Grace of Community

Perhaps in no other season are people as aware of what is missing in their lives. In December we look for signs of hope, renewal, faith, and affirmation that the struggles we are in are worth the trouble.

In the midst of celebrating, we see people who are suffering, who are poorly dressed for winter, who are hungry, who are alone, and we try to help, because something reminds us that we are members of the same community.

December is also when much of the natural world in the northern hemisphere goes into hibernation. There is grace in this, in the letting go of what is past, in the retreating from active life and preparing for spring, and grace in the slower movements of the season. We think of people we had to let go, and in this holiday season we are reminded again and again of how much we miss them. We think of our own mortality. We think of the sources of energy for our life, what inspires us, and we feel the pull to live what we believe in everything we do.

My background is in Christianity, and what follows comes from people and examples I know. May they guide you in thinking about people in your own tradition.

Kerry hikes the Santiago de Compostela in Spain and finds what she thought was lost.

Brother Lawrence washes dishes in a hospital kitchen in Paris. When he gets home, he answers letters from people struggling with grief.

Beth goes each day to L’Arche in Toronto where she helps the developmentally challenged get through another day. 

Catholic Workers in Chicago gather food to feed the hungry as well as provide spiritual nourishment.

Ann collects blankets and coats and hands them to people who are trying to stay warm on Oakland’s cold streets. 

Alone in her hut in the woods, Catherine prays and fasts for other people. It is a place where she exists in solitude and explores the desert of her heart, a place she calls poustinia.

In the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California, 3000-year-old Giant Sequoias stand quietly in the snow, under stars moving across the wonder of the night sky, watching as they have since before the baby was first foretold.

Nothing happens at Christmas, except the birth of hope. I feel this when I look up at the stars in the depths of the night sky, whether I’m standing in the mountains at Glacier Point, on the shore at Bodega Bay looking over the Pacific Ocean, or waiting in my backyard and listening for what I can do to bring hope into the world.

We come together during the holidays, and we feel the grace of community when we slow down to help one another.