In the bleak midwinter time
when life feels blank and doesn’t rhyme,
when melting snow looks more like grime
joy plays at hide and seek.
This is the time of year I pine
for longer days and warm sunshine,
for river cruising on the Rhine.
Oh, how I long for spring.
But since drab days await me still,
I’ll dress to counteract the chill
and bravely climb up winter’s hill
to view what soon will come.
Deserted. Forgotten.
Stood up. Let down.
“Forsaken, my God, by You. Why?”
A piercing cry from swollen lips
by one hung out to die.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
A shepherd king first complained these words while
being hunted,
being sure that God was on his side,
being sure he’d been anointed.
But confused and disappointed,
he hung his head.
He closed his eyes and prayed.
Drained of strength (too pained to sleep)
he smelled the scent of death. (His own).
He heard the sounds of enemies approaching:
the scoffing jeers,
the searing jokes of sneering folks.
The wounds of words were indistinguishable from
the agony of betrayal:
Betrayed by friends.
Betrayed by loyal subjects.
Betrayed by God?
Where was this God in whom the king had trusted?
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
This time the same cry is heard beneath a Roman cross.
Not from a shepherd who would be king,
but from a King who called Himself a Shepherd.
A Worker of wood.
A Worker of good.
A Worker of words.
A Worker of wonders.
A Worker who wonders,
“Where’s the One with Whom I’m one?”
Somehow, some way
the questioning cry of King David seemed appropriate
from his Son a thousand years thereafter.
A Man of Sorrows
acquainted with grief,
acquainted with alienation,
rejected by an innkeeper,
maligned by His own brothers,
misunderstood by “the righteous,”
forgotten by the five thousand miraculously fed,
framed by the fickle crowd
whose palms lay withered…dead.
In addition,
He was betrayed by one He had helped.
He was deserted by another who promised,
“Though all others flee, I always will stand true.”
Like David of old.
Like you and me.
He knew rejection’s pain.
But God forsaken?
Surely not!
Not One who came from heaven.
Not One who claimed God’s name.
All the same,
hear the words ascribed to Him
by those who heard Him speak.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Of all the pain inflicted…
the crown,
the whip,
the nails,
the loneliness of friendship failed,
the ridicule from those for whom He came.
Yet of all the pain inflicted,
the worst was when for one brief moment
God the Father turned away from His suffering Son
(agonizing for His Son)
He watched and wept for a while.
But a holy God could not allow Himself to gave upon
the cross,
the loss of innocence,
the sin of all people
of all places
of all time past, present and future
placed upon His perfect Son.
As in the day of David,
the crowd looked on
to watch and wag their heads.
But not the Father
who closed His eyes and turned His back
and heard His begotten pray…
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Yet forsaken not forever.
Amid the rumble of the thunder
and the darkness of the day,
the Son was heard to whisper words
which offered hope before He passed away…
“Father, into Your hands I commit my Spirit.”
He knew that God was there
strangely satisfied with what He’d seen
(and what He couldn’t see)
all present and accounted for.
The forsaken Son
(forsaken no longer)
with confidence looked up
and reached out
to you and me.
That lonely separation
(albeit all so brief
yet altogether all sufficient)
means that we never have to voice that ancient question
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Reds and greens blur into blues as
Christmas draws near.
Lights and music morph to black as
grief wrestles fear.
Silent night is not a carol.
Rather, it’s a constant peril
as a distant lonely sparrow
coaxes a tear.
In the darkness of depression,
day mimics night.
While my friends are celebrating,
I long for light.
Paralyzed and lacking feeling,
dizzied by my world that’s reeling,
desperate for a longed-for healing,
wrong disses right.
God in Heaven, hear my longings.
Draw near, I pray.
Free me from what holds me hostage
day after day.
In my anxious desperation,
be my safe and sure foundation.
Though I’m lost, be my salvation.
Show me the way.
tune: Ar Hyd Y Nos
Everything, everywhere, all at once
is crashing in on me.
My world is spinning out of control.
I’ve lost my grasp.
I’ve lost my confidence.
Hope is slipping away.
To quote the psalmist
(just like Jesus did),
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
In this chaotic universe,
cursed by sin
and broken by self-destructive choices,
everything, everywhere, all at once
derails my dreams,
drains my energy
and robs me of my faith.
Still I will cling to You.
I will cast myself upon You.
With what little faith I have left
I will leap into arms I cannot see
but trust are there.
Lord, You are my everything.
You are everywhere all at once.
There is nowhere where You are not.
You are ever-present.
You are all-knowing.
Nothing escapes Your watchful eye.
You are all-powerful.
Nothing is too hard for You.
Because you are my everything,
everywhere all at once,
you know what I need.
You know what I lack.
You know what I long for.
Carry me, Father in Your everlasting arms.
Hold me close to Your beating heart
that I might hear the pulsating reminder
of Your never-ending love.
Earlier this fall I was attending a leadership summit in a suburb of Chicago. Following our sessions one afternoon, I went for a power walk before dinner. Adjacent to the conference center was a cemetery. Because reading old headstones in a graveyard is one of my favorite pastimes, my aspirations of getting my heartrate up gave in to my curiosity as I looked down at the markers.
One tombstone in particular captured my attention. It marked the final resting place for a family by the name of Balance. Balance? Really? I’d never seen that word as a name before. For one whose mind delights in word play and double entendres, I had to smile. Balance was dead.
Before me was living proof that balance had been a casualty of life. What was relationally true for this Chicago-area family, has been emotionally true for me at times in the past when my schedule was out of control. And I know I’m not alone. Balance is that easy-going, less-than-obvious, reality that doesn’t call attention to itself. We tend to take it for granted. We don’t realize how key it is to a happy life until it’s gone.
When balance bites the dust, panic thrives. Life becomes chaotic. A kind of grief sets in. Inner peace plays hide-and-seek. When balance has ceased to be a reality in our lives, the consequences are endless. They include debt, illness, depression, a short temper, drug use, alcohol abuse and over-eating.
If ever there is a time when taking urgent care of balance is critical, it’s now. This is the season of the year when maintaining a healthy balance between demands and desires is at-risk. Advent, Hanukkah and Christmas can easily find balance on life-support.
Just looking at my own schedule at work is enough to rob balance of its breath. There is a tree-lighting ceremony, a St. Lucia breakfast, a poetry reading tea, four holiday concerts, three Advent lectures, two staff parties and an all-campus carol sing-a-long. (Were you expecting a partridge in a pear tree?)
And then there’s my own personal calendar of writing the family Christmas letter, addressing the Christmas cards, shopping for family members and workmates, wrapping those gifts and helping my wife decorate the house.
Add to all of the above the fact that Christmas Day falls on Sunday this year. Bah! Humbug! Once again, a day meant to be spent with family is threatened by the demands of the church calendar. Without an infusion of creativity, balance is definitely headed for the intensive care unit.
Your schedule is likely just as complicated. The commitments on your calendar may be different than mine, but the outcome is equally as stressful. With apologies to Dr. Seuss, it’s not the Grinch we have to worry about. It’s the lack of balance that threatens to steal Christmas (and ultimately our health).
To that end may I suggest reflecting on the lyrics of one of my most-loved contemporary carols. In “Breath of Heaven” (written by Chris Eaton and recorded by Amy Grant) there is recognition of the weight waiting for Christmas finds us carrying as well as the pressures that cause us to stoop navigating life in a less-than-perfect world.
I am waiting in a silent prayer. I am frightened by the load I bear, In a world as cold as stone. Must I walk this path alone? Be with me now.
In silent prayer and honest reflection, we just might find guidance in how to reduce the activities that typically define our December. We just might discover that Immanuel (God-with-us) is with us providing us the means to keep balance alive.
In the case of Christmas Day being on Sunday, for me there is hope. Balance will not succumb this year to the life-threatening complications with which I have to contend every six years. With the concurrence of colleagues, we decided to pre-record our Christmas Day worship service and broadcast it on our closed-circuit television channel a few times on Sunday. A hack we discovered during COVID proves helpful once again.
Now, what other ways can I simplify this season?
My Rhymes and Reasons 