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The dearest freshness
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Christmas Eve
Luke 1:78-79
In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine upon those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Sometimes we don’t choose where we live. I can be dangerously happy, even as I explore the dark places in myself. Because, as Margaret says, I am like a tourist in those dark places: I can leave when I want to; I do not live there.
For those who dwell in emotional darkness and the shadow of death, I am either irrelevant or dangerous when I insist that my happy home is where they too should live. That kind of blind insistence isn’t God’s way. Zechariah speaks of God’s tender compassion, which simply shines on the dark and offers guidance onto the path of peace.
And this is not an easy road, not for any of us. If we think it is, we are foolish and mistaken. Brennan Manning puts it this way in his remarks on Christmas:
All the Santa Clauses and red-nosed reindeer, fifty-foot trees and thundering church bells put together create less pandemonium than the infant Jesus when, instead of remaining a statue in a crib, he comes alive and delivers us over to the fire that he came to light.
Can I share another poem with you today? Written by a humble English Jesuit a hundred years ago or so. Read this out loud. Let the words bleed together and cut into your soul, and then let them touch you with the healing balm of God on this Christmas Eve
…
God’s Grandeur by Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs –
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
The manger is empty no longer, Lord. Baby Jesus comes and all around you hold their breath. In the silence of the stable angel-song threads its way into our ears. Then the cow’s breath steams in the frosty morning, and we all exhale in worship. Praise the Lord, praise you Jesus, welcome to the world.
http://www.christiancounselingservice.com/archived_devotions.php?article_id=1420
