"Eleventh Hour's Over, the Clock Is Striking Twelve"
goodbye, 2023—reflections on a year gone by and the hope of the Incarnation for a broken world
Hello, friends.
In the spirit of the parting words for the Eleventh Doctor, now 2023's hour is over, and the clock is striking 2024. And in this case, as we come into a new year, it seems appropriate to take a moment to reflect on the past. There are no words to express the complexity of this past year—the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, and perhaps just the ordinary too. It has felt like a very long year, a year in which I have come to understand myself and my world a little more, and in other ways, a year that has overturned everything I thought I ever knew and made me ask earnestly, What do I believe in? Where do my responsibilities lie? What can I do, little insignificant and foolish as I am, with the time given to me?
More than ever, I've felt an increased awareness of the sinful brokenness and depravity of the world and the deceitfulness of my own heart, but also of the incredible, overflowing goodness, kindness, and mercy of God—His love that compels me and calls me to Himself—that will save the most wretched. I have been reminded of C.S. Lewis’s words: “The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and his compulsion is our liberation” (Surprised by Joy).
the year in review
This has been a big year for me: 2023 saw me apply to and begin a postgraduate research degree at a new university (what an adventure that is proving!) and begin to delve into the work of a Russian great, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and his legacy in the 20th-century Anglophone literary and religious world. What a complex richness there! I have begun, tentatively, my journey learning the Russian language, oh! and what a good challenge that has been. I got to travel to Melbourne for a few days with my mum and sister, for the first time and see magnificent art (you can see reflections on that trip on a previous substack post); I learned to navigate the joys and trials of book-retail customer service work; I got to rekindle old friendships and discover new ones; and I grew in my fellowship with those already dear to me, in person and online. I am so grateful to each one of you for being a part of this shaping process in my life and helping me go further up and further in. One of the highlights has been my participation in another year of Soultread book club activity with all its literary delights with the most wonderful people; I have continued tutoring and reading, learning and growing, online and in real life. I set up this substack, Fullness of Joy, which has been thrilling. I have been so touched by all your kind engagement and support, despite my lackluster posting schedule (one of my 2024 goals is to take up substack posting vigorously).
While many of those are important "milestones,” that is not to say that many a day in 2023, I felt like, well, nothing has been happening in my life, that I have been digging myself deeper into a hole of mundanity, with little creativity or inspiration. Comparison has often been the thief of joy, as I vainly sought after this elusive feeling of accomplishment or attainment—fulfillment. I think part of the journey of “growing up” is realizing one never quite gets there—there are always new realms and mountains to cross and discover, and that is a good thing; we should go after those dreams; but also, growing up is discovering the gift of contentment in where you are—realizing that the stage of life that you are in now and you will never retrieve or get back again—can be the most precious thing. This is something I want to remind myself of more in 2024.
a few thoughts on Christmas:
The past few months have changed me. The sorrow and suffering experienced by people in another part of the world, in the Middle East, especially in the past few months have been nothing short of horrific and a nightmare of belief. Seeing, though separated by a screen, the pain of children and the poor, women and men and youth, old and disabled suffering and dying, being displaced and forgotten, has broken my heart so much. The world is a very dark place, as it feels right now. In a way that I didn’t get to feel before, I have gotten to understand a bit more the cries of Ivan Karamazov in Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, asking about the kind of world and evil we live in. And to be completely honest, Christmas has felt strange this year, in a way that upsets me a great deal (if you didn’t know, Christmas is my favourite season). I have felt in some moments that all the festivities, caroling, and lights jarred with the feelings of grief, and there was a dissonance at the pain so many are feeling and living. I have been praying about it, wrestling through it, as I am sure many across the world have. There was so much noise. I could not hear the sound of the angels appearing to the lowly shepherds, declaring the good news of peace and joy to all men. It was wonderful to celebrate, but how could I celebrate?
A few days before Christmas, I got to find a place of peace and quietude, watching the ocean waves crash on the beach and taking in deep breaths of ocean air, seeking that healing and beauty again. We then had wild storms on the 24th and 25th on the east coast - we even got an 8-hour electricity blackout, which was a humbling, quietening experience. And somehow, miraculously, as it always happens every year, in the days leading up to and following Christmas Day, the story of the Child born in a manger became more real to me again. I was reminded just how messy and painful even, was the experience for the Holy Family who lived through the first Nativity. The oppression, displacement, danger and uncertainty that shaped the moments leading to the birth of Christ, and even following it. The magnitude and meekness of God choosing humble, simple people like Mary and Joseph from a small village in Nazareth who simply believed God’s words, to accomplish His glorious purpose of salvation—that there was no room at the inn or house, but room was made for Him in the humblest of places. It staggers belief. It stirs my soul. It makes me want to weep. How real and true and comforting is the story of Christ’s birth for our broken, torn-up, shattered world. He is in our midst. The glorious story of the Incarnation, with all its celebration and glory, in Christ taking on humanity on Himself - is also the story of the Cross, of Christ’s death and sacrifice for our salvation. The only reason we can have hope in this world is holding tightly onto the account—the truer than true story— of Christmas and thanking our Lord for just how much it cost Him to restore us to Himself.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1: 14
My prayer is that we truly may behold the glory of our God in a life-changing, transforming way in 2024 and know the Word made flesh and dwelling among us in our lives and hearts.
May God bless you, my friends.
And a blessed and Happy New Year!
P.S. I will do another recap of 2023 as soon as possible, but this time a perfectly bookish one, and I hope you will participate with me in sharing your literary highlights and plans for the new year.
I really enjoyed your reflections on the year that is coming to an end, as this has been quite a momentous one for me, too. In times of darkness, only the true (and only) Light can shine through and heal what cannot be mended otherwise. God bless you, I wish you a joyful 2024! 😊