I will confess that the children's voices were not all perfectly on pitch. Some of the angels lost their halos or had their wings turned sideways or upside down. One of the kings nearly lost their treasure as they fumbled with the long robes on the steps. And yet, it was all perfect.
As the young child playing Mary cradled the Jesus doll in her arms, and the older child playing Joseph helped her lay the doll in the manger, my mind was taken back to the story of old. While shepherds and astrologers and angels rubbed elbows and tried to stay balanced near the altar, an older elementary child held up a gigantic star high for the congregation to see. And I was very moved.
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| Photo taken at Murrayhills Christian Church 16 December 2012 |
A recent seminary graduate proclaimed the Lord's presence and invited us to the Great Table where all are welcome. We shared a lengthy time of silence, and I wondered how many people were thinking about the time of Jesus' birth and the darker side of the wise men narrative...
In the final song we sang about injustice bowing to Jesus and the singing of the whole earth rising up to fill the air. As I considered the injustices we have witnessed as a nation this week, a river of salt-water flowed freely down my face.
Look!
Look at these children, Beloved!
They are each so precious!
They are each so beautiful!
Look!
Look at them!
Look at us!
Do you see?!
The music continued and so did my lament. The music stopped. My lament went on.
A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more (Matt. 2:18).
God is not absent. At the end of their pageant, the children declared that Emmanuel means, "God is with Us". And God is.
The children in Connecticut were not slaughtered because God was absent or because prayer is not allowed in school. God was present. God still is.
And still, there was a senseless slaughter of the innocents.
God was born in a little town to a couple of unwed peasants. God was wrapped in rags and laid in a bed of pokey straw and sheltered in a shack. And people from the far East came to give gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh because they believed the promise that this was the King who would bring an end to injustice, who would bring peace and love and sanity to the world.
And yet, from the comforts of his posh palace, a mentally unstable tyrant felt threatened.
There was no peace that night.
Emmanuel. God with us. Tangibly in human flesh, God was with us.
And yet, countless young children were murdered.
A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more (Matt. 2:18).
I have been a nanny for twelve years. I would give my life for any of the children I have served. No questions asked. No hesitation. I would become a human shield if that is what I needed to be.
A child's life is precious.
I cannot believe that God feels any differently.
So, I weep. I wail. I scream and cry and fall to the floor of my apartment building.
I grieve.
God grieves.
We all grieve together.
And still, in the midst of it all, the voices of children declare, "God is with us". Their tiny hands raise battery-powered candles and they sing, "Joy to the World".
They know that God is here.
They know that God is coming.
They know that God will bring peace to all the earth.
The children's songs bring hope and light and peace. The children bring us joy today.
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