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Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

December 16, 2023

Haggai 2:1-19  |  Psalm 30  |  Psalm 32  |  Revelation 3:1-6  |  Matthew 24:1-14

One of the many ways that being a part of St. Luke’s has deepened my faith has been in learning how to engage in a more thoughtful preparation of my heart and mind as we approach the anniversary of Christ’s birth. I’ve always launched headlong into the merriment of the Christmas season, and still do. The music, the lights, the gifts, the general feelings of goodwill … what’s not to love?  But taking stock of the reasons why we need a savior in our lives – personally and collectively – adds a deeper dimension to the joy we feel at Christ’s advent. It seems counterintuitive, but attuning to the darkness in our lives, the darkness that all those lights and all that merry-making are seeking to drive out, makes our celebration so much richer.

Because, let’s face it: inside we still hurt. Our lives are still filled with brokenness. The loss or illness of a loved one. The loneliness. The anxiety and fear we wrestle with every day. The regret for not having done better. The personal shame we heap on ourselves. I don’t need to name your pain – you know it all too well. It does not go away when the radio station changes format from lite rock to 24/7 Christmas. Nor when the band plays, the choir sings, and the town Christmas tree switches on. The hurt is not removed by watching on the Hallmark Channel the perfect lives of beautiful people in spotless homes in charming Christmas towns. No. If anything, we feel worse by comparison. So, we add more Christmas cheer. We kick the nostalgia into overdrive. We fill our lives with so much Christmas activity that we make sure there is no time to focus on the uncomfortable parts.

But God offers us something different. Something deeply fulfilling that does not ignore our brokenness. He offers to heal it. God does not promise that we will not have difficulty, but He does promise that it will not be the last word.

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30)

Because the true joy of Christmas is that God loves us – each and every one of us. Fantastically and intensely. God ripped through the veil of eternity and out of infinite space to join us here on this small blue planet. He became flesh and dwelt among us. Like the father in the parable of the prodigal son, he saw us from a long way off and ran to us.  He did not wait for us to approach him in all our anxiety and shame. God ran to us and embraced us. And we, like Sally Field in her iconic Academy Award acceptance speech, should be crying out “You like me! You really like me!”

In fact, God loves us! He really loves us! Enough to step out of eternity and become one of us for a short time. To feel what it is like to be us in all our contradiction and messy humanity. To tell us over and over again to not be afraid. To show us how to live, how to love one another, how to love ourselves, and how to love Him back. He turned everything upside down and showed us how to focus on the core of what a life in love is all about. And we beheld his glory. Glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.

The joy of Christmas morning is made so deeply enriching when we approach it with the honest examination that we do have a brokenness in us that is in desperate need a of a Savior. God appeared and the soul felt its worth. And our joy on Christmas morning is made complete when we come to know that it is but a stirring of the hope that is fully realized in the joy of Easter morning. When, after the veil of eternity ripped open again and Christ left us, He promptly returned in triumphant new life and brokenness and death itself were overcome – fully and for all time. This is our inheritance to claim. This is God’s promise to us, and it is our dawn to live in – even as we endure the night. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

Gary Schweizer