How silently, how silently,
the wondrous gift is giv’n…
where meek souls will receive Him still,
the dear Christ enters in.
O Little Town of Bethlehem
Those of us responsible for the celebrations of Christmas, at church or home, know well the difference between what we do and the true gift of Christmas. By true gift, I mean an experience that touches our souls with the reassurance that God has indeed come to us, that the hope of peace will be realized one day.
We cannot produce the gift of such a moment; nor earn it. It is silently and wondrously given.
When I was a parish priest, the gift would sometimes come to me as I drove home alone after the last Christmas Eve service. The feelings wouldn’t last, of course, but it didn’t matter. I could go a long way on the memory of the peace and quiet joy I felt. And I was grateful.
Other years, the gift came when I made an intentional effort to show up where love was needed. No matter how harsh the situation, in that moment, there was nowhere else I wanted to be. At still other times, Christ’s gift came when I was struggling to believe in love. Through the kindness of a friend or stranger, light would shine in the darkness.
And I remember one particular Christmas with my mother when I was in college. Everything about it was lovely, including Christmas morning, when the priest of our church and his wife invited us for a champagne brunch after church. It wasn’t a lavish Christmas by any means, but it was one the happiest times of my life.
I cherish that memory now.
Let me take this opportunity to thank all in our congregations and communities who have labored hard to help make Christmas meaningful for others. Thanks as well to those who are intentionally showing up in places where love is needed. Finally, heartfelt thanks to those who work the night shift on Christmas Eve, and perhaps again on Christmas Day. May you feel the gratitude of God for all that you give, often invisible to others.
Should this be a harder Christmas for you or your loved ones, may the gift of Christ’s presence make it easier to bear. Please be kind to yourself in this tender season.
As Brené Brown reminds us all, “Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world,” and certainly love is the last thing we need to ration at Christmas. “Practicing compassion for anyone,” she writes, “including ourselves, simply increases the amount of compassion in the world.1 Practicing compassion is surely one way we make a home within ourselves for Christ to come.
May the wondrous gift of Christ’s presence come to you this Christmas and touch your soul with the reassurance of his love.
1Brené Brown, Rising Strong. (Random House Books, 2015). p.9.
