Friday, December 21, 2007

Perhaps the Brush of Angel Wings

It's the weekend before Christmas and all through the house not a preacher is panicking, not even...
...me. Having wakened early, I plugged in the Christmas tree lights, turned on the coffee, fed Barrington, and knocked out the last of the special bulletins. The sermon for Sunday is almost in hand, the Christmas Eve candles have been prepared by a loving volunteer, and the nativity scene -- the one my in-laws molded and painted and built some years ago -- is reassembled, and so far no mischievous hands have absconded with the baby Jesus.

It not only is quiet; it actually feels quiet for a change. And more snow is predicted tonight and tomorrow. Perfect! Not that everything is done. There is still a gift or two to buy, and there is the wrapping still ahead. We need to find something to do with all these cookies and candies we made earlier in the week, and there are a few returned cards for which we need to find new addresses. There is a meal to plan and groceries to buy.

But those aren't really "tasks" at all; they are the very candle flames of Advent. All of it is, actually -- even preparing all those bulletins and scripts. Getting ready. Making preparations. Putting life in order for the day -- for the One -- who is to come.
Make your house fair as you are able,
trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the Guest, is on the way.
And so while much, if not most, is accomplished, I'm still getting ready. There is silence to embrace and prayers to attend; there are dreams to revisit and hopes to embrace; there are eyes to look more deeply into, and if I turn my ear just right...

...an angel's song to hear.
"Glory."
"On earth."
"Peace."


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Brought tears to my eyes. Thank you! "Perfect" indeed!