O Come, O Come Emmanuel
The shroud of grief hangs heavy.
It’s almost December, which is typically my favorite month of the year.
It’s the time when I get to break out the Christmas tree, the decorations, and play endless hours of Christmas songs.
It’s the month that is filled with anticipation of a morning spent unwrapping presents under the tree, hours of board games played with my brothers, parents, and my husband Steve, and enjoying time at home with family.
It’s a month remembering the ultimate gift given for me — a tiny baby who would grow up to save the world and teach me how to love.
This year, though, it’s been different. It’s been a muted excitement. It’s been a weariness that’s almost palpable. It’s been a burden, a heaviness that I’ve been struggling to shake.
It’s been a shroud of grief that has been my constant.
At the beginning of September, I lost one of the most important men in my life — my grandfather. I flew down to Florida at the end of September and spent the weekend celebrating my grandfather’s life and deeply grieving his death.
Since then, I have struggled with the lingering grief.
While I am so grateful his suffering is over and that he is in the presence of my King, I still mourn. Sitting among my family over that weekend, it was poignantly obvious that my grandfather was not there.
I kept expecting him to walk through the door, but he never did.
Through these last few months, I have begun to hear one of my favorite Christmas songs in a different way. “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” has deeply resonated with me over the last two weeks in light of the burden of grief I feel.
O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
The Israelites were in captivity for years, yearning for the promised Messiah. Even after being returned to Jerusalem, they still were under occupation by the Romans.
How many years did they think that the Messiah would come to free them from their oppression? From their burdens? From their grief?
How many years passed by without that promise coming to fulfillment? How many families began to despair? How many rabbis began to wonder if the prophets were correct?
The people of Israel felt a deep burden, yearning for what was promised and struggling with pain in the present moment.
I think of Simeon and Anna, who had been promised that they would see the Messiah before they died. I often wonder if they thought God had forgotten about them in their old age.
O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan’s tyranny;
From depths of hell Thy people save,
And give them victory o’er the grave.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
I never really paid much attention to that second verse of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” until this winter.
I never really noticed the promise and the reminder of hope in this verse.
This is the verse in the song that I have begun to cling to. The hope of freedom from death was found in this Emmanuel, this God with us. The hope of Heaven was found in this Emmanuel, this God with us.
With the first cry of a baby, the waiting was over.
With the first cry of this Emmanuel, God was among us.
This baby would later grow into a man and speak of his yoke being easy, and his burden being light.
O come, Thou Dayspring, from on high,
And cheer us by Thy drawing nigh;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
I find myself longing for Christmas morning. I, with the people of Israel, am anxiously awaiting Christmas morning and the reminder that Emmanuel is with us.
With His arrival into this world, death’s dark shadows were put to flight.
And while His arrival didn’t change the fact that the Israelites were in captivity, under oppression, but it did mean that they would not have to face their captors alone.
Jesus faced the Romans, spoke about radical love, and it got him killed.
He stood toe to toe with them and bore the burden of the world.
My burden this winter has been deep. My burden has been heavy.
Thankfully, I have not carried this burden alone. We were made for community and hardwired for connection. My family, my church, my friends and my GroupLife has helped carry this burden with me.
I am thankful for Emmanuel, for the reminder that we don’t have to do this thing called life on our own.
My grief this winter has made my longing for Christmas morning more real.
My grief has made the anticipation more bittersweet, knowing that this baby that is God with us, would die to free me from my burdens and despair and death.
O come, O come, Emmanuel.
