Too Deep For Words

We’ve all experienced moments in which the depth of our feelings was so great, we could not express them. There were no words; the emotion was too raw, too horrible, too sweet, too wonderful. Too deep for words. Think back to times when an event took your very breath away, never mind your voice.  Perhaps it was that first sweet moment you held your newborn child for the first time, when your very breath gave way to wonder; or the first few heart-wrenching moments when you realized that you would never see your beloved again as you stood by their grave in that first eon of agonizing grief.  Maybe it was that time one night when it seemed the earth stood still, and the stars shone more brightly than ever before as nature and life and heaven stood poised, unmoving, for a few short moments, and all seemed absolutely perfect in this world and in your heart.

Moments that are too deep for words: the lovers’ longing look, a baby’s first giggle, the fatal diagnosis first uttered - a sunrise, an ocean breeze, the sighting of an eagle soaring overhead. We’ve all had them. No words can describe our feelings, no phrase convey what resides in the depth of our hearts. And yet, our world is drowning in letters and words and signs; in phrases and text. We are being slowly choked off with words.

I don’t have statistics or deep research on the explosion of words in our current age, but any sentient being will recognize the truth that words have exploded across our globe and into our lives with frightening speed and in unimaginable numbers.  The visual, the spoken - even the subliminal messaging of today’s vast network of technology; the explosion of books in every possible genre propounded by anyone with access to the internet and its multiple forms in cyberspace; mushrooming social media platforms that cry forth and shout aloud; the frightening noise of millions of people spraying words across miles and countries and cultures - you must admit, it’s a bit dizzying.

Dizzying - and usually not very satisfying - especially when life is such that there may be entire seasons that are too deep for words. (Of course, the irony of writing about such times and seasons in this blog does not escape me, but then again, much of life is filled with irony. So there you have it.)

In this Christmas season, many will experience a time that will be “too deep for words”, whether it is the deep joy of family gathered, the overwhelming sorrow at the recent loss of a loved one, the bone-grinding grief of loneliness,, the crushing depression that settles in when life and people disappoint and there seems no way out, or the simple but lovely contentment of a quiet walk in nature’s beauty.  We may try to run away from such moments, or ignore them, unable to understand or process the joy or the pain; but ignoring these moments won’t serve us well.  I’ve learned that we need to figure out how to take these moments - the beautiful ones as well as the difficult ones - and welcome them, learn from them, inviting them into our very heart and soul. Such moments, such seasons, are important tributes to life and love, and their very significance needs to be processed and savored.

Mary, in the Nativity Story, does this very thing. As the entire scene of birth and shepherds and angels swirled about her in ways she had not the ability to control, in a time when not only her physical being was filled with joy as well as pain and exhaustion, but her spiritual heart and mind would have been in turmoil and wonderment at the miracles that unfolded around her — Luke records: “Mary treasured all these things, and pondered them in her heart.” 

Mary was in a time, a season, that was too deep for words, so she simply treasured, and then pondered. Demonstrating a wisdom far beyond her years, she withdrew internally to an intimate place in her heart where she could savor the deep joy of a rare motherhood; where she could gaze in wonder at all that was unfolding around her, where she could contemplate the sheer majesty of the birth, the night, the star. She made a conscious effort to remember by treasuring each sound, each smell - good or bad. And then, I imagine, collapsing into her makeshift bed with exhaustion, she reviewed the evening, the night, the birth, and thought about them and what they meant, what they would mean. We don’t know the exact details, but we can certainly imagine it, the gritty reality of that birth night with Jesus and Joseph. A wise woman would certainly have pondered such things in her heart.

We, too, need to take time to treasure profound moments, and to ponder in our hearts those things that fill us with joy, longing, grief, sorrow. We need space and silence to ponder the grandeur of a winter sky, the majesty of a snow covered mountain, the joyful shouts of glee from children immersed in Christmas wonder. We, too, need to cultivate deep moments of overwhelming joy and wonder, and we don’t have to wait for a miracle birth or angelic hosts. We simply need to take the time to look around us and notice what is going on in our relationships, and in our lives and around our neighborhoods. If we consciously mark within our hearts those times that are too deep for words, pondering them and treasuring them, I suspect we will become stronger and wiser humans. I also suspect our hearts will expand with the grace and love that follow our ability to treasure each moment, to mark each season that is, ultimately, too deep for words.