on the eve of our great nativity

my advent season culminated along the I-45 corridor.  on the causeway between dallas and houston, i and a myriad of my fellow journeymen traveled southward toward family and friends . . . a great "getting together" for this our much anticipated holiday season.  there was pushing and shoving, honking and "waving;" all of those little things which make our journeys so memorable.  ah the yuletide spirit.  and in the midst of my lonely drive i was reminded of grace and why i was making the trek at all.  

2000 some odd years ago a tiny family traveled much the same corridor en route toward a great "getting together" of family and friends.  a census urged the man and his wife toward the tiny town of bethlehem; a counting of men, women and children.  to be sure there were scrooges in their midst . . . "bah humbugs" and the stress of the unplanned travel expenses, preparations gone bad and dad forgetting to make reservations at the hotel.  if only they could arrive at their destination . . . the rest could be had.  and nice, quiet sleep.

that's all i wanted  tonight to be sure.  and now at nearly 1am christmas morning i am typing instead of basking in dark stillness.  but my mind is a rush of emotion and thought . . . and getting it out on "paper" seemed to fit the need.

grace has a nice way of forcing itself upon me at just the right moments.  tonight it was a lesson learned regarding the incarnation of our Lord, accompanied by a song entitled "All is Well."  over and over the song repeats, "all is well" and it hit me that my mind and heart are so often smitten by the dreariness of life . . . and that all is, indeed, "not well."  as i listened to the song my mind and heart were opened by grace to one particular line of powerful poetry:

. . . tonight darkness fell into the dawn of love's light . . .

over and over again my mind tries to wrap itself around the magnitude of what happened that dark night in bethlehem.  the dark night of sin and despair, the waiting in anticipation, the hopeful expectation of deliverance was ushered into the arms of a virgin girl in a quiet stable across from an inn . . . without fanfare and without a breath of resistance.  the king was born and all was well (insert here thoughts regarding the creation of the universe and and the cumulative "it is good." do we see a pattern?).  "the dawn of love's light."  christmas is our beginning, it is our spiritual dawn.  follow the star . . . and all is well.  follow it from cradle to cross . . . and all is well.  follow it through miracles and sermons, friendships and journey . . . and all along the way all is well.  follow it from nazareth to capernaum, samaria to jerusalem and everywhere in between . . . and all is well.  and follow it to the garden, and follow judas' footsteps and his lips on Jesus cheek . . . and all is still well.  follow the fists that pounded his face, and trace each thorn as it pierced his skull . . . all is well.  walk along with him along the "way of suffering," carry his cross with Simon the man from Cyrene and eye all along the way the hill called "the Skull" . . . and find that all is well.  follow the nails, follow the spear, follow the words of the thieves and the soldiers, follow the words of your savior, follow his final breath as it falls from his cracked lips and falls at your feet . . . the light of love succumbing to darkness . . . and all is well.

what i've seen

from my viewpoint little is well with life a lot of the time . . . finances, relationships, bleak national times and an uncertain personal future, it doesn't always look good.  and it is because i do not look through the eyes of light, especially love's light and in particular the way it dispels the darkest of nights.  the grace to be where i am today and not where i should be is all of grace and too often i forget what was given that first christmas morning.  Jesus was God's "widow's mite" . . . Jesus was God's most expensive and rarest gift . . . Jesus was the one selfless act that defined grace as it would come to be known in the life of the church of God . . . God made flesh and born to die, that for all of those who are his own, all will be well.

my love for my Savior and His grace is so full of holes it's a wonder i haven't sunk.  but even in this, grace keeps it afloat.  with each gift we receive and with each gift that we give it is my resolution to paint for my children the dawn of love's light.  all of its bright colors and all of its majesty . . . painted on the canvas of simple grace.    

 

listening to Mozart

we visit and re-visit ourselves,

discovering over and over what

we would have changed

if we could then

 

counting again and again the number

of times we've convinced ourselves

that change is future

not past,

 

wondering what Mozart would

have done had he finished,

instead of dying so young,

with more ahead of him than behind

i have to read this poem to myself over and over again before i can believe why i wrote it in the first place.  long drives home are usually the worst.  reflecting on past and future, pensive thoughts on whatever "life" is, kicking myself, self-pity, you know how it goes . . . and the one thing i always come back to is Mozart.  i'm not entirely sure why.  i'm pretty sure i should always be coming back to Christ, thoughtfully praying to One who saved me from myself--but often times i don't.  it's Mozart.  

boy genius.  prodigy.  pinnacle of musical excellence.  the "it" man of his day.  yet burdened and overcome by fear. i have heard it said of him that he exited a rehearsal session for his "Requiem" in tears, gripped by sorrow and never returned.  it was his last rehearsal for the piece he never finished, ironically, because of his early death.  some have also said that although commissioned to compose it for the late wife of a wealthy man, Mozart was actually writing his requiem.  his own death march.  his own ode to the dark.  looking death in the face must be scary for some, especially when there is the unexpected coming.  and, in Mozart's case, a past of sin.  perhaps more sin than he could bear.  the piece for the rehearsal he did not make it through was reportedly the Lacrimosa or "tears" or "mourning."   the lyrics read like this:

Lacrimosa dies illa That day of tears and mourning

qua resurget ex favilla when from the ashes shall rise

judicandus homo reus. all humanity to be judged.

Huic ergo parce, Deus Spare us by your mercy, Lord,

pie Jesu Domine, gentle Lord Jesus,

dona eis requiem, Amen. grant them eternal rest, Amen.

"when from the ashes shall rise all humanity to be judged . . . Spare us by your mercy, Lord, gentle Lord Jesus"---and he ran from the room, weeping.  

what i've seen

true or not it should still hit home in our hearts.  Mozart was an unrested soul in that moment, much like i was a little over two years ago.  getting ready for bed on a thursday night, i was convinced that i wasn't going to wake up.  i had somehow convinced myself that God was going to take my life before morning light came.  i fell asleep to Mozart's requiem playing in the darkness.  i was in no way at peace, but resigned to the fact that eternal sleep was better than the pain and guilt i was living through.  obviously, i woke up.  morbid night? no doubt.  i was messed up in the head and heart a long time before that but that morning was new for me.  nothing was "all better," all the pain was still there, all the heartache . . . my entire life that had hit the fan and was now painting the world around me in shades of black and gray.  mozart didn't get another morning . . . but i did, and the difference between me and Mozart is that i had the grace of another day to seek the Giver of mercy.  i didn't, and don't, need to wait until the "rising of the ashes" to hopefully plead for mercy from the Lord.  i have been given grace enough to rest NOW in the mercy that is found at the cross.  i can see forward into the hope of eternal salvation by way of that same cross and can embrace each and every dark moment which comes my way because my Savior, too, has embraced those same dark moments, promising that God works for good with those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose.

sometimes it just takes me a while to get back there . . . but He always brings me back there.  it's the only place i'm safe.  it's the only place we have peace . . .