Many people, some I know and most I
don’t, have lost a lot during the last nine months.
It seems as if nothing has been left untouched by
the impact of this nasty little virus, and though
the virus is invisible to the naked eye, we see the
impacts of this seemingly never-ending global
pandemic every day.
The broken dreams, struggling
finances, lost loved ones, and difficult
circumstances are obvious in the lives of people
surrounding us, or in the life of the person, we
stare at in the mirror. Some losses are painfully
clear, others painfully felt, even others remain
unearthed or unrealized. People have lost more than
they could have anticipated with no foreseeable end
to the destruction, and one way we are like-minded
despite background or status or belief is being
forced to deal with this grief.
We grieve the damage to minds and
relationships through quarantines.
We grieve the closed businesses and difficult
decisions that seem to be too strong to defeat.
We grieve the loss of control or lack of
understanding and the fiery fury we feel as we
fruitlessly negotiate between man and illness.
We grieve the lost celebrations and opportunities
and mourn with echoing "might haves" and "could have
beens."
We grieve that this “new normal” feels neither “new”
nor “normal” but is outside our ability to command.
I’d guess you’re no different. You’ve
lost something or someone, perhaps multiple things
and ones, over the past months. I have, too. At
first glance, some of these losses seem trivial.
Other losses are deep and painful.
One of these deep losses for me is
something called "Christmas in the Chapel."
(For those who don't know, "Christmas in the Chapel"
is an original musical written every year and
performed at my alma mater in Illinois, Lincoln
Christian University.)
Christmas in the Chapel has played a
large role in my life. I've had the honor to be a
part of it in one way or another for ten plus years,
including writing and directing. Throughout the past
few years, though I’ve seen my personal involvement
lessen, my love for this random musical in the
middle of a random cornfield in the middle of
Illinois continues to grow. Christmas in the Chapel
has been a safe respite during difficult times and,
for me, a place of community and creativity, and
challenge.
This year, like many other places and
many other things damaged by this pathogen, we
cannot gather together in the (newly remodeled)
cavernous chapel to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
This week would have begun the week leading up to
the opening night.
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I'm grieving the loss.
I've been thinking about what this
week "could have been" - with rehearsals and lights
and costumes demanding attention. People filling up
a space to experience some reminder of music and
laughter and Christmas. And, as I've been thinking
and grieving and crying, one word keeps coming to
mind. Though I’m tempted for the word to be
“depressed” or “devastated” or “distressed,” the
more I think about it, the more I’m drawn to the
word that would typically hang suspended above my
head during rehearsal and performances, majestically
reminding me of the reason for each and every
season. This one word best describes God’s desire
for our hearts in the midst of the loss.
"Rejoice."
I've sat below this word hanging up
over the stage for years. I have to admit, I don't
think about it a lot. The sign is pretty, but also
largely out of view, and we have things to do. I
have to really stop and put in some effort and focus
upward to see it shining brightly.
How can this word mean anything in
the midst of this chaos? What do we have to rejoice
about?
But what if rejoicing isn't dependent
on our circumstances, but on our response? What if
rejoicing isn't about us, but about God? What if we
can rejoice even as we lament?
So I come back to the word.
"Rejoice."
Rejoice, because even though there is
much pain, there is much love in the world.
Rejoice, because even though many
things are closed or canceled, Christmas cannot be
closed, and it will never be canceled.
Rejoice, because even though the
despair today is real, so is the joy of knowing that
Jesus came at all.
And the fact that this one word has
been sung in one of my favorite places more times
than I can count brings me hope and peace. Because
with this one word comes the song that has been
imprinted on my heart because of my dear beloved
Christmas in the Chapel.
Good Christian Men, Rejoice!
With heart and soul and voice.
Now ye need not fear the grave:
Jesus Christ was born to save!
Calls you one and calls you all
to gain his everlasting hall.
Christ was born to save.
Christ was born to save!
We have grief. We have pain. We have
loss.
Yes, but we also can sing loudly and
boldly and wait expectantly for the true and
grace-filled impact of Christmas.
"Rejoice." |
