Where joy and sorrow meet

                                                                                                                                   

                                                        


|Advent Blog; Christmas day

I was driving around at work today (christmas eve at the time of writing) and flicking between radio stations. The usual DJ's, the good ones, were mostly on holiday and I found myself listening to classic fm. For those unfamiliar it is a commercial channel that plays exclusively classical music. They were playing carols all day. I have fairly broad musical taste but I have only ever found a few pieces of classical music that I love and so it has rarely been my station of choice. I didn't put a lot of stock in the version of Hark the herald angels sing that was playing when I first tuned in. I thought I'd bear with it and I am so glad I did.  The very next Carol was the most amazing piece of music I think I have ever heard. It was a choral version of "In the bleak midwinter", one of my mothers very favourites. My mother, who died 7 yrs ago in her mid fifties, was extremely fond of choral music. Her two favourite carols, to my memory, were "O Come. O come Immanuel" and "In the bleak midwinter". Both Carols have a fragile uplifting beauty that bursts through the skin of a melancholic melody. When those crystal clear voices harmonise and form chords, at certain points it is like an irresistible force that draws water from out of my tear ducts, an almost chemical reaction to such soulful beauty. This carol on the radio undid me. I arrived for my next job literally wiping the tears away.

It was not just the beauty of the music and words though. It was the association with my mother. I spoke at the start of my advent blog of my "first" Christmas. It was on this first Christmas, on my first return to my family home, after leaving it, that I found myself discussing carols with her. The first of many such discussions, I am sure. She got the same water filmed eyes that I get when listening to them. She went to another place. Music connects the soul with something other sometimes. She lost her father at a young age (4) and her life was not exactly trouble free. Her mother died when she was in her 30s (a similar age to mine, when I lost her) and I am sure now that, when that beauty and sadness connected, she went to the same place that I go when I hear it. So profoundly moved that she was unable to return instantly. "Just give me a minute" she would say. She was a much more private person than I am.

Christmas is always poignant since she has gone. It was my mother that created christmas in our home. I am sure that Dad was involved, I am certain that he facilitated it but it was mum who made it Christmas. She would make a ceremony every year of putting up the cards, tree and decorations. She would sing as she did so. She baked and fed her cake and made mulled wine, the kitchen full of the scent of orange and cinnamon and cloves. She always played the same Ronson Christmas album as she did so. It was this sense of joyful preparation for Christmas that heightened my anticipation, that bought delight and warmth into the experience. She loved music and didn't mind chaotic gatherings. Not all the time but, certainly at Christmas, she wanted the house full of life. I cant tell you how much I miss her.

I love Christmas because, in the words of the Muppet's Christmas carol, It is the season of the soul. It is a time for meetings. It is the time for the meeting of melancholy and beauty. It is the time for the meeting of sweet memories and sad mournings. It is the time for  the meeting of cold and warm. It is the time for the meeting of people you have not seen. It is time for the meetings of families. It is a  time for the meetings of regrets and hopes. It is the time for the meeting of the secular and the sacred.

It is the time for the meeting of the human and the divine; both in the body of our wonderful Lord Jesus Christ and in our very own encounters with him. It is the time for the meeting of the word, the eternal word and flesh, for the incarnation of God almighty. God bleeds, he cries, he laughs, he suffers; not at a distance but with us! And to borrow and adapt a line from a Cormac mcCarthy book, completely out of context.

If he is not the very word of God to us then God never spoke

But, of course, he spoke.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.  Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it...
...The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.
   The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.. (John 1)

So let me close my advent blogs by saying that I pray and hope you can see the light that is the life of mankind in the Christmas story this year and always. But whatever your position, whatever your state of faith, the Christmas story is told with open arms. God loves us and he is for us. He does not demand that we meet some unattainable high standard but he comes to us and embraces us. Let me wish you a very, very merry Christmas and a happy new era.

Love,
Matthew Joseph
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