Shortly before Christmas, we will mark nine months since we first went on lockdown. To the tune FINLANDIA:
The months have passed so quickly and so slowly, and still she waits: The promise has its time. From heaven came to her, so young, so lowly, an angel bright, immaculate its shine, and she become the mother of the holy, her will his own, herself his earthly shrine. The days are long but drawing to their fullness; her pains will come, but when she cannot say. Still it will end, this weariness, this dullness; this sleepless night will fall to joyous day. She bears within a bright, unshaken stillness: The promise comes, and it will not delay. So we must wait, as Mary in her patience waits for his birth, for Jesus to appear. The Son of God and savior of the nations and humble man who dwells among us here: Come, show your love and grant us your salvation! Give us the grace to hope as you draw near. She journeys now to Bethlehem in wonder, far from her home and all the world she knew. She is his world; her heartbeat is his thunder: He comes to rend all things and make all new. When shall he come to shake the world asunder? Come, savior, come! We wait with her for you!
Kate Bluett 