Polishing Silver

I woke up this morning remembering I needed to polish the silver--

and boy did it need it! (Good thing I love polishing silver almost as much as I love ironing...) I looked at it probably at its worst; I've never gone this long without polishing. As I reached under the sink and realized I only had a 1/4 of a bottle of silver polish left I thought, "I hope this works. I really don't want to go to the store today."

I started polishing and it was so easy. The tarnish with just a little dollop of polish and a little elbow grease just disappeared. The tears started (you saw that coming right?); I remembered back when the children were babies and I felt so overwhelmed and someone said to me, "Just get up and shower every morning. Put on a little makeup and you'll feel better." And it worked.

But as I was polishing and remembering I thought, "You know life isn't really like that.' I thought about this past year and all the pain I personally knew, all the pain that has been shared with me, and all the pain there is in the world. "Yeah you can polish it up, put on a happy face, but that doesn't really change what's inside," I bitterly thought,  "A little silver polish, a little lipstick can't fix broken hearts, can't erase shame, can't take away loneliness and fear; can't erase people sitting by the bedside of dying loved ones, it can't create jobs where there are none, take away diagnosis; it can't make everything perfect."

I kept polishing which was getting really hard because the tears were coming fast and hard. And then another thought came to me. I thought about all the hands that had touched this silver and I wondered about the stories the silver could tell if it could talk. Stories of dinners full of laughter and cheer, stories of dinners where there were tears, angry words and probably a child or two running from the table. I thought about the number of times I had set the table and the people who had gathered around--some no longer alive but still deeply loved and missed. I thought about the people who have joined our family through marriage, friendship and love and whose hands would use them tonight. And I thought about the coming Christ child.

Polishing that silver didn't change it had been tarnished; polishing the silver didn't change the past, and polishing that silver this morning wouldn't keep it from getting tarnished again, but polishing the silver reminded me that God can and does make all things new over and over and over. There is nothing so deep and dark about any of us that God doesn't know. And God loves us anyway. God continues to love us regardless of how many times we believe our lives are too stained.

The Christ child entered this world which was and is broken and dark. The Christ child came despite all that and because of that, and when we embrace that love we are made shiny and new through the eyes of God.

As I was finishing I looked at my hands covered with polish and tarnish, and I laughed. The silver didn't polish itself; it needed my hands. God invites us to be God's hands in the world. Our hands can't erase people's pain, but it can embrace it. Our hands holding someone else's, pulling a blanket up on the shoulders of sleeping person, embracing one another, feeding one another, and folded in prayer are reminders that God is present and active, and that God can and will make all things new as many times as it takes--over and over and over.

Tonight as we celebrate the gift of God's love which came in the flesh, may we embrace it for ourselves and then use our hands to share it with the world.

Merry Christmas!