Today, on the fourth day of Christmas, I’m continuing my walk through the season with Bruce Epperly’s reflections on the work of Howard Thurman, published in The Work of Christmas.   So far, I have been completely on board with the program and unconcerned by the lack of reference to the lectionary texts I expected, but today the disconnect seems to bother me.

Why?  Because today is the feast of the Holy Innocents, a time when we remember the children of Bethlehem who died in blind power’s quest to stop this one particular child.  And today, as we sit with the knowledge that in our own world, innocent children are dying because of the ruthless and inhumane quest for power, a quest that, in some form, sadly lives in each of us as Americans, I find it hard to ignore the day in the life of the church that is today.

And, honestly, Epperly did not ignore this memory either.  In his selection of text from Thurman’s work today, he chose a passage that acknowledges the pain and the loss, while shining a light on the hope that is also present, a hope born of our clearer vision and refocused intention:

The symbol of Christmas—what is it? It is the rainbow arched over the roof of the sky when clouds are heavy and foreboding. It is the cry of life in the newborn babe, when forced from its mother’s nest, it claims the right to life. It is the brooding presence of the Eternal Spirit making crooked ways straight, rough places smooth, tired hearts refreshed, dead hopes stir with newness of life. It is the promise of tomorrow at the close of every day, the movement of life in defiance of death, and the assurance that love is sturdier than hate, that right is more confident than wrong, that good is more permanent than evil (39-40).

“The movement of life in defiance of death,” yes, that surely says what this feast day is about.  Honor the dead, but honor them in your living.  Their life was a gift in so many ways, just as yours is, just as mine is, just as the life of the child whose birth we acclaim was and is.   And, these words, “the assurance that love is sturdier than hate,” for is that not what we are meant to see in every tragedy, in every failure?  Are we not meant to gain a deeper understanding of the complexity of this, God’s creation?  What if we finally understood that God, love, really was “sturdier” than hate?  Would we give up hate, then?  If we really believed that love was the greatest power in the universe, wouldn’t we choose that, if we seek to embrace power?  Would this not be the “new heaven and new earth” that the book of Revelation proclaims in the scripture for this day (Rev. 21:1-7)?

“Good is more permanent than evil,” writes Thurman.  Some days, that is very hard to believe.  Sometimes it is hard to remember that for this to be true, we must embrace that good, that love, that “movement of life,” in all things we do, in all things we believe, in all things that we are.

So what is that symbol of Christmas, after all?  I think that we are that symbol.  Every time I get up in the morning and choose love, not hate, I am the symbol of Christmas.  Every time I help another person, I am the symbol of Christmas.  Every time I use what power I have to stand for another who is not as strong, I am the symbol of Christmas.  Every time I add my voice to the voices of thousands standing against injustice and for love, I am the symbol of Christmas.

The lesson of this day, then, is never forget those who have perished so that we might live in love.  And never forget your responsibility, as someone living and breathing, to be the symbol of Christmas in your actions and your words.  In the words of Epperly’s prayer for this day:

God of light and love, awaken us to the amazing wonder of today and our chance to spread your good news to the world. Help us become your peacemakers and healers in a world of violence and pain. In Jesus’ name. Amen (42).

Amen, indeed.