Death Before Christmas
The words I just wrote are strong and direct, perhaps almost irreverent in contrast to the sacredness, holiness, and anticipated joy of the Christmas season. And yet, we are not alone in experiencing the darkness and emptiness of death at a time when the rest of the world is celebrating, consumed with gifts and gifting, trees and lights, music, partying, and family. The representative of the Christ Child, rests in the manger, and our churches are consumed too with traditions of celebration while we also focus on the message of the season, God’s promises unfolding, hope starting to become reality. Death in the middle of all that, tosses it all upward, and watches the ashes fall. I remember decades ago, crawling under our own Christmas tree, my belly swollen with our soon to be first born, hanging lights and decorations, the swollen belly being anything but an interference in our holiday festivities. But before Christmas day itself ever came, our own baby had found her home within the eternal perfections of Heaven. But, “Christmas”???? That first year, it all blurred into oblivion. And then, it happened again, and this time, my brother, was failing in health, but he was longing to see, up close and personal, tangibly, the baby who became a man, the baby who, as that man, that perfect man, stretched out His arms and died, and His death secured for my brother that same eternal perfection my daughter had found many years before. I had begun to pray, “Jesus, take him gently home.” And the isolation Tommy had fought for, ushered him into God’s presence. Yes, the festive celebration quieted, but I knew it was still Christmas, our earthly attempt to recognize the unfolding of God’s promise, the birth of His Son that would become the giving of His Son in willing sacrifice. And yet, Christmas is more than that. It is the reality of Hope, lying in a manger. It is Hope stirring in every heart, reaching deeply into the recesses of that heart, and asking, imploring, “Will you make the choice to believe?”
At the tomb of Lazarus, a friend of the man Jesus, Jesus wept. He wept for all the consequences of death, consequences that tear apart families and friendships, consequences that leave earthly men and women in the darkness and emptiness of death, consequences that would spill into eternity unless Jesus made that willing sacrifice. But He wanted those who watched to also see the reality of Hope He had come to bring, and He called Lazarus out of the darkness of the grave.
Christmas Eve was only a few days after Tommy’s death, and my heart was heavy, but I longed for reminders of the Hope of Christmas, the Hope that wrapped the baby in the manger, the Hope I could hold to, somehow, some way, even when faced with earthly darkness and emptiness. I stood with the congregation and let my voice echo the message of the worship team, Hope is born, worship the God and His Son, who gave their all, so me and those I love can see the shadows of Hope as we walk the realities of this earth, but some day, we will see Hope in all of its brilliance. It was then the room literally filled with light, and I saw my brother Tommy filled with health, vibrantly alive, raising his own voice, his own spirit, just one of the crowd of worshipers acknowledging the God of Hope, seated on His throne. And a little girl tugged at his side, and Tommy’s own mom, and mine, stood beside him too, beaming with a gratitude that had been founded in Hope.
Death cannot, does not conquer, because Hope is far, far greater. Thank You, thank You, precious Jesus, for all You have given. From the manger, to the cross, to eternity. HOPE.
– Bev
(Related Bible reading: Romans 5:6-11; 8:23-25; 15:4)
