Prove all things, hold fast that which is good. 1Thessalonians 5:21
A few years ago I became aware of the concept of choosing a word at the beginning of a year, something that would guide and represent your intentions as you began living 365 new days. I take this task very seriously and give it a great deal of thought. I struggled in December 2019 to find the word I would ride into 2020. I tried a few on and changed my mind several times as I tried to anticipate what 2020 would bring. It was to be the year I would retire and the possibilities of adventure and new beginnings were preeminent in my mind. FREE seemed appropriate. Also, IMAGINE. Maybe even BOSS. And then I fell in love with a quote written by author Sarah Bessey, from her book, Out of Sorts: Making Peace with an Evolving Faith. “May we be the ones who hold the doors open for others, who hold hands, who hold faces, who hold secrets for one another, who hold space for the pain and the brilliance, who hold the light and the salt, the complexity and the simplicity, the silence and the storm, the ones who hold our opinions loosely and yet love ferociously.” I knew with certainty that my word for the coming year needed to be “hold”.
Almost immediately, I could feel a rebellion well up in me. Hold?!!! Seriously?!!! This was to be my year of possibilities, finally free of the 9-5 theft of my day. Hold?!!!! C’mon! But the universe had spoken. I read the quote again and again and while it resonated with all my best angels, it didn’t speak to the escapades I hoped to embark upon with my newfound freedom. I laugh now. 2020 has indeed been the perfect year for such a word. If I understood then, what I know now, I would have warned everybody. Travel in February! Visit your Grandparents! Eat, drink and be merry! GET OUT NOW WHILE YOU STILL CAN!!!
This year has turned out completely different from what I expected. It has been a solitary, contemplative year of discovery I could not have predicted. There have been grand canyons all right and unexpected vistas, but everything I had planned to do has been put on hold. I have not spent lazy afternoons holding grandbabies. I haven’t stowed any luggage in the hold of a traveling ship. Most days, I have just held steady. But honestly, often, I’ve also been holding onto joy. Because within the uncertainty I feel a divine drumbeat and I feel holy instruction in it’s rhythm. Rest, rumble, reckoning, redemption. First we rested and we’ve been rumbling and reckoning ever since. It’s been unexpected, this upheaval. I don’t want to say “unprecedented” because it’s become the unofficial word of 2020 and it’s played out. Also it’s also only partly true. It means, “without previous instance, never before known or experienced”. So, isn’t every year unprecedented? And for that matter, every day? Perhaps what made 2020 so shattering is we had become complacent – uncritical in our thinking and expectant of ease. This year is just the Universe’s way of gripping us by the shoulders and shaking us to find out what we’re going to hold onto. At the end of the day, none of this is new. Sickness, struggle, social unrest and wars over power have been a part of civilization since Adam. This cycle plays out in history and in scripture over and over again. Rest, rumble, reckon, redeem. Right now we need a vaccine to relieve and redeem us. Science has stepped forward and saved us from disease and pandemics throughout time. I am grateful for that and anxious for it to happen in our time. But throughout this year of rumbling and reckoning I have felt a deeper need that a vaccine cannot provide. A Balm of Gilead not provided by science. Over the course of the year I have been reckoning with the words of the poem by Washington Gladden that says, “…...When the anchors that faith had cast, Are dragging in the gale, I am quietly holding fast, To the things that cannot fail”… I have been drawn more than ever to those things.
As the leaves fall, and Advent draws near, I am preparing in watchful wakefulness for a season of peace and good will to all, and for the spirit of Christmas to take hold. I am ready for the rumble and the reckoning to still, and for the quiet of a holy night to descend. I am praying that the tension and rage of this year will seep away and I’m holding space for something more fortifying to take its place. There is a desperate need for goodness and generosity to hold sway. I am praying for exhausted mamas and faithful dads for whom luck has not held up, and for whom a season of busyness and giving is strained by lack and uncertainty. I am hoping for solace for those that have given up or been unable to hold out under the strain. I am mindful of the grief and loss of so many and like to imagine the doors of heaven being held open by the One who waits for them and welcomes them home. I am praying for relief but also for the strength to hold on, in case relief is months away. I am holding vigil over fragile hope. I am praying for a unity that holds us all together. I’m holding out for open armed joy, full throated singing and optimism not tinged with fear. I’m lighting candles and looking for stars. Already and still, I am holding a place in my heart for a centuries old gift that, if received, can change the world. I am listening for the rhythm of a little drummer boy and the urging of his pa rum pum pum pum, to have faith, to hold on.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices / For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…(Oh Holy Night – Placide Cappeau)
Something to Shay 