My church had a parking-lot Christmas-eve carol-sing tonight.

 

Tonight we came together, spread apart, to sing hymns to our savior, because it's Christmas eve, and as the song says... since Christ is lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?

It's not been an easy year. Many among us have fallen sick. Some of these are still struggling with the aftermath of illness, some have died. Many of us have lost jobs and don't know how we'll keep a roof over our heads or food on our table, or many of us must still go to work on the front lines, terrified of becoming ill or bringing illness home to our families. Many of us are struggling with physical or mental ailments for which we can't seek treatment due to medical offices being closed or overwhelmed. Many of us are caught in lockdown with an abusive family member. Many of us are afraid of losing someone we love who is high-risk. Many of us are trying to juggle work with schooling children at home.

It's been nearly a year of what felt like walking in darkness... in fear, insecurity, and uncertainty, in a world we may sometimes feel we no longer recognize. "It doesn't seem like Christmas," a friend told me tonight.

But we gathered anyway. Amid a dark (and cold!) night, we brought our candles and flashlights and headlights; in a dark (and too-often cold) world, we sang of the Light of the World. Because no matter what happens, he is there, and we are his, always, and nothing can change that. Paul wrote to the Romans (Rom. 8:35, 37-39):

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

No matter what happens, this is an important thing to remember. Every year, when we light our candles to sing Silent Night, it is a reminder for us that we can be his light and his love. We can show kindness and understanding for people around us navigating through hardships that go far beyond missed vacations or shaggy hair. We can act in ways that may be inconvenient but keep us and our neighbors safe. If we are lucky enough to still be blessed with health or employment, we can try to help those who are not. And we can believe, through the darkness, that there is still light-- in God, in us, in each other.

My favorite of the gospels is John, which reminds us nearly first thing: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. Did not, will not, cannot, because he is Lord of heaven and earth. May we all carry with us his peace and light, come what may, and may we keep singing.

My life flows on in endless song,
above earth’s lamentation.
I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Love is lord of heav’n and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

2hrough all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing.
It finds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

What though my joys and comforts die,
I know my Savior liveth.
What though the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night he giveth.

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing!
All things are mine since I am his!
How can I keep from singing? 

--R.W. Lowry