Fall on Your Knees

Christmas Eve advise for a New Year

Just a week ago, the Worship Center lights were dimmed. We lifted glimmering candles and intoned praise to the “Son of God, loves pure light,” then settled into our seats for a final anthem. My granddaughter turned to me and asked, “Have you heard this guy?” as an impeccably dressed baritone stepped to the podium and filled the room with the deep timbres of “O Holy Night.”

The truth is that up until that service I had found it somewhat difficult to follow through on my commitment to fully celebrate Christ’s birth with joyful faith. It’s been a month of demands, business, and transitions for our family. Making spreadsheets, organizing documents, carrying boxes, and long distance driving filled too many days in December. Shopping for gifts and baking cookies were mostly a bridge too far.

So, while my holiday was short on jingle bells and decorations, the reason for the season didn’t get entirely lost. Christmas Eve bestowed a moment to remember that even the first Christmas was something of a hubbub with its weary travelers, crowded guest house, improvised manger, and unexpected guests.

A Look Back

But the joy of the music and message mingled with memories of a year filled with both blessings and sorrows. The burdens of my own life and those of the world invaded the beauty of carols and candles. I reflected on the lyrics of Longfellow’s refrain “There is no peace on earth, I said.”

As the service ended, I peeked ahead, considering all the challenges that 2025 could hold. “Really? Do I have to embrace the overwhelming task of a New Year? What dangers lie hidden in the unveiling weeks and months that await us?”

The baritone’s clear voice rose, and the organ notes swelled to answer my foreboding, “Fall on your knees,” the singer admonished me.

His call to worship startled me from my revery and invited me to “Hear the angel voices.”

A Look Ahead

We live in a world that recommends fighting the thing we fear. Facing our anxiety. Charting our own path. “You be You,” has become an American anthem.

Without ruling out self-actualization completely, I’d like to affirm the opposite. A little humility would do a lot to counter the toxic anxiety most of us face.

What would it mean for me to “fall on my knees” and pray for the people I disagree with? Instead of crafting an artful argument, what would it mean for our relationship if I regarded them through eyes of humility?

I know this is hard. But it seems to me that part of what makes it hard is an inadequate understanding of the word humble. Too many of us think of humility as a low rank which devalues me, while exaggerating the value of others.

However, a study of the word’s history reveals that it comes from the Latin “humilis” which means earth. One perspective on humility then is to understand that I am an imperfect creature of the earth and so are those around me. Our shared humanity may lead to disagreement, but it need not lead to an assumption of lesser value. Faced with interpersonal conflict, the coming of a God who is with us has the power to point in the direction of heavenly solutions for earthly problems.

A little humility compels us to “fall on our knees.” Certainly, there are times we will set boundaries in relationships. Times to say “no” with conviction. But when we do so with an awareness of shared humanity, our communication is guided by empathy. Our posture leans toward quiet confidence, entrusting ultimate outcomes to the one who taught us to love one another.

Some years ago, during a particularly difficult situation in my life, I found myself feeling mad far more than usual. When I experienced little setbacks and misunderstandings, my default response was anger and offense. The anger seemed justified, and I struggled to let it go.

But this anger was draining the joy from my life. With help I began to understand that my anger was a “tag along” emotion. Before the anger showed up, I was facing loss, sadness and grief. These gloomy feelings invited a melancholy that could easily overwhelm me. Virtually without thinking, I preferred to transform this dark gloom into an active, self-defensive kind of anger.

Looking back on that time, it seems counterintuitive to suggest that humility could pave the way to restored peace. But that is exactly what happened. As I began to see that it wasn’t completely up to me to set the world straight, I found it possible to bring my grief to God’s loving attention. And as the Christmas hymn explains, when God broke in, “the soul felt its worth.” Divine intervention on my behalf left me free to entrust my burdens to the one who knows my value, freeing me to consider those around me with the same consideration that I, a fellow creature, desired from them.

Humility doesn’t mean I’m necessarily wrong. Real humility gets me out of the way and focuses my eyes on things above me. And so last week on Christmas Eve, I was reminded to “fall on my knees.”

One week later as I anticipate a year of joys and sorrows ahead, I’m placing my faith in the Faithful Friend who has already faced every hardship and burden. Whatever gloom seems likely cannot overcome the promise that he will light my way.