our hearts, but our bodies and minds are near numbed — waiting for You with expectancy has meant long endurance in the face of overwhelming brokenness, and we have almost run out.
Let strength and mercy be breathed into us as we join to celebrate You at the table.
O Lord, some of us feel too sorrowful to welcome You with gladness this day — some of our hearts cry out instead in lament — “If You had been here!” — and we break. Help us, O Christ, to see where You’ve always been, for You are Immanuel, and You have never been far or idle.
May we be given new eyes as we join to celebrate You at the table.
O Lord, there are some of us who find ourselves alone, quietly waiting for You. There is no one near to share in these glad tidings, and so we’ve forgotten what it’s like to be remembered — for it’s hard to know we’re loved by You if not one other soul says so.
Let us, Your saints, throughout the earth seek out these lonely ones this day and invite them to join in celebrating You at the table.
For in these ways, O Lord, Your kingdom comes — in the midst of war and brokenness and sorrow and loneliness, the arrival of a humble babe named Immanuel, God with us, means there really, truly is hope for us all.
May we be a light to the world as we come together at the table, drawing from the One who is Light, and celebrating the coming of Your promise, even while the world tries to convince us You’re dead.
No, Christ — You live.
Praise be to God.
Amen.