Christmas 2020

“Grow up!”

It’s something all of us have heard and, perhaps, said. Some were more successful than others at following the advice which often sounded more like a reprimand. Like the day I cut my hair and bought a suit two weeks before my college graduation, sometimes we think we can grow up in an instant. Whether in how we behave, the kind of relationships we have, or the work we do, there’s no end to the places in which we can grow up. Faith is another area, but at this time of year I miss the child-like faith I once possessed. 

There was a time when I closed my eyes and breathed in the wonder that is Christmas. I sang carols as if God was the only one listening. I gave without restraint and opened gifts with eyes opened so wide it’s a wonder they didn’t fall out.

More important, I listened to the Christmas story without dissecting it with logic. I took my place besides the shepherds as if I belonged, and welcomed the wise men, eager to see what gifts they bought. I looked out the stable windows and gave thanks for the star and tried to catch Mary of Joseph’s eyes as if to say “This is outrageous!” It was the night of nights, the moment when the course of history changed just because of the child lying in a manger.

Of course, I was told to grow up. Whether by more sophisticated friends or a world that suddenly became too complicated for a child’s faith. It was to be expected, I’m suppose, but on this day more than any other I give thanks for the time when my faith said, “Of course,” and my arms opened without hesitation to welcomed God-with-us. 

Advent IV: Room 71

There was nothing more the nurses and doctor could do. He’d soon be a number added to the other 300,000, but to his wife and children he was so much more. The machines and tubes were unhooked and an orderly pushed his bed down the hall to Room 71. It was the room reserved for one purpose. It was where his family would finally be able to see him, touch him, and say good-bye. It was an all too familiar liturgy, but the staff never took it for granted. 

Clinging to one another, the family crossed the hall from the elevator and entered Room 71. His daughter gasped as she saw the shell of the man who used to hold her on his spacious lap. Her daughter, his granddaughter, placed the drawing she’d done of them walking in the woods on the blanket draping his legs. His wife mustered what little strength she had to break the silence. Reaching for her husband’s hand, she thanked him for their many years together. She spoke of their first date when he spilled the red wine all over their food because he was so nervous, the moment they held their first born in this same hospital, and their honeymoon trip to England which they could only afford ten years after their wedding. The others around the room added their own memories and said what they loved most about the man lying before them.

Because it was Christmas, the moment felt particularly cruel. The season of joy was everything but. The season of light was unusually dark. Where was God? Couldn’t God perform a Christmas miracle? The man’s hand suddenly gripped his wife’s before releasing and turning cold. 

In a way that made no sense to any of them, a strange peace filled the room and wrapped its arms around everyone assembled. He had gone, but gone where? All they could do was say good-bye, but it felt as if he was now saying hello. Room 71 had become a door to someplace else for him, and, because of that, for them, as well.

Still huddled together in the elevator, someone uttered words from long ago: “Those who walk in darkness have seen a great light.” The words didn’t dry the tears, only transformed them, but that was miraculous enough.

Advent III: 'tis the season

‘Tis the season . . .

when people stay in their homes

when immediate family are pulled close 

when people take more walks

when people read regularly and cook deliberately

when people look for ways to express their creativity in new or renewed ways

when people clear out clutter in their houses and within themselves

when people appreciate each deep breath

when people watch their (and others’) health

when we call people essential

‘Tis the season of COVID-19. ‘Tis an awful season, but in all its challenges there are some of the important lessons of Advent.