Our Ebola Christmas
Last year on Christmas Eve night I was in Sierra Leone, gathered in the darkness with one hundred former orphans, each with a birthday candle in hand. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it," my friend Megan read as we passed a flame to every grubby little hand.
Then we fired up the generator and hundreds of lights flickered on. The children leaped and somersaulted with seemingly endless energy on a patched-up bouncy house, we blasted music, they marveled over their simple presents. It was declared by many to be the best Christmas ever. The light was truly shining into the darkness of their war-torn past. And though it was 90 degrees and I was thousands of miles away from my husband and family, it really felt like Christmas. All seemed right with the world.
This year, those same children are celebrating Christmas under quarantine. Ebola has ravaged their nation, and no one is allowed in or out of the compound for fear of the disease. The children call it "our Ebola Christmas." Despite the staff's best efforts to throw a comparable celebration, fear, loss, uncertainty, and scarcity will taint this year's Christmas. It feels like the darkness is winning.
It's rainy and grey in New York City this Christmas Eve. A dear friend is walking through the darkest time in her life, and my heart is broken for her. I ache for her, and for my own family, who love each other so much but still struggle to express it, especially at this time of year. My heart aches each night that I go to sleep with my back turned to my husband, and with each friendly family tease that cuts a little too deep. My heart aches for my nation, torn apart by racism, injustice, and denial. It's not supposed to be this way.
No, it isn't. But Christ came anyway. He entered into this dark world as a baby. His little immune system was worthless against the diseases of the time. He exposed himself to them. His family was sinful and broken, his friends disloyal and at worst, back-stabbers. He lived every day with their spats and sin, and walked through the deepest betrayal - a betrayal to death.
Behold your King. A baby who did not take equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself and took the form of a slave, the lowliest of lows, born into poverty and disease in Bethlehem this night.
I feel like every year at Christmas I have a deeper understanding of the sin and brokenness of this world. But with this comes deeper wonder at the love that compelled our God to be born among us. And an even deeper, almost desperate desire for Christ to come again, to banish all disease and death and suffering.
"No more let sins and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground
He comes to make
His blessings known
Far as the curse is found."
Give a gift to help fight Ebola this Christmas.
Then we fired up the generator and hundreds of lights flickered on. The children leaped and somersaulted with seemingly endless energy on a patched-up bouncy house, we blasted music, they marveled over their simple presents. It was declared by many to be the best Christmas ever. The light was truly shining into the darkness of their war-torn past. And though it was 90 degrees and I was thousands of miles away from my husband and family, it really felt like Christmas. All seemed right with the world.
This year, those same children are celebrating Christmas under quarantine. Ebola has ravaged their nation, and no one is allowed in or out of the compound for fear of the disease. The children call it "our Ebola Christmas." Despite the staff's best efforts to throw a comparable celebration, fear, loss, uncertainty, and scarcity will taint this year's Christmas. It feels like the darkness is winning.
It's rainy and grey in New York City this Christmas Eve. A dear friend is walking through the darkest time in her life, and my heart is broken for her. I ache for her, and for my own family, who love each other so much but still struggle to express it, especially at this time of year. My heart aches each night that I go to sleep with my back turned to my husband, and with each friendly family tease that cuts a little too deep. My heart aches for my nation, torn apart by racism, injustice, and denial. It's not supposed to be this way.
No, it isn't. But Christ came anyway. He entered into this dark world as a baby. His little immune system was worthless against the diseases of the time. He exposed himself to them. His family was sinful and broken, his friends disloyal and at worst, back-stabbers. He lived every day with their spats and sin, and walked through the deepest betrayal - a betrayal to death.
Behold your King. A baby who did not take equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself and took the form of a slave, the lowliest of lows, born into poverty and disease in Bethlehem this night.
I feel like every year at Christmas I have a deeper understanding of the sin and brokenness of this world. But with this comes deeper wonder at the love that compelled our God to be born among us. And an even deeper, almost desperate desire for Christ to come again, to banish all disease and death and suffering.
"No more let sins and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground
He comes to make
His blessings known
Far as the curse is found."
Give a gift to help fight Ebola this Christmas.
Praying for peace on earth, alongside you, friend. There's light that can't be contained and hope that can't be broken.
ReplyDeleteAmen. Love you!
ReplyDeleteCassie - thank you so much for writing that - both as one of your family members and just as a person in this troubled world! xox
ReplyDelete