Give My Heart

Snow has come to Santa Fe. This is a good thing, for several reasons, chief among them, we need the moisture—always—and, of course, snow in this place in December adds to the magic. Yesterday, standing in the kitchen of new friends and looking onto the landscape of their warehouse neighborhood, coffee brewing and cheese sandwiches grilling on the stove top, old-fashioned holiday tunes playing in the background, I felt included.

Sunday, our worship at St. Bede’s was centered on the lessons and carols, a tradition that dates to the late 19th century in the Anglican Tradition. Familiarity is famous for encouraging our minds to wander, as we repeat experiences. I was drawn to the snow falling on an already blanketed ground, outside the expanse of glass on either side of the altar table. In the church yard small trees, branches laden with the night’s offering, farther away, homes outlined in white, and finally, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains—the blood of Christ—crested with snow, the towering evergreens that cover them a dark carpet now decorated in white.

Although I tried to listen to the story of the fall of man, the promise of the Messiah, His birth, I drifted between the readings, the carols, and the story happening right outside the warmth of the church. One carol, Christina Rossetti’s poem, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” (1872), called me back. It is an Advent season tradition from the hymnal. “What can I give Him, poor as I am/If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb/If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part/Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart”.

Any time is a good time to count blessings. In this place where plenty lives so obviously next to poverty, where winter is more than a gorgeous photograph—where the elements do make a difference in how we live our lives each day—where opportunity waits with open arms, simply and plainly waits for us to reply, the season begs us to remember.

We are exchanging gifts all day long, often not realizing the importance of a greeting or handshake. What we give doesn’t require any more currency than what resides in our hearts. Often the gift comes from the person we hardly imagine being our blessing on any given day. All of the expectations we attach to those who share our walk for a while, however little or great, can lead to mighty disappointment. “You are an angel,” insisted my neighbor this morning on the landing outside our front doors—over my protests that the few hours each week I give to volunteer work amount to all that much. There’s no need for me to trivialize my efforts, but by comparison I know they are small. I have felt little affection for this troubled neighbor whose presence at times has been the cause of angry stirrings in my heart. Today he called me “an angel”. Surely, I am to do something with that news. “Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart”.

“In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.”

Give My Heart—Santa Fe, New Mexico (December 16, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis