The weight of glory
On this winter morning I rise early to curl up in my favorite chair, to greet the dawn, and to gaze at our lighted nativity set. This morning is Epiphany Sunday—the first Sunday after the first day of January—and yesterday marked the feast of the Epiphany, the day in the liturgical calendar that follows the twelve days of Christmastide. This means that Christmas is officially over, and it is officially time for the lovely lighted spruce tree in the corner of our living room to be taken down. But I feel reluctant this year to pack up the Christmas decorations.
I am glad to have a rest from a full calendar, from presents and special meals and celebrations. My dear ones and I don’t need any more toys or cookies or chocolate. But I do need more of Jesus. I don’t want to pack away the nativity set because, like Mary and Joseph, I want to keep looking at the face of the baby in the manger. I want more of Emmanuel, the God who is with us, the Word who became flesh and made his dwelling among us.
It has been many months since I have written anything for this blog. I wish I could say I have important reasons for my silence—other projects, perhaps, or other ambitions. Yes, some of my writing time and energy has gone to other places: on-line seminary classes, teaching responsibilities at church, and two extra kids in my life who show up at our house early in the morning, during the hours when I write best.
But if I am honest, I feel largely quieted by the ordinariness of my days. It was easier to write exciting posts when I was living abroad, when even ordinary life felt adventurous or difficult, and when I needed a way to process it all. But now… What am I to say about a day filled with occurrences that likely also fill your days? What words have I to offer in a world already filled with words?
This morning, however, as I sit and watch for the light, I remember that Epiphany is all about celebrating that God came to us incarnate, as a human being, in an ordinary body. Jesus came as flesh-and-blood human to bless this very ordinariness that keeps me quiet, to say with his presence among us that nothing in our human lives is too ordinary for him.
In her book Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren writes, “We tend to want a Christian life with the dull bits cut out. Yet God made us to spend our days in rest, work, and play, taking care of our bodies, our families, our neighborhoods, our homes. What if all these boring parts matter to God? What if days passed in ways that feel small and insignificant to us are weighty with meaning and part of the abundant life that God has for us?”
What if I can embrace the ordinariness of my life—the good bits, the messy bits, the dull bits, all of it—as the weight of glory, as a beautiful gift of God? What if I can hold onto the truth that right here, right now, this day, this place, is the only place where God can bless me, because it is the place where I am?
This, this is a gift worth opening in every season of the year.
I am glad to have a rest from a full calendar, from presents and special meals and celebrations. My dear ones and I don’t need any more toys or cookies or chocolate. But I do need more of Jesus. I don’t want to pack away the nativity set because, like Mary and Joseph, I want to keep looking at the face of the baby in the manger. I want more of Emmanuel, the God who is with us, the Word who became flesh and made his dwelling among us.
It has been many months since I have written anything for this blog. I wish I could say I have important reasons for my silence—other projects, perhaps, or other ambitions. Yes, some of my writing time and energy has gone to other places: on-line seminary classes, teaching responsibilities at church, and two extra kids in my life who show up at our house early in the morning, during the hours when I write best.
But if I am honest, I feel largely quieted by the ordinariness of my days. It was easier to write exciting posts when I was living abroad, when even ordinary life felt adventurous or difficult, and when I needed a way to process it all. But now… What am I to say about a day filled with occurrences that likely also fill your days? What words have I to offer in a world already filled with words?
This morning, however, as I sit and watch for the light, I remember that Epiphany is all about celebrating that God came to us incarnate, as a human being, in an ordinary body. Jesus came as flesh-and-blood human to bless this very ordinariness that keeps me quiet, to say with his presence among us that nothing in our human lives is too ordinary for him.
In her book Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren writes, “We tend to want a Christian life with the dull bits cut out. Yet God made us to spend our days in rest, work, and play, taking care of our bodies, our families, our neighborhoods, our homes. What if all these boring parts matter to God? What if days passed in ways that feel small and insignificant to us are weighty with meaning and part of the abundant life that God has for us?”
What if I can embrace the ordinariness of my life—the good bits, the messy bits, the dull bits, all of it—as the weight of glory, as a beautiful gift of God? What if I can hold onto the truth that right here, right now, this day, this place, is the only place where God can bless me, because it is the place where I am?
This, this is a gift worth opening in every season of the year.
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