Sweet Friends,
As many of you know, I have a particular, shall we say, interest, in all things royalty related. Several months ago I was watching a television show that masterfully articulated life alongside the inherent weight of such an institution. At one point though, when I wasn’t distracted by tea cups and statuesque dresses, there was one line that stopped me in my tracks.
The main characters were lamenting past griefs that remained unspoken and the unknowable territory of pressure in midlife. Although a stunning and artful scene, without Christ the best that could be offered was this: “we are all untold stories.” What stopped me was the deep resignation nearly indistinguishable from the presenting sorrow. I don’t make much of a habit of talking to my tv but at the moment I couldn’t help but let out a defiant “no.”
You see, in the Christian life, we are many things, but one thing we are not and cannot allow is to be untold. We do not resign ourselves to silence because we serve a God who is anything but.
We all hold so much in our stories.The season of Advent invites us into the truest and greatest story in the safe shelter of the King who came once and will come again. When we remain untold we may feel safer momentarily but we risk the glorious inheritance of the believer, which is to be held in grace by our Savior and Redeemer, often through the presence and words of a sister or brother in Christ.
Earlier this week several women I adore and think the world of in our body said “yes” to the invitation that the character in the pretty dress and with fancy teacups never could have. At The Advent Table loss and hope mingled beautifully and powerfully. Similarly, late last week, many brothers in our body also gathered to share burdens, ask for prayer, and participate in Christ-like brotherhood.
The power of the gospel is sure and so we sit at tables today telling our stories until one day we are all gathered with hope realized in full. Oh how I cannot wait for the day when tears are no more, so we feast and sing now, preferably with the pretty tea cups or around a crackling fire, in anticipation of that glorious day.
As we journey through Advent this season, I hope we will be able to steward the beauty and brokenness that the holidays often surface. What might God be doing in our midst as we listen and tell, remind and cling? My hope is that we may know more fully His holding love that pierces the dark night of our weary world. May our hearts and tongues be loosed to proclaim His glory and goodness that has never stopped following us.
Sincerely,
Antonea Bastian
