Greetings!

We are now in the season of Advent, a time within the Christian calendar that I have always loved, because of its call to stillness, waiting and the hope-filled anticipation that accompanies these disciplines. Yesterday morning, as I sat in the semi-darkness of my prayer room, the light from a single candle casting a pleasant and comforting shadow around, I took time to still my thoughts, as I made myself ready for meditation. Having decided weeks ago that I would be reading a particular book during the Advent, I reached for my kindle, found the first page and, as directed, read Psalm 137, in preparation for what was to come.

The Psalm is the familiar one; through its writer, it details the lament of an exiled people, who have lost the will to sing…even the songs of mirth for which they were known. Being a lover of singing myself, I could identify with those sentiments. It has been such a long time since I allowed myself to really sing…even in the shower. There is a real sense in which the songs I love, though resident in my gut, seem not to be able to find their way towards and over my vocal chords, to bring their beautiful melodies to life.

Like the Psalmist, I too am experiencing exile…amidst the foreign land of this Covid -19 pandemic. It is, if I may borrow a phrase from Bob Marley’s Redemption Song, a kind of mental slavery, birthed by the loneliness that comes with restrictions that are meant to keep me safe and healthy but have magnified the reality of my dependence on others, for a good deal of my livelihood. This exile therefore, is like no other…a tangible reminder of the brevity of life…the fact that now, this moment, is all we have. There is no harking back to days of yore, and living the fantasy of what can be, brings neither the desired peace nor the joy needed to overcome the starkness of the present.

So…how does one live in the midst of such loss? As I read the Psalm, it occurred to me that the very act of writing was, for the psalmist, the healing action…the balm that allowed his troubled soul, respite from the barrenness by which he was surrounded. It was perhaps through writing, naming the hurt he and his people were experiencing away from the loved and familiar, that he began to experience the peace for which he and his people dared to hope.

So, here I am centuries later, in a different kind of exile, unsure of what the future holds, unable to return to the past or fully anticipate the future but knowing in this moment, the blessing…the healing power of now. Now I am able to express and in expressing, embrace a certain liberty…the freedom that transcends even my own understanding. I can boldly declare…I am here now and that is enough; tomorrow will take care of itself.

Be thankful then beloved; lift your voice and sing; for even in exile, life remains a precious gift to embrace and yes…to celebrate!

Grace+