I went Christmas carolling recently. Instead of only singing verses 1 and 2 of carols, the leader passed out song books and we sang all the verses of each carol. The combination of memories, connections, references, and experiences that wove together in my heart and mind as we walked the hallways and sang to care centre residents, along with singing verses of songs I was less familiar with, caused me to hear verse 3 of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” differently:
And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow:
look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;
oh, rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
This verse made me think of my dad. Beneath life’s crushing load, his form is now bending low. His steps are now painful and slow. The golden hour is on the horizon, and soon he will rest in the sounds of angels singing. It made me think of so many friends who are navigating grief and struggle in different ways. It made me think of the names I don’t know but read out loud when I lead the prayer petitions at church. It made me think of the ongoing weight of trying to figure out the future of this vocation I both love and question almost daily.
It struck me that it would be so much ‘easier’ if we could stop singing the carol after verse 2, and avoid the complicated pain that is often articulated in verse 3.
And isn’t it like that in life? Wouldn’t we prefer to end the song with wonder and joy, and not have to feel the burden of those who are “bending beneath life’s crushing load”?
Often I find that we want to keep things comfortable and easy, and so we sing only verse 1 and 2. We stick to the songs that only say what we want to say. This carolling experience was different. We sang all the verses. We stumbled over language about God and humanity that is no longer comfortable and inclusive, which caused some side conversations about how we still have so much work to do in addressing the harmful impact of language in the church. We sang surrounded by the background noises of humanity and aging.
So much about this season feels like this complicated space of verse 3–where we are disoriented and naming the realities of pain and suffering. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe for all those for whom verse 3 is a reality, there’s comfort and solace in being able to sit in that space and sing these words for ourselves and for those we carry in our hearts.
And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow:
look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;
oh, rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
Somehow the message of the manger is true for those for whom the night is clear and for those for whom life’s crushing load is a bit more than they can handle. As I thought about the complicated realities woven through Christmas this year, I was reminded not to skip verse 3. It’s part of the song.