A tradition the children and grandchildren remember and enjoy is going to the participatory Family Christmas Eve service at church. They love dressing up as angels or sheep or cows or even wise men (though in 10 years none of them have chosen to be wise men). They love having a part in the story and singing the old familiar hymns. This year in response to my question about the modern language used (as opposed to the traditional Bible readings) one of our group announced loudly and clearly that the Christmas story is just another fable for her. It got me thinking again about the meaning of Christmas. Increasingly Christmas is about over-consumption, crass commercialism, shopping, parties with lots of food, all of it just too much. We all know that Christianity absorbed (syncretized) lots of other traditions, for example: the Christmas tree from the Druids; the feast at the winter solstice from the pagans. Traditions have slowly been added over the centuries. But as we used to say in church, the Christmas story might not have happened exactly the way we tell it, but it is still true. There is at the heart of the Christmas story something beautiful and consonant with yearning in our hearts. There is in all of us a wish for new life, peace and more light in these the dark times. Going outside on the longest darkest night and looking up into the starry sky, our lives seem so small and insignificant in the dark Universe. Humans crave meaning and the stories we tell give us meaning. For me, the old old story of the mystery made flesh in a child born in the most humble circumstances is a great story. I love the mystery part in it. I love the humble mother pondering the meaning of her child's life in her heart. I love the nature part of the shepherd's field with the starry sky and angels. I love the fact it's not all explained. The fact we are still talking about this child all these centuries later says to me there was something very special and true about his life. It is for each of us to find the meaning of his life in our lives. Looking deeply through the messy chaos of these days to the peace of Christmas, I treasure in my heart the handmade gifts shyly given by special grandchildren; the love given and received in our family and friends; the gift of being altogether sharing as we can the gift of presence of love and joy and hope and yes, for some even belief in the Holy Impossible.
Sent from my iPad
Sent from my iPad
No comments:
Post a Comment