BP 235
One of my daughters and her family of six traveled from far away to celebrate an unforgettable early Christmas with us.
Now they are gone. (Maybe sometimes it would be easier to forget they had ever been here at all. No, not true. You know what they say: better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.)
A day later, I look back and think and feel. The memory of their presence still lingers around the house—wonderfully and almost tangibly. But something a bit darker mingles with the warm memories. A quiet now reigns in the house, slowly eroding my sweet memories of the little pitter-pattering feet, the chatter of excited voices, the shrieks of joy, and even the beautiful crying of a baby boy—beautiful because the cries are the sound of life.
Sometimes it feels like nothing lasts in this world . . .
Presence and silence.
I sit alone and let my heart and mind roam wherever they would wander. I don’t always desire to go where they take me, but on this day, I follow where they go.
I drift down the halls of time and I am young again—a boy sitting at the dinner table when Christmas was magical (but not yet spiritually amazing to my soul). There are only six of us at the Christmas Eve table—my grandmother, mother, two uncles, and my twin sister.
I am not yet wise about family dynamics. I do not know that the conversation and laughter of my mother and uncles (and even my sister and I) are tamped down by the presence of my grandmother, a powerful goddess in the family due to her mental dysfunction and unpredictable anger. To me, what I experienced during the holidays of my youth was normal. Ten years in the future, I will begin to learn of the century-long (maybe four thousand years long) unhealth in the extended family. But at that Christmas table, everyone seems happy.
Thankfully and joyfully, many chairs have been added to the Christmas table over the past fifty years. But four chairs from those small Christmas gatherings now sit empty and will never be occupied again in this world. There was a time when my heart ached deeply for these departed loved ones. Now I only have twinges of grief when I stop to ponder those innocent and uninformed days so long ago before I encountered the thief called death.
Presence and silence.
Miraculously, a Throne for The King was added to the head of that Christmas table (and the table in my heart) when I was seventeen before the other chairs became empty! Nothing was ever the same after the Light of the world penetrated the darkness of my youthful and ignorant heart. He prepared me for and was with me when death crept into my house and stole from me.
The memories of fifty years ago melt away and I walk far down the long hallway of time, and I am back in 450 B.C. I think about “the silence” during that four-hundred-year abyss between God speaking through the prophet Malachi and the coming of the second Elijah, John the Baptist. Four hundred plus years! I can’t imagine what those long centuries were like for those who longed to hear from the heart of God.
Presence and silence.
Some of the last words in Malachi were these: “But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall. And you shall tread down the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet, on the day when I act, says the Lord of hosts.”
The people of Israel must have wondered and yearned and wept as they waited for that Sun of Righteousness to come “on the day when I act.” They must have thought, when will the long-expected Messiah come? Who will it be? Will He really come? Was Malachi actually a true prophet? Why is God making us wait so long? Will the Sun of Righteousness come in my lifetime?
Gloriously, in the fullness of time, at just the right time, The Sun/Son came to us and for us. He did not leave us alone in the dark hallway of the passing centuries or in the deep darkness of our spiritual lostness. He came to be “God with us,” to be like us, to save us:
“Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted” ~ Hebrews 2:14
What a beautiful High Priest we have, One who came “to help” us.
The grief and loss around those four vacated chairs of childhood (and many more since then) are now eclipsed wonderfully by the Sun of Righteousness, by the Son of God who came for all those who acknowledge their need for a Savior to rescue them from rebellion, sin, death, separation, and the darkness of the spiritual world.
I still hate death. I grieve deeply over goodbyes. I still ache when silence settles over my body and soul like a cold shroud, usurping the presence of people I experienced only minutes earlier. Even though childhood taught me to be alone, I don’t want to be alone. Forever, I want to be with Jesus and all those I love including family, friends, beloved clients, and fellow believers.
We were designed for life and attachment. Death is wrong. Separation goes against the original intent for us. Empty chairs at the table are not a part of life but of death. But Jesus came with the promise that one day all who embrace Him will sit together at that joyful Christ Table in eternity never to say goodbye again.
Therefore, I now hold onto a promise that brings light into my darkness. Now I am gifted comfort. Now I do not grieve as those who have no hope.
“Advent” means the arrival of a notable person. Jesus, the most notable of all persons, has arrived to deliver us from the empty chairs at the Christmas table–even from our own empty chair. For we will rise and live with Him always. Our chairs are waiting for us at His banquet table!
No goodbyes. No grief. No silence or separation. Only perfect presence forever.
Bring it on, long-awaited Savior!
And you, child [John the Baptist], will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
77 to give knowledge of salvation to his people
in the forgiveness of their sins,
78 because of the tender mercy of our God,
whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high
79 to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace” ~ Luke 1:76ff
“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. And he who was seated on the throne said, ‘Behold, I am making all things new’” ~ Revelation 21:3ff
