It's the first Friday of the month, which means I'm digging into past journals along with others like me. We're a mixed bag of artists, poets and those who write in prose (me!), but each of us brings something tasty to the banquet. Check us out at Dawn's blog.
Those of you who are regular readers of my blog might find this somewhat similar to part of what I wrote earlier this week, but what is that to me? This is what I'm always thinking about when Advent begins. It's the astonishing thing.
December 2, 2005
"Mary, did you know...
when you kissed your boy,
you kissed the face of God?"
A song from church this morning that I keep singing as I walk through the rest of a quiet Sunday. It takes me to the heart of Incarnation. A soft, dewy new baby's face the matchless face of God. Hands curled into fists clutching at his human mama's breast the hands that had 'flung stars into space' and would be punctured by the darkest shade of blood--our sin. A real human baby. A real face the face of God.
As real as my own son for whom He bled. As real as my son who laughed and ran and played deep and hard. As earnest, tender and all boy as my son.
A real boy.
Real God all at once.
This is the story of Advent.
Come, Baby, come.
Come, God-in-new-flesh, come.
Come, Jesus, Emanuel, O Holy One, Come.
One more thing: this was five years before my son began his struggle with mental illness, so today the words are even more poignant to me. God reminds me today of what is true for all of us, but for my son in specific. And I crumble to my knees in hope. And that's what Advent is, after all, isn't it? Hope in the darkness. Hallelujah.