Hark the herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled"
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim:
"Christ is born in Bethlehem"
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"
This is a song most of us could probably sing or at a minimum hum. It's a song I have sung literally my entire life and has remained one of my favorite Christmas hymns over the years. We might not know all the verses, but the first verse seems to be a fairly popular one and rightfully so. Every word of it is a beautiful theological truth that preaches a gloriously triumphant message that Christ has come for a reason, with a purpose. It's something to rejoice in and cling to, but this year something stuck with me in a way it never has before.
God and sinners reconciled
It's a truth I know well. It's a truth I rely on daily. It's a truth I don't want to escape.
This year the lesson was different.
My dad is the eldest of 3 kids, the responsible one but never the favored one. My grandad's blessing rested upon my uncle. My grandmother's blessing rested upon my aunt. Upon my dad rested criticism, blame, wrath and responsibility. If anything went wrong, it was ultimately his fault and his job to fix it. From what I have gathered, my grandmother's Irish temper and fondness for alcohol often created the perfect storm for chaos and dysfunction and my father usually stood directly in the path of her fury. He took it so no one else had to. My grandad frequently took job assignments which took him elsewhere but used alcohol and passivity to cope when he was there. It didn't change much as my dad grew into adulthood. On my parent's wedding day, their car had to be hidden because my grandmother threatened to break out the windows. She threatened to miss the wedding too but instead just showed up late. My parents had every reason imaginable to sever their relationship with my grandparents...but they didn't. Years passed and my brother and I came along. My grandparents still drank and smoked. They still criticized my dad, excluded my mom, and fought. Their favor still rested upon my aunt and uncle. One would assume that my parents would keep us from them...but they didn't. They protected us but did not isolate us. We gathered at Christmas and Thanksgiving. We honored them on Mother's and Father's day. We celebrated their birthdays. We invited them to all of our birthdays, events and activities. My parents called frequently to check on them and helped whenever possible. My mom was always warm and caring. My dad was always helpful and concerned. From the way my parents treated them, no one would have ever suspected the deep wounds of these broken relationships. When I was in high school, my grandmother died and my father rushed to her side and to my grandad's aide. That was many, many years ago. Since then my grandad has given up smoking and alcohol but something much more miraculous has occurred. My dad's relationship has been restored with my grandad in a way I never imagined possible and I am closer to him now than I ever was as a child...and all because my parent's chose to continuously extend unmerited grace and mercy to people that wounded them deeply. They chose to be RECONCILED.
This past Christmas Eve, I sat at a candlelight service next to my parents. As we sang the hymn above, I looked back for some reason and saw a dear older couple sitting alone on the back row. The husband was someone I knew well. He was a constant fixture on church youth mission trips when I was a teenager. My memories of his grace and mercy and humor are still so very fond. He was a person I respected and admired at a time when I respected and admired so few. When the service drew to a close, I hurried back to see him. We quickly reminisced about the good old days on youth mission trips and it was as if neither of us had aged a day. Then I asked him about his kids and he aged in a moment. His response broke my very heart as I watched tears well up in his eyes. "My kids don't have anything to do with me..." Those are words that cut. How could I possibly respond? I hugged him and said I was sorry and that I would pray for changed hearts. What more could I say? I am not naive. I don't assume he was the perfect father or that he was faultless in the brokenness of his relationship with his children. I assume quite the opposite, that he was and is indeed a sinner...just like me...just like you...just like his kids.
As I walked to my car and watched my husband herd our 4 into the car, a thought stuck with me:
If God and sinners can be reconciled, why can't sinners and sinners be reconciled?
And I looked over my shoulder and saw my parents, who BOTH chose reconciliation over anger and hate and bitterness, and I was overwhelmed with one thought:
Reconciliation only occurs when the person in the "right" remembers their own sinfulness and reaches out with unmerited grace and mercy and forgiveness to people that wounded them deeply.
So someone hurt your feelings...BE RECONCILED
So someone was inconsiderate...BE RECONCILED
So someone criticized you...BE RECONCILED
So someone didn't support you...BE RECONCILED
So someone made you feel fat or ugly or unwanted or unintelligent...BE RECONCILED
So someone forgot your or abandoned you...BE RECONCILED
So someone wounded you in ways unimaginable...BE RECONCILED
Whether it happened 15 minutes ago or 15 years ago, the message of the manger, the message proclaimed by the angels, is that reconciliation with God is possible and if reconciliation with God is possible than reconciliation between sinners is certainly possible as well.
This is a hard message. This is a painful message. This is a personal message.
This is a message that I will have to wrestle with because I have kids who come from hard places.
In the process of becoming not me, I am learning that I must let go of hurt and bitterness and anger and I must choose to be reconciled
...to God
...to sinners
The message of the manger is the message of the cross...BE RECONCILED
