This post starts out sad, but, much like Advent, turns into Christmas: Advent didn't end softly in my world. Yesterday, Christmas Eve, I sat with a family whose otherwise healthy child became dangerously ill that same morning. So instead of the normal last-minute holiday wrapping, cooking, and planning, the family gathered at the hospital and tearfully kept vigil over the balance between life and death of a toddler. And I sat with them.
This story could be another apt illustration of Advent need and lament. But to leave it as lament ignores that there is so much more that our faith offers. At the very least, what a strange wonder that this same night Christians the world over would celebrate the birth of the Christ child, God-with-us. That is: God-with-us here, in this, right now. In our joy and our pain.
Lindsey and I both have a soft spot for this tender little song, the Friendly Beasts, with its child-like language about Jesus' birth. Given all the sad news about children this year, from Sandy Hook all the way to this toddler's sudden illness, it seems only appropriate to let the children carry the lead in the music department today, because we could stand to re-learn from the wonder, the joy, the magic, and the play of how children experience the Christmas story.
Yet children aren't immune to the pain of life. Each family I visited on Christmas Eve in the children's hospital was accompanied by the young patients' siblings, worrying, but also wondering aloud about other important issues... like how Santa would leave presents in the hospital. Unsure and scared about their families, yes, but also hoping and joyful about the promises of this Christmas day. Filled with possibilities and magic, dreams and wild imaginings for what Christmas Day might bring to their lives in so many ways.
I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also. They, too, will listen to my voice, and there shall be one flock and one shepherd. - John 10:16
On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they returned home by another road. - Matthew 1:11-12
The shepherds get a lot of air time as being God's unexpected chosen guests at the manger - not powerful kings but the poorest of the poor, called upon to receive the Son of God. But what do we make of those other first guests, mysterious foreigners of other faiths who journeyed afar? Not Mary's 'church family' or religious leaders from Joseph's synagogue, but wisdom seekers, star trackers, faith sojourners?
The fact is, those "Wise Men," don't seem to have become 'Christians' in any recognizable sense either before or after they visited the manger - yet they still came to witness, honor, and give gifts to Jesus where he lay. They were Zoroastrian foreigners who sensed the in-breaking of God in Jesus and worshiped that divinity, ultimately leaving transformed. So in a way, this shows that Jesus truly and fully embodied the Divine Mystery which lays at the heart of all religions. Yet rather than making Christ the center, the period on that Mystery, it also makes Christ the window on the Mystery itself.
As we've explored, that first Christmas was full of surprises and reversals, turning people's expectations upside-down. This Epiphany, we might consider the surprising ways in which Christ's coming continues to upend us, razing the boundaries we had in place, upsetting our rules and expectations. Over and over, what Christmas really show us is that the God we worship is unlimited by our current understandings of the way the world works - and in the story of the "Wise Men" cannot even be tamed by the boundaries of religions we have tried to erect, transforming both us and others in the process.
I Love the Way you Dream by 1 Giant Leap feat. Asha Bohsle, Michael Stipe, et al. (lyrics HERE)
Note: Brief nudity in the context of religious ritual toward the end of the video.
As we journey forward from Christmastide into the early days of a new year, may we feel Christ's in-dwelling Spirit making all things new, not just in the world, but in our own vision of the world - of its peoples; of its complicated, messy, problematic, blessing-filled faith traditions; and of God's spiraling, upending, all-encompassing plan for us all.
Thanks for journeying with us- and peace in the coming year!
I want my life to make more sense, I want my life to make amends, I want my life to make more sense to me. - The Frames
I'm not a New Year's "resolver." I have never made a resolution to do something after the new year, similar to how I have only a very few times "given up" anything for Lent. It's not that I have anything against the original concept of these traditions; it's just that their everyday forms generally fail to inspire me. For instance, how much does giving up chocolate desserts for forty days really inspire me to think about my life or Christ's sufferings? Not that much, really.
It's not that I can't imagine a possible scenario where giving up something small for Lent could help me focus or practice self-discipline, or how a New Year's Resolution could inspire me to new depths of self-actualization and happiness... it just also seems a little unlikely.
What would it look like if our resolutions had a revolution (literally turned around) to become something that was a little less about ourselves and reached out to encompass a community, a family, a world?
Sure, let's still go to the gym, but also let's think about the mark we leave on the lives of others, how our acts create waves that we can't even see. Let's think about how we're making sense of our lives, how we are making amends, how we rightly choose to stay and fight or choose to find a fresh road forward...
Turns out, this ties right back into Christmas. In the usual December flurry of "Does the 'Christ' Still Matter in Christmas?" articles, my favorite was one in the Huffington Post that reminded us that 'the greatest attack on Christmas has come from within,' from Christians whose actions so little resembled the teachings of Christ.
It is galvanizing to remember that perhaps my resolutions might take a different form because of Christmas: one of honoring the baby born in Bethlehem and the man he grew to be by starting anew the revolution in my own life - the turning again towards the difficult task of trying to live with more grace and less judgement, with more understanding and less ignorance, with more compassion and and less need for control.
Making all things new is ultimately a process of grace through God's help, but it is also a process of time and desire -- and practice. We must want our actions to be transformed or we make God's work infinitely harder. So it begs the question: how are our resolutions at the new year, at the mid-year, and elsewhere opening us daily to this transformation both personally and communally?
And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.
- 2 Cor 3: 18
May the work of the Spirit continue to be seen through even our small acts of courage, grace and peace in this coming year.
To inaugurate the next twelve days of Christmastide on the A.M. Project, enjoy the Christmas story in the voice of those who might know it best of all...
(Best watched full-screen, if possible)
May our hearts and lives be full this day, may we find peace, and may we keep in mind the wonderful inspiration that 'then there was a party!'
Joseph went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child.And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. -Luke 2:5-7
(Anna) Maybe this isn't the most reverent thing to say on Christmas Eve, but babies often remind me of Cracker Jack boxes. They may not all look the same, but there's really no telling what they'll become. Reprobate, saint, mediocre wishy-washer... they all just start out as, well, babies - complete with personalities but not yet shaped by the marks of fate upon their skin. So pause the manger scene for a minute and flash forward thirty or so years: what do we see now? Does it even really matter on Christmas night?
Yes, it matters, because if I can't get it in my head that I'm welcoming a child who isn't just going to sit quietly in a crib forever, but will one day be the pushy, annoying, rabble-rouser that doesn't just implicate people I don't like but who pushes back on me as well, well then I might as well just open my gifts and be done with it. But, if even for a fleeting moment, I can hold on to the fact that there is both something real and pure about the lavish gift of love and peace offered in that silent night in the manger, AND that there is something complicated, messy and uncomfortable about this baby's birth that will (and already had) upset the order of the world -- then I've truly held Christmas in my hands. When it feels almost impossible to hold this paradox in mind, I just remember that the almost-impossible and the nearly-incredible are what lie at the heart of the Christian faith - as this night where God who comes as a human and showers us with 'love, love, love.. all around' so wonderfully proves.
(Lindsey) Every good story has a conflict. Great works of literature, Disney movies, the good story of a friend, they all have something with which the main character must contend: bad guys, hardship, or even her/himself. But this story, this baby, brings our literary preferences pretty close to home. It flips the script. Jesus (as baby, man, God) is the conflict, the scandal, the sticking point upon which the world's way of being trips and topples - and is the conflict over which we still trip and tumble and are upended.
The story of this night unfolds into the life of Christ - among a long list of characters: 'less-informed authorities,' cynics, jeering neighbors, demanding family members, those who seek violence as a means to peace, people who love their traditions more than anything, and those who will not risk. I have at times inhabited many of those characters in the stories of my own life. But this story is not (only) a great literary work, a moralistic tale, or the story of a friend - this story is more. It is an axis of wonder, a place that we return to year after year, a mysterious truth that we spin round and round. The wonder of it is this: that the conflict and chaos, the resolution, the love, the frailty and the fear are all present as God's grace embraces the world. That in spite of (or, I believe, because of) this complexity, both present in the world and present in us, the Creator came to walk among these 'characters' -- and comes still to walk with us now: the uninformed, the violent, the cynical, the fearful.
And so we fall silent on this Christmas Eve in the face of a love that is bigger than we understand. And we dwell for a moment in the wonder that God, in whom all things hold together, became a small baby and reached out to embrace all things in the hold of grace.
May we be embraced by wonder as Grace is born again to us tonight.
