Occasional Green Pastures and Quiet Waters

Twas the night before Christmas, and I was all ready to try out a new Blackberry and Apple Streusel recipe. I spent the morning buying my flour and sugar, and got my mother to pick up some apples and lemons. We went later to pick out some blackberries at the supermarket, and I was all ready to start baking.

As I turned on the tap to wash my hands, I was greeted by a loud gurgle and a splutter. Heavens, no water?! On Christmas eve? How much worse could it get? In hindsight I should have not asked that question.

As I progressed through my recipe, I realised I needed a cake pan, and it was nowhere to be found. I spent a good half an hour searching for it before I found it. Hidden. Wrapped in a plastic bag. Under a pile of pasta, seaweed, and knicknacks. In a large storage box. In a cupboard.

Then as I proceeded to blitz the crumble mix, it wouldn't blitz. I could see the melting butter pooling at the bottom of the blender. Quickly, I tried pouring it the mix out, but too late! The mix was stuck at the bottom as a gooey gooey mess.I had to scrape it out and mix the rest of it by hand, chucking the bowl into the freezer every minute to let it firm up again.

From the moment I started making the streusel, it was a disaster. What a start to Christmas. Wasn't Christmas supposed to be all about being happy, and jolly, and just having that holiday cheer?

As I sat to think, while watching the streusel in the oven (finally), a question taunted me from the shadows of my mind. How do I reconcile suffering and disaster with Christmas? I mean, I'm sure that there are people suffering worse things than I did, on Christmas. Were we failing to embody the Spirit of the Season?

As I mulled over the thought, I realised I had overlooked something really important. Sure, Christmas is about rejoicing because Jesus was born, but what I had overlooked was the reason why Jesus had to be born as a little baby. Like my evening, but on a far larger scale, the world was messy, broken, and a disaster. It was precisely because the world was so, that Jesus had to be born, so that the world could be reconciled, healed, and mended through his death and resurrection.

Christmas, I realised, wasn't just for people who were merry. It was also for people who were suffering, for we now have a God who can identify with us, and promises us relief.

Death is neither neutral, nor amicable. Death hurts. 

Death hurts because a person has been wrenched from life, from us. 

Death hurts because life has meaning and value. 

Deep down inside, something screams silently that good things were meant to last forever. 

Things like life, like relationships, like love. 

Death shakes us from our denial-

that all is well, that time in our ally. 

Death shows us our brokenness, our helplessness. 

It drives us to seek an everlasting good. 

A good to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves:

To put death to death. 

My soul, oh my soul!
Why are you downcast?
Why do I carry my heart,
as Atlas would the world?
My spirit lies in the dust, weary.
Groaning as if plagued by colic.
My food and drink taste like oat bran,
Fine music rouse nothing but lint.
Oh that I would lie down
And wake in Sheol.