Christmas 2020

 

I’d heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord~But you don’t really care for music do you?

Leonard Cohen wrote Hallelujah as a secular hymn, a tongue in cheek conversation with God that tumbles through humor, disappointment, success, all while singing Hallelujah-a Hebrew concept that tells us to sing to God. Relentlessly.

It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth~The minor fall, the major lift~The baffled king composing “Hallelujah”

He strips his art to its most basic musical elements and describes David as an unknowing artist.

                             

Hallelujah.

I first resonated with this song after the 2016 election. Watching Kate McKinnon sing it felt both hopelessly tragic and somehow cathartic.

                                    Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

Each verse contains struggle, darkness, failings. But each chorus sings Hallelujah. Always pointing us back to God, turning away from temporal loss and toward eternal strength. I could     write of the grief of 2020, the lost jobs, the sacrifices, the disappointment in my children’s eyes.

There’s a blaze of light in every word~It doesn’t matter which you heard~The holy or the broken hallelujah

And therein lies the crux of this year. Holding both sorrow and joy in the same hand, loosely, equally. Our family has changed this year. My job is gone, the kids haven’t been to school since March 17^th, we cancelled family trips and birthday parties, simple family moments were stolen away by ignorance and fear.

And even though it all went wrong~I’ll stand before the lord of song~With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.

Our family has been changed by this year. Bard has his job and received a promotion. Through three separate trips to the ER, we are somehow still healthy. We’ve sailed the Sound, marched for Black Lives, hosted countless virtual book clubs, and made connection an unshakeable priority for our family. We’ve lived generously, safely, and together. But most of all, we’ve watched the entire world take a collective breath and rise up with the unmatched creativity of the human spirit to say, “We’ve got this.” From museums creating virtual exhibits, to online bookstores offering free subscriptions, the world told my children it was going to be okay. From porch drop offs to streaming dance classes to mutual aid to a map of houses with candy chutes for Halloween, Tacoma told my children it was going to be okay.

I don’t know what next year holds. I could never have predicted the battle we have faced for this year. As Evelyn fights to become a teenager, while separated from all that should entail-friends, parties, and simple physical distance from family. She overcomes with music, with prayer, with theatre (zoom) performances, and with tears. Cecilia fights her emotions; her anger and her fear, fights to make friends in a school that is still new, while her microphone continues to quit working, fights to say kind words and to grow as a dancer. And Max. Max gives in to the lessening of stimulation due to the shutdown. He thrives and then we go continue the war to ensure he has the services he needs for his education and the environment he needs for peace. And then we lay down the fight and go for a bike ride. We sit in the sunroom listening to the silence. We plant a garden and we go for a swim. We rest in the unchangeable. Because.

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

Leonard Cohen said, “Hallelujah can come out of things that have nothing to do with religion.” Which is true, because Hallelujah has nothing to do with religion and everything to do with Truth. Joy found in sorrow. Love. Beauty out of ashes. Hallelujah.