Going with the Flow

I had a plan. I thought it was a noble one. On Christmas Eve Day I was going to write a Christmas prayer that I could share with my family as we gathered around the tree. I was also going to post it on this blog so that you could perhaps share it with your family as well.

I had the time carved out on Thursday to write the prayer. I was at the Salem Hospital for my third day of IVIG treatment…the four hour process of receiving a very slow infusion of the best of people's blood. The treatment has been very helpful to me in the past and I'm looking forward to the results of this round. Usually it takes about two weeks for me to feel the benefits.

Anyway, I was in my little out-patient room, arm hooked to an IV with laptop fired up and ready to go. I was alone, it was quiet, I had time…I was ready to reflect and write a prayer. I'll spare you the details of what happened next -- too much specificity in stuff related to physical issues and body fluids can be a little disconcerting. Suffice it to say that for the next few hours I was completely incapacitated from being able to write anything. I would need a change of clothes and a shower before the ordeal was done. I rallied enough to join my family for the Christmas Eve service, but by then the thoughts of a prayer were long gone.

Actually that's not quite right. I did have a Christmas prayer, but it had been reduced to "Lord, why?" and "Lord, have mercy." What I had intended to be a flowing, theologically rich and heartfelt prayer highlighting the significance of Christmas was diminished to a few word sigh. When Christmas Day came, instead of having a prayer to share with my family I read to them from a book and instead of sharing a prayer with you my blog sat silent.

Why would I go from feeling fine all day to having almost instant physical issues when getting ready to write a prayer? Maybe it was all just coincidence--one of those flukes of timing that need no other explanation than the fact that we live on planet earth. Maybe it was a spiritual attack--some demonic power gained access to my body to prevent a prayer from being written. Maybe it is proof that I really am allergic to Christmas after all--just kidding. Maybe, just maybe, God had something to do with it.

As with my entire journey this last year, I won't claim to know what was happening behind the curtain of human sight and insight that blocks our view of ultimate causes and spiritual powers. My theology isn't cloudless enough to see my way clearly through those kinds of questions.

Meanwhile, I do know what a good and typical Stumbo response would be. Normally, I would say to myself, "I'll write the prayer anyway. It may be late. It may not be out of the romanticized Christmas feeling that I had envisioned, but--spit into the wind--I'm not going to be stopped." To repeat, I do think this would be a good response.

But it's not how I've felt my spirit (God's Spirit?) leaning these days. I'm going to save the theological musing for some other year. Instead, I feel like perhaps I'm identifying a bit with Joseph and Mary in the days preceding and following the birth of the Christ. I believe they had many "Lord have mercy" moments. I believe they had to ask the "why" question on many occasions. As you reflect on the Christmas story as recorded in Matthew and Luke, pushing away the greeting card pictures from your mind, you have to acknowledge that it wasn't an easy season for the guardians of the Holy Child. A 100 mile trip late in the pregnancy, no room to stay in a town that was likely inhabited by relatives, figuring out how to care for an infant without the aid of grandma, fleeing for their lives to become immigrants in Egypt. You know the story. Their rich theology (Luke 1:46) had to be reduced at times to humble pleas.

Maybe "Lord have mercy" is a Christmas prayer after all.

I hope to talk to you again soon,

John

PS I trust you had a good Christmas--maybe even with some rich prayers. But if your Christmas had some hard elements, take comfort in knowing that you are not alone.