Darkness and Light Collide

            It was a labor of pain

            It was a cold sky above

            But for the girl on the ground in the dark

            With every beat of her beautiful heart

            It was a labor of love.*

            So writes songwriter Andrew Peterson of the birth of Jesus. For Mary, it was a labor of love. But it was also nine months of waiting and hours of pain before the joy of birth. At Christmas, we joyfully celebrate this birth, but we also share in the suffering of living in a fallen world, where we walk through the dark valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23:4). This is painfully apparent in 2020.

            Christmas isn't always merry, even in the best of times. This year, it's definitely feeling Dickens-like. The cries of suffering are closer and louder than the peals of the Salvation Army bells.

            When times are hard, it's hard to feel God's presence. Yet He is with us. He is the Comforter who comforts us; the Counselor who counsels us; the Prince of Peace who reconciles us with Him and with each other, if only we'll let Him.

            Light and shadow also collided at Jesus' birth. While Mary swaddled her baby, other mothers grieved. An earthly king trying to eradicate the newborn Messiah ordered the murder of all the boys in Bethlehem two years old and under.

            Imagine their mothers, with empty arms, weeping and wailing for their sons who died not of natural causes but by the sword. Their murders fulfilled Jeremiah's prophecy, "A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more." (Jeremiah 31:15, Matthew 2:18).

            These mothers weren't rejoicing at the birth of the Saviour. They were grieving the loss of their sons, as many today are grieving the loss of their loved ones. All was not, and all is not, merry and bright.          

            We are nine months into the pandemic with most of us having nothing as joyful as a baby to show for it. All of us, sadly, are grieving the loss of something or someone. Our eyes are weary from weeping. Our hearts are worn out from fear and anxiety. Our healthcare workers and other essential workers have labored long and hard to get us through this pandemic. They are tired and ready to give up. Their labor, like Mary's, is a labor of love, often underappreciated.

            The season of Advent, which leads up to Christmas Eve, began two Sundays ago. The candles of the season shine brightly in the darkness that surrounds us. The word Advent is derived from the Latin word, adventus, which means "arrival." It's a reminder that we are waiting for something to come.

            What are we waiting for? More than Santa Claus, family get-togethers and lots of presents. More, even, than a vaccine and an end to the pandemic, though what a blessing that will be. We are waiting for a Saviour who promised He'd return for us. 

            Only then will there be "no more death or mourning or crying or pain" (Revelation 21:4). On that day "the Lamb at the center of the throne will be (our) shepherd; he will lead (us) to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from (our) eyes." (Revelation 7:17)

            Jesus' last recorded words were, "I am coming soon" (Revelation 22:20). To this John replied: "Amen. Come Lord Jesus." 

            May this be our Advent prayer as well. Come, Lord Jesus. 

*"Labor of Love" from Behold the Lamb (andrew-peterson.com)