Christmas

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Christmas Eve – 2012 – Joseph and Mary Dinner

It’s very early, Christmas morning as I begin this.  Everyone is still asleep.  Outside it’s dark and foggy.  It’s been raining steadily for a couple of weeks.

Reflecting on 2012, it was a year of many challenges, like most years.  But, in this moment, I am filled with joy and gratitude.  My eyes fill as I think of the wondrous Christmas Eve we spent as a family last night. An old family tradition was revisited, but it came alive as never before.

We have called it the Joseph and Mary Dinner.  Our tradition has been to celebrate Christmas Eve simply, as they might have, eating the things they might have eaten, as poor travelers, quietly pondering unfolding events that they could not have understood.

Sometimes, with the best intentions, traditions wander into unintended territory and lose the essence of what they are meant to commemorate.  So it is with modern Christmas traditions that ring, not with joy and hope, but with hollowness.
There have been years when our Joseph and Mary dinner crept outside its roots, looking more like a celebration of Middle Eastern cuisine.
But last night we celebrated well.  No shepherds clothed in bathrobes, no dolls wrapped in dish towels.  It was a simple meal of dates, goat cheese, flat bread and grape juice.  Probably much more than they enjoyed that night.  But this time, the meal wasn’t the point nor the focus.  Rather than the traditional reading of the Christmas story, each family member had been challenged to bring their favorite scripture about Christ.  I think we had all struggled a bit to choose one as we stepped outside the traditional story.  But the ensuing discussion was rich and full.  We celebrated much more than a vague image of a few people from long ago in a strange and unfamiliar land, huddled around a tiny baby in a barn.

Following the sharing of scriptures and their very personal significance, we gathered around the piano to sing the sacred Christmas carols.  My voice is nearly gone, I hope only temporarily.  I could barely croak out the tunes.  But it was magical.  Instead of focusing on making lovely music with four-part harmony, we traded turns, each reading one stanza of the lyrics of all the carols in our hymn book.  The reading revealed new meaning as the poetic phrases came to life unencumbered by the rhythms of the music.

“And, at last our eyes shall see Him, through His own redeeming Love”
– Once in Royal David’s City

“Shepherds, why this Jubilee? Why your joyous strains prolong?  What the gladsome tidings be which inspire your heavenly song?”
– Angels We Have Heard on High

“No more will sin and sorrow grow, nor thorns infest the ground; He’ll come and make the blessings flow far as the curse was found.”
– Joy to the World

I was humbled as I contrasted our family birthday celebrations with birthday cakes against God’s majesty and power in the way He celebrated the event with the brightest star ever seen in the heavens.
– O Little Town of Bethlehem

Then, we sang from the heart with full meaning expressed in joyful celebration.
“Joy to the World”
“Jesus, Lord at thy birth” –  Silent Night
“Hosanna” – With Wondering Awe
“Noël” (look it up, we did) – The First Noël
“Hallelujah!” – Silent Night
“Sing in exultation” – Oh, Come All Ye Faithful
“Gloria in excelsis Deo“ – Angels we have heard on high
… and more

I will not profane the sacred experience by attempting to recount the things we spoke of.  Only this.  This has already been the best Christmas of my life.  I am overwhelmed with a sense of hope, peace, joy and gratitude to my God and Savior.  And, I look forward to 2013 and beyond with more confidence that, come what may, it will be wonderful, good and right.  Now, to hold on to that feeling throughout the year.

Merry Christmas to All
May your lives be filled with the unspeakable joy of Christmas.

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Be the Meaning of Christmas

Every year at this time we struggle through strident calls to recognize the true meaning of Christmas.  There are protests of non-Christians and atheists against creches in public places and equally enraged protests of Christians defending the traditions of a Christian nation.   Strident? Protests? Enraged?  Is this the new, true meaning of Christmas?  Have we reached a new low, below crass commercialism?   To all of that I say, “Bah Humbug”.

It’s December 25, but my family isn’t celebrating with our Christmas traditions today, although we did start the day with a reading of this special Christmas story.    We decided to wait another week until our son (who works at Best Buy in another State) can join us after the Christmas retail rush.  How nice!  A little extra time to relax and enjoy the season without the hoopla.

This little story isn’t mine.  But it inspires me.  I hope it will inspire you to think of Christmas differently, whether you are Christian, religious, spiritual . . .  or not.

My advice:  Don’t argue about what Christmas should mean.  BE the meaning of Christmas.  And, if you are reading this too late to plan to do something really nice this Christmas of 2011, don’t worry.  You can be the meaning of Christmas today too.  There is absolutely nothing stopping any of us from celebrating our very own spirit of Christmas today . . . or any day, just like our family decided to celebrate on a day other than the one everyone else is.

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It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree.  No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas- oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it- overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma, the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church.  These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.  As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without head gear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears.
It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.” Mike loved kids – all kids – and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came.

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling head gear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition, one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn’t end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down the envelope.

Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.

Editor’s Note: This true story was originally published in the December 14,1982 issue of Woman’s Day magazine. It was the first place winner out of thousands of entries in the magazine’s “My Most Moving Holiday Tradition” contest in which readers were asked to share their favorite holiday tradition and the story behind it.

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An Abundant, Low-Impact Christmas

Back again after a relaxing Christmas holiday. This was perhaps our most low-impact Christmas ever. We just vegged in our cozy home with the sounds of the babbling brook just outside our back door while we worked together assembling a big puzzle. I’m not usually one for puzzles as they seem like a waste of potentially productive time. But sometimes that’s just what we need as background to slow-flowing, deep conversation with those we love most.

Our absence of focus on things commercial was periodically interrupted all Christmas morning as we took turns asking each other,
“well, should we take a break to open presents?”
Followed quickly by, “Naah, there’s no hurry”.
I think that puzzle strangely resembled our compost pile in that it slowly created rich soil for discussion with our teen-age daughter. I had no time left for blogging, gardening or anything else. Without a doubt, it was the highest and best use of my time for the holidays.

I want to recommend some of the gifts I received, particularly two sets of wonderful books. This morning I’ve been absorbed in Bill Mollison’s seminal work, Permaculture Design Manual. I’m also looking forward to consuming Dave Jacke’s Edible Forest Gardens (both for knowledge and the fruits). Both are huge repositories of knowledge on sustainable living. These are the gifts that truly keep giving for a lifetime.

I just got a call from a new friend who flew in to Nashville last night and is on her way for a visit to the Village. We have carried on a delightful correspondence and are looking forward to welcoming her into our family for a couple of days.

We hope your Christmas has been as relaxing and peaceful as ours. God has surely blessed us with all we need and much much more. We live in marvelous times.