The bridge of grace will bear your weight…
Remember the goodness of God in the frost of adversity.
Hard times leave us frozen solid,
and too cold to touch,
yet there is hope and healing,
remembering the immensity and goodness of God.
Even when life’s chill leaves us aching,
longing for relief,
the coming thaw is real
because God is good.
Even when we’re flattened,
stepped on, broken into fragments —
the pieces left are the beginning
of who we will become,
made whole again
because God is good.
The frost lasts not forever.
The sun makes us glisten and glitter
as ice melts down to droplets.
We become the goodness of God,
His eyes and ears,
heart and soul,
hands and feet.
Even more so,
we are His tears.
The bridge of grace will bear your weight.
When considering the paradox of a holy infant born in a dingy barn, so weak and helpless, completely dependent on others for His care and safety, it seems impossible that such frailty was meant to hold the weight of a struggling drowning humanity in His hands. No sin is too great and nothing too heavy a load for Him to bear.
Advent is a time to reflect on such mysteries, deepening our understanding of the remarkable gift we were given the night God came to earth as one of us, to dwell among us, and now through the person of His Spirit, remains at home in our hearts.
The bridge built that night continues to bear the awful load that we alone could not manage without being lost forever.
A baby becomes our bridge to grace and we have been offered safe passage.
Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word about Christ. But I ask: Did they not hear? Of course they did: “Their voice has gone out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.”
Tonight the annual Wiser Lake Chapel Children’s Christmas Program blessed the folks who attended and especially the children who participated. Once again the rickety manger was pulled out of storage, with its baby Jesus doll wrapped in swaddling cloths. Yet another generation of children is draped in forty year old white sheet angel costumes with tinsel halos and striped shepherd bathrobes with terrycloth towel head coverings and loopy yarn beards. The familiar songs are sung, the story of the nativity read and acted out by the children. Young voices were raised in “Away in the Manger” and those tender notes went out the double doors of that little Chapel, to the ends of the world.
Did you not hear? Yes, of course you did. And will again.
And shall we, can we, ever be silent again?
Doth not all nature around me praise God? If I were silent, I should be an exception to the universe. Doth not the thunder praise Him as it rolls like drums in the march of the God of armies? Do not the mountains praise Him when the woods upon their summits wave in adoration? Doth not the lightning write His name in letters of fire? Hath not the whole earth a voice? And shall I, can I, silent be?