My Kind of Christmas

My kind of Christmas

If you are looking for a blog about chestnuts roasting and snowmen, reindeer, a Yule log and gifts under the tree...please close this page immediately. My intent is to simply share a few thoughts on "MY kind of Christmas" and not to throw shade on any that is not like mine. (Hey, you're still reading? Okay, cool...)

Yesterday, I was listening to songs and speeches from "The Roots of Resistance." This is a collection of works that tell the oft-silenced story of revolution in this country and others during the turbulent and messy 1960's and 1970's. I chose this soundtrack for my morning because for me, Christmas is all about revolution. I do love the sentimental journey of spending time with loved ones in front of a fireplace and sharing a big meal with family and baking cookies and all of those other Christmas traditions. Yesterday, however, I was struck by the idea that Christmas, as a religious experience, is about revolution and change.

It hit me that it was nothing short of revolutionary for a limitless God who was already Emmanuel in so many ways to put on the limits of flesh and be one of us. Is it not revolutionary to think that a God who could have just created a body from dirt and breathed into Himself and come as a full grown Savior chose the dangerous ground of a womb and a birth canal? The idea of cells splitting in the newly ripened womb of a teenaged girl who didn't have the plus sign on a stick but had an angel come to her and tell her that she would bear this child, who would be called holy! Teenagers are notorious for being contrary! How revolutionary that God would choose this one to bear the Incarnate Word instead of one who was older and more schooled in the mysteries of the holy!

Forgive me for sounding like Jones the Baptist, but how can you not hear the drums of revolution when you sing the line "Mild He lays His glory by, Born that we no more may die" in the second verse of Hark the Herald Angels Sing?? This One sets aside the glory that is rightly His as the Son of God and comes through a treacherous and previously untested birth canal for my sake. I was born into sin. He was born to save me from it while I was in the midst of it! That makes me want to run to the bathroom mirror and with a disheveled ponytail and my pink robe and piece of toast in my hand (I ain't ready for locusts just yet) scream at my own reflection, "REPENT!!! The kingdom of Heaven is at hand!" Do you not get just how revolutionary that is??

Note to self:
Repent from a cozy life that privileges you to turn a blind eye to injustice. Repent from your Easy Jesus attitude that classifies sins by size and color.
Repent from your stubborn and stiff-necked thought that it's someone else's job to shepherd the people...and it must be done in a sanctuary.
Repent from your self-imposed limits that keep you from doing what you were put here to do. (I'm singing O Come O Come Emmanuel and not thinking about what to do when He shows up! Have a plan for goodness sake!)

Okay, I have returned from my moment in the mirror. Repentance is a revolutionary act! It is a decision to do something completely different! That's what Christmas means to me my love (Stevie Wonder voice). I want Christmas to be the start of something new and powerful and useful for the world and not just myself! I want Christmas to be the start of something revolutionary in my life. I want to be an agent of change in this world. I don't want to give the world a gift that comes with a receipt so they can exchange it for one that they like or one that (they think) is a better fit! I don't want to abort the baby by being less than I was created to be! I don't want to waste the gift that was given in the form of a helpless baby who grew in stature and wisdom to become the One who would not only die but return with ALL power in his nail scarred hands. I almost inserted a parenthetical apology for this beginning to sound like a sermon...Ha! That's my first act of repentance. I will not apologize for telling the Old Old story of Jesus and His Glory...(feel free to start singing if you know the words)!

So, with revolution on my mind and the blood of change agents in my veins, let me lead us in a few lines of what may be considered a song of revolution for those who have waited for the baby to arrive:

Yea, Lord, we greet thee, Born this happy morning;
Jesus, to thee be glory given!
Word of the Father, Now in flesh appearing!
Oh, come let us adore Him, Oh, come, let us adore Him,
Oh, come let us adore Him, Christ The Lord!




Shalom!!

I am not the Grinch who stole Christmas

Every year around this time, someone inevitably refers to me as the Grinch. Why, you ask? Largely because I do not enjoy the "holiday season" like most people do. I like watching people get excited about decorating their homes with lights, lawn ornaments, bows, and shiny paper. I like seeing new babies drowning in those big red hats with the white fur trim. I like seeing the family portraits with the holiday background and if you send me one, I will put it on display in my living room. If that makes you happy and does not harm anyone in the process, then deck the halls and fa la la all you want, but please do not be offended when I am not inclined to follow suit.

As a child, I was never as interested in a tree and the boxes beneath it (like I didn't know that the biggest ones had underwear, tights, turtlenecks and socks? Santa my eye!) as I was in the story of the baby in the manger. My mother tells the story of how she was physically ill when she found out that there was no Santa. We don't share that experience. I'm not sure if I ever believed in Santa but it was not because my parents didn't try. I enjoyed the cartoons that meant Christmas was on the way and would fight you if you got in the way of Rudolph's Shiny New Year or The Year Without A Santa Claus! Okay, I digress...

Christmas has always been a lovely time of waiting for Mary's baby to be born. I always wondered why we had Christmas pageants and parties but never threw Mary a baby shower. I felt like we should have helped her get ready for the baby because that's what we do when a baby is coming into the world. She was married but she was still a teenager. And she sang that really cool song, the Magnificat (the one she learned from the liturgy of mothers who came before her...so...umm...where is the legacy of the women in this story?) Were the same angels we heard on high her midwives? Who caught Jesus as he came through the birth canal? No one ever answered those questions and no one seems to want to ask them but I've held them since childhood. So, I'll beg your forgiveness if I'm not singing and swinging and getting merry like Christmas as Mother Maya says. I'm waiting to see how the story turns out. I like Advent's call to quiet reflection and delicate anticipation. There are some parts of the story that I need to carefully consider because we may not see these scriptures in the Christian worship schedule until next year this time. Mary has all three trimesters in the course of four weeks! And then there's the thought of a pregnant teenager...umm...I'm a mother and teacher of teenage girls...I need a moment here. I want to hug Mary and protect her as the elder women are supposed to do. I want her to know that there is truth in the angel's proclamation that she is blessed and highly favored. But that as the bearer of the Word, I need her testimony. I need Mary to be okay. I need Mary to know that she is my model for what a woman in ministry looks like. She is the bearer of the WORD. That word will speak long after lights blow out and tinsel loses its shine.

So, if you don't mind, I'd like to think on these things. I'll sip egg nog if you invite me but you won't find a tree in front of my fireplace. I'll sing a carol or two if you ask me to join in with your reindeer games but as for me and my house, we are waiting for our turn to hold the baby. The stores will be open after December 25th and the sales will be better. So, you see, I'm not the Grinch who stole Christmas. I'm the woman who is keeping watch over Mary until she delivers the baby who delivered me!

Shalom!