In the year now ending, many have passed from this mortal life: most, whose names we do not know; some, whose lives we admired; a few, who were dearly beloved. With the calendar’s turn we also recall hopes and dreams that have frayed and failed. Some will be forgotten entirely; some will linger with regret for a season; but some still threaten to unravel us.
Hear, Oh Promise of Bethlehem, the aches that bind our hearts and smother our dreams.
With the Magi, we set our sights on distant lights that lead to virgin hope.
Grant, Oh Mangered Babe, the courage to venture new risk and renewed pilgrimage.
Sharpen the memory of those who passed this way before, who dared living as refugees in this distraught and disfigured world:
Those who died without arriving in that promised New Land; but—seeing it at a distance—were drawn to its brilliance.
Oh Fruit of Mary whom Joseph did not scorn: Send us on our way to that Better Country, with songs of flagrant hope on our lips.
Christen our journey to that City of Promise, to that Residence that knows no shame and to its Banquet Table freed of miserly greed.
©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org. Inspired by the story of the Magi in Matthew 2 & by Hebrews 11:13-16.