’Tis the fourth Sunday of Advent, friends.
This year, ’tis also Christmas Eve.
One week ago, my husband and I ventured out into the winter wonderland that lies at our doorstep. Right across the creek lies the White Mountain National Forest; and, when the creek is frozen, you can simply walk across to enjoy the wild, solitary beauty.
I found myself almost breathless at the wonder of it all, and reflecting on how fitting it is to celebrate Christmas in the middle of winter, when nights are long and the dark and cold seem eternal. Granted, I am well aware that this is only the case for the northern hemisphere. I am sure beautiful parallels can also be drawn about celebrating Christmas in the glorious warmth of summer, but for now, I shall stick with the age-old adage and “write what I know”.
The creek itself inspired several moments of contemplation. As we followed its course, we were amazed at how it could be frozen for several yards, and then burst out unexpectedly to run its normal course, and then disappear into ice-bound silence again. Meanwhile, the forest around us was decked out in its holiday finest, each tree resembling a delicately frosted cake and snow-covered rocks looking like huge marshmallows lying in heaps. (I did begin to reflect if my love for snow is connected to my love for cake; maybe, deep down, I like it because it looks like frosting and turns the whole world into a bakery display case. Anyway…)
I actually had to stand still to take it all in. I could feel the great Joy of creation all around me – sleeping, and frozen, and buried, but still very much alive, waiting only for the coming of spring to burst out once more in vibrant chorus. How right that, at this time of year, we turn our hearts towards the silent night in Bethlehem, when Joy was born into a dark and frozen world. How appropriate that, through Advent and Christmas, we seek to open ourselves anew to the Joy that is still pulsing underneath the soil of our hardened hearts, waiting only for the coming of the King to set the whole world singing.
May He come soon.
In the meantime, here is a poem for the fourth Sunday of Advent, born partly out of these reflections. (Remember, the first line of each of these poems echoes the last line of the previous; if you missed Weeks One and Two or Week Three, I encourage you to refresh your memory before reading.)
Enjoy, dear ones.
Fourth Sunday of Advent; or, First Winter Walk
Hold out your hands, my soul, as you return
From wand’ring through a glittering paradise
Remember as you watch the fire burn
The river running underneath the ice
Hold out your hands, my soul: receive the tale
Of “watch and wait” this winter has to tell
These frozen voices shall in spring prevail
Though hidden, still they sing: Emmanuel
Yes, the whole world looks like a great cake when clothed in snow. Wonderful reflections!,!