Women of the Advent | June 1, 2025

“May you never know a day without Christ’s love.” This is one of the blessings our clergy speak over those in the Holy Communion line who are not receiving the elements. During most Holy Communions these past couple of years, I have had a baby in my arms (two under 2 for a few more weeks). As I have received the bread and wine, my babies have received a hand on their foreheads and a beautiful blessing. Each time I hear these particular words spoken over them — “May you never know a day without Christ’s love” — my eyes well with tears.
 
To never know a day without Christ’s love is what I want for my children. It is what I want for myself. What power. What security. What relief. What joy.  But how many days do I ignore, doubt, resist, or forget Christ’s amazing love for me?

My family lives in an old house with a large porch that has haint blue ceilings and is surrounded by leafy trees. Sometimes when one of our kids is crying, we step outside onto the porch. The energy shift is palpable. I understand. I feel the same way when I spend time outside. Whether it’s sitting and watching a summer thunderstorm, walking around our neighborhood to admire the bursting flowers, or hiking to my favorite waterfall in Bankhead National Forest, connecting with the natural world makes me feel more grounded and at peace.
 
It’s not just Microsoft Word and me. Or The New York Times and me. Or 52 unread texts and 11 emails that need responses and me. There’s a Gen Z expression (or maybe insult), “touch grass.” It means that it’s time for a person to step away from his or her screens, get some fresh air, and spend time outside in the real world. Even if it’s an insult, it’s a good reminder. I need to touch grass.

I need similar reminding, I think, to live like Christ loves me. Psalm 143:8 says, “Let me hear of your unfailing love each morning, for I am trusting you. Show me where to walk, for I give myself to you.” Christ’s unfailing love is our reality. It is the truest thing in our world. And yet, day after day, morning after morning, I need to hear of Christ’s love so that I can live in light of it.

When I’m living in the light of Christ’s love, I don’t berate myself for a frazzled morning due to not ironing my clothes last night. I’m more gracious toward others, and less inclined to compare myself to them. I’m not fearful of what my colleagues or clients think of me. I’m less anxious about the future. I have a deeper well upon which to draw for my kids and my husband. I’m more sensitive toward God’s calls on my life. I’m more willing to honor God. I’m more worshipful. I’m more content.
 
This spring, I have been listening to singer-songwriter Jon Guerra’s beautiful and moving new album, Jesus, on repeat. The first song, “In the Beginning Was Love,” is his reimagining of John 1:1 (“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.”) It’s worth a listen (the entire album is), but the lyrics, in part, are:
 
In the beginning was love
And the love was with God
And the love was God

He was with God in the beginning
And the world was made through him
And so was I

And there was light
And the light was the light of heaven
And there was goodness
And the goodness walked the earth
And there was beauty
And the beauty would sing
Like a voice in the wilderness
Calling my name
And before I knew what love was
Love was in the beginning.
 
Christ is love. Christ’s love is our reality. And it has been from the very beginning.
 
A few mornings ago, I watched as Ben kissed our 7-month old’s cheeks right when she woke up. She was squeezing her eyes closed and smiling from ear to ear, delighting in his affection. This is what it is to be loved. And a few nights ago, as I was putting my almost 2-year-old son to bed, I said to him, “You are my beautiful baby boy.” He looked me in the eye and said in his sing-songy voice, “Amen.” Yes, this is what it is to be loved. As a mother, I see day in and out how love transforms my children. Christ’s love does the same for us.
 
We are loved, sisters in Christ, and it’s an eye-squinting, “Amen!” kind of love. What power. What security. What relief. What joy. Our reality. May you never know a day without Christ’s love. Amen.
-Madison Nye