The Holy Finds Us
I didn’t quite feel myself throughout the season of Advent and then this feeling of “offense” followed me well into Christmastide. As I spoke with loved ones, strangers, and many people around me I found I was not alone in my sense of something not being quite right.
In an effort to find some sort of sacredness throughout the season of Advent, I volunteered to write an Advent devotion for my church that I tried to expand, here, on my blog. I found the posts difficult to write, the inspiration struggled to come and I found myself anxious and disconnected. The holidays can be so hard, especially if one is a part of a Christian faith tradition. The holiness our faith tradition informs us about is too often ignored or comes, at best, second to the secular Christmas that dominates our society.
Now, after the holiday has, dare I say, long since passed I am still trying to find the grounding nature of holiness. It feels almost as if every time I step out in hope I find my foot falling through the floorboards again. I am tripped up and stuck wondering how will it all hold when everything seems to be falling apart?
The world is sick with COVID still raging, causing more and more people to get sick, the earth is sick, trying to find ways to cope with the damage that has been done, and the continual and constant presence of pressure and anxiety that weighs heavily on all of us has left us exhausted and soul weary at our baseline.
So, I have to search for the holy and when my struggling and striving search leaves me oblivious to the holy right in front of me—I give thanks that even without my efforts, the holiness breaks through, meeting me and you and us precisely where we are at.
It is the holiness of twinkling Christmas lights on a dead but fragrant Christmas tree. The holiness of the peace that comes from walking in the cold, winter air as the stillness of the pale grey-blue sea laps against the pier. The holiness of a whisper white full moon as it slowly disappears in the brightening morning sky—all pale pinks and blues complementing the white of a huge winter moon. The holiness of a squiggly baby just waking up from a deep midmorning sleep—their squidgy hand tapping your lips and laughing at your response. The holiness of laying on the couch reading while your husband finds joy in playing his video games.
The holiness of a holding a mother’s grief through the phone, hundreds of miles apart, and then speaking at length about her love of knitting to remind her of the spiritual practices that bring her comfort. The holiness of a group of strangers holding vigil for someone else’s loved one. The holiness of someone thanking you for paying attention. The holiness of someone sharing about their favorite town, their hobby, their thought process on how laundry ought to be done, or the comfort found in the scent of bleach signaling a freshly cleaned house.
I tend to put a lot of pressure on searching for the holy, thinking I am looking out for something that looks a heck of a lot like a grand gesture and if I am not careful I will miss the holy moments that gently appear to me, in my everyday moments. These holy moments tell me something about God. They remind me that this holy and loving God I put my faith in, is a God of both the grand gestures and the holy ordinary. The God who uses ordinary things like bread, wine, and water to remind us of extraordinary grace and love. It only makes sense that some of the holiest of moments are the ones that meet us right where we are—no need to go hunting for them.
May God’s holy everyday presence find you.
Peace and Blessings,
Margaret
