As I write this, it is mid-week, January 2020. That “not-so-eventful” time in the life of the church, that stretch of calm and introspection until we begin our next journey, Lent.
Some of us are already struggling with the resolutions we made but one short week ago: “to take better care of ourselves this year”. I am no exception.
As I sit looking out at the snow falling on the cedars, I realize, yet again, many of us may not make the goals we felt so confident about. So, perhaps, it might be a good time to set our sights on new goals. But this time, less about ourselves and more about what we can do to improve the lives of others.
I found myself drawn to those ancient words in Matthew 25: 35-40 (NRSV) which read:
‘For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ "
Today I would like to share with you a newer version of these same verses, written by Howard Thurman, from “The Work of Christmas”.
When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.
Still cocooned in the darker, colder days of winter, awaiting the warmth and regrowth of spring, these words might be the focus we need to feed our souls and busy our hands as we too, carry on the work of Christmas past.
In peace,
Beryl