"But Mary kept all these things in her heart and thought about them often." (Luke 2:19 NLT)
We enjoyed a different kind of Christmas Eve this year. Eli blew in late afternoon. We all stood around with his luggage at our feet, laughing and chatting, eventually settling into chairs right there in the undefined space between kitchen and living room, just glad to be in shared company. Eventually, we shifted to dinner-making and other merriments.
When the time came to make our way to Christmas Eve service, we dimmed the lights and assumed our places on the couch. We had anticipated this challenge: un-churched at Christmas is a whole new adventure for the Thoresons. We decided to rise to it, each bringing an element for our own intimate service. Rob led carols on his guitar, Sarah served communion, Eli shared a retelling of Luke 2 and I gave my micro-message on the shepherds. (“Let’s go!“) It was private and precious, and it’s my prayer that we’ll never have opportunity to do it again.
We settled in for a movie and popcorn, but when it got late, Sarah wasn’t satisfied. She wanted to go to Christmas Eve mass. Eli and I obliged. We bundled up, crossed town and slipped into a quiet cathedral as the bells were ringing. The last pew offered safe passage for our little party. And it was unexpectedly good for my soul.
It took quite a bit of courage to attend a Catholic service. The last mass I sat through was my dad’s funeral. Yet somehow it seemed fitting to wrap-up my near-silent advent in a solemn service. The high church rhythms felt familiar and holy. There was no room for relational connection or questions; it was just me and Jesus considering His incarnation.
The priest shared a host of ideas in his seven minute homily; but the two that took hold were the adamancy of Mary to ponder and the gift we’ve settled on for the Savior.
He pointed out how a secular Christmas trades out joy and hope for a stress and anxiety. He urged us instead to reconsider Mary’s more quiet approach: treasuring. His words were a quite affirmation of my entire advent experience.
He also pressed us: what gift will we leave at the manger this Christmas? Our Savior King has invested so deeply, what can we possibly offer in return? The priest suggested the only appropriate response to Christ’s magnificent generosity is our humility.
I’d already been thinking about our Jesus stocking, wondering what I could put on a piece of paper that could possibly hold a candle to the redemption He’s held out to me. Humility. It sticks in the throat like food not-quite chewed. Uncomfortable to think about and nearly impossible to achieve. But a totally appropriate response to the majesty, power and grace we find in the person of Jesus.
Let’s look at Webster’s 1828 dictionary definition:
HUMIL’ITY, noun [Latin humilitas.]
1. In ethics, freedom from pride and arrogance; humbleness of mind; a modest estimate of one’s own worth. In theology, humility consists in lowliness of mind; a deep sense of one’s own unworthiness in the sight of God, self-abasement, penitence for sin, and submission to the divine will.
Before honor is humility Proverbs 15:33.
Serving the Lord with all humility of mind. Acts 20:19.
2. Act of submission.
With these humilities they satisfied the young king.
Yep, that’s pretty uncomfortable. A strong indicator of worth for consideration, don’t you think? What word are you considering for 2023?
"Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God [set aside self-righteous pride], so that He may exalt you [to a place of honor in His service] at the appropriate time," (1 Peter 5:6 AMP)
Lord, we don’t like humility. If we are being honest, it’s not a gift we want to give. But today we see how it is an appropriate response to all You’ve done for us. Forgive us for our pride, our exaggerated sense of self-worth and our opinions about how we think the story should go. Give us grace. Help us see You accurately and shrink our egos appropriately. In Your mercy, reveal a word to hang on to for the year to come. Amen.