It might be because I quit watching Fox News, but it's been a couple years since I've heard people talking about the War on Christmas, in which we have to save the baby Jesus from the liberal commies. But the other day I met one of the guerrillas on the front lines, and she brought it all back for me. I was waiting to send a package to my friend Britton who got lost on his way home and is stuck in Colorado, when the lady in front of me chastised the young clerk's "Happy Holidays" with an exasperated "Merry CHRISTmas." She stared at him for a few more seconds, chin down and eyebrows up, then turned to those of us in line, repeated herself in case anyone missed it the first time, and strode out of the building confident that the birth of Christ was once again secure.
I could talk about the fact that we as Christians are not the only ones celebrating a holiday this time of year. Or I could talk about the very word "holiday," how it is powerful and weighted with life.
But I think instead I'll talk about my family. This is my nephew Wyatt's first Christmas. Last Sunday he discovered his nostrils for the first time, and since then he's been riding through life with his thumb in his mouth and his finger up his nose. At some point we should probably stop encouraging it, but for now everyone gathers around and laughs and he is absolutely precious. That baby has affected my brother and his wife so dramatically, and watching them interact with each other and with Wyatt keeps bringing me the good kind of tears.
Today thirteen of us gathered for a Christmas Eve lunch. Food is a half-step below Jesus in my family, so everything was delicious and abundant. Competition is a half-step below food, so we followed lunch with some healthy trash talk and a convincing Ryan-Beau victory. After a mostly enjoyable church service, we came back to the house for more food and some family music featuring cello, piano, guitars, and the lovely vocals of Kathryn Denton.
This is a time for families to share and to savor, for distant friends to unite and enjoy the company of each other. It's not always pretty, and sometimes we have to make late night phone calls to apologize for being pissy about a score discrepancy, but this time, good and bad together, is rich. And it is sacred.
I hope the lady from the post office is with people right now. I hope the part of her that feels obligated to protect the sanctity of Christmas is experiencing some sort of healing. Maybe she was stressed about not getting her package off in time, and that's why she snapped at the postal employee who was obeying instructions. If that's the case, then I hope she's sitting at home with her family, amazed at how everything is coming together.
Because there is nothing in the world like those moments after the frenzy, when everyone is tired and full and together, when the only reason to get up is a coffee refill, and when the most thrilling sound in the world is the strange gurgling laughing noise coming from the baby.
To my friends, Christian and non-Christian and everything in between, I think about California and my family and my long-lost friend Britton and my upcoming trip to Jacksonville and baby Wyatt picking his nose, and I breathe deep, exhaling with a full and quiet Merry Christmas.
And next time someone offers you a neutral greeting in light of the fact that we are a diverse nation with beautifully diverse traditions, may you pause for a moment and agree that these are indeed Holy Days.
And love.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Soap Snow
A few nights ago I stood among hundreds of people outside of Santa’s house, somewhere between Barnes & Noble and Anthropologie, when a foreign whirring sound appeared above us, the skies opened up, and suddenly we were all being showered in soap bubbles. Kids started cheering, people ran out of stores and craned their necks, others extended a hand to the floating suds, clutching bags of clothes in the other hand.
For a moment I found myself caught up in the spectacle, but then I began to feel increasingly removed. I looked at the soap that clung to the ground for a mere second, and I thought about how it could represent so much of what happens in this city, manufacturing something temporary to masquerade as something substantial. I looked at the crowds of people, clutching their shopping bags full of hundreds of dollars worth of items, and I thought of the reasons why so many people are cynical about the Christmas season. After exactly five minutes the rooftop soap machines fell silent, then a man stepped on a brightly lit stage and wished everyone a Merry Christmas before he started yelling about all of the new features in the shiny car displayed behind him.
Waiting to meet up with some new friends, I continued to feel more and more bothered. I even began to jot down ideas I could write about later, about consumerism and empires and the hijacking of a truly meaningful and beautiful story. I began to feel superior to the crowds flowing in and out of the stores, as if I was somehow enlightened and they were not.
And then my phone rang. I spent the next hour and a half talking with a very dear friend from Florida, a conversation that had its serious moments but was thoroughly enjoyable and refreshing.
My phone died before we finished talking, but it turned out to be just in time for the final soap shower of the night. This time I couldn’t help but laugh at the kids squealing in delight, the father who placed his son on his shoulders so he could reach higher, and all of the hundreds of people who seemed to stop what they were doing for just a few moments, staring at the suds twirling and floating through the lights, and pretending that Los Angeles might actually experience a holiday snowfall. When the little girl beside me jumped on a chair and wished everyone a Merry Christmas, I almost started crying. The good kind.
There are all sorts of things to be cynical about this time of year. Our addiction to buying things is a problem, and the way that Christmas is used to feed that addiction is definitely a problem. Not to mention that for so many people holidays stir up deep personal pain related to family problems or loved ones who won’t be sharing in the traditions this year.
But there are so many things to be excited about too. Maybe all the talk about joy and peace amounts to more than overplayed songs and cheesy commercials. Maybe the story about God becoming man and sharing our existence is very real and very present. Maybe anything that draws together families or distant friends is powerful and worth being excited about.
I think I need to repeatedly remember this. It’s so easy to be cynical, and I don’t need to be reminded of my skepticism, but I am compelled by the thought that there is something substantive and lasting beneath all the lights and songs. It took a long conversation with a missed friend to remind me of this, and I’m sure I will need to be reminded again. My hope is that I will find genuine joy in everything that is being shared over the next few weeks, in families that come together for a few cherished traditions, and in friends that are united again over food and hot chocolate and wonderfully cold weather.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Bradenton, so maybe that’s putting me in some sort of sappy sentimental mood. I would like to believe, though, that this new peace of mind and heart, and this giddy expectation for things to come, have something to do with the story behind all the craziness.
For a moment I found myself caught up in the spectacle, but then I began to feel increasingly removed. I looked at the soap that clung to the ground for a mere second, and I thought about how it could represent so much of what happens in this city, manufacturing something temporary to masquerade as something substantial. I looked at the crowds of people, clutching their shopping bags full of hundreds of dollars worth of items, and I thought of the reasons why so many people are cynical about the Christmas season. After exactly five minutes the rooftop soap machines fell silent, then a man stepped on a brightly lit stage and wished everyone a Merry Christmas before he started yelling about all of the new features in the shiny car displayed behind him.
Waiting to meet up with some new friends, I continued to feel more and more bothered. I even began to jot down ideas I could write about later, about consumerism and empires and the hijacking of a truly meaningful and beautiful story. I began to feel superior to the crowds flowing in and out of the stores, as if I was somehow enlightened and they were not.
And then my phone rang. I spent the next hour and a half talking with a very dear friend from Florida, a conversation that had its serious moments but was thoroughly enjoyable and refreshing.
My phone died before we finished talking, but it turned out to be just in time for the final soap shower of the night. This time I couldn’t help but laugh at the kids squealing in delight, the father who placed his son on his shoulders so he could reach higher, and all of the hundreds of people who seemed to stop what they were doing for just a few moments, staring at the suds twirling and floating through the lights, and pretending that Los Angeles might actually experience a holiday snowfall. When the little girl beside me jumped on a chair and wished everyone a Merry Christmas, I almost started crying. The good kind.
There are all sorts of things to be cynical about this time of year. Our addiction to buying things is a problem, and the way that Christmas is used to feed that addiction is definitely a problem. Not to mention that for so many people holidays stir up deep personal pain related to family problems or loved ones who won’t be sharing in the traditions this year.
But there are so many things to be excited about too. Maybe all the talk about joy and peace amounts to more than overplayed songs and cheesy commercials. Maybe the story about God becoming man and sharing our existence is very real and very present. Maybe anything that draws together families or distant friends is powerful and worth being excited about.
I think I need to repeatedly remember this. It’s so easy to be cynical, and I don’t need to be reminded of my skepticism, but I am compelled by the thought that there is something substantive and lasting beneath all the lights and songs. It took a long conversation with a missed friend to remind me of this, and I’m sure I will need to be reminded again. My hope is that I will find genuine joy in everything that is being shared over the next few weeks, in families that come together for a few cherished traditions, and in friends that are united again over food and hot chocolate and wonderfully cold weather.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Bradenton, so maybe that’s putting me in some sort of sappy sentimental mood. I would like to believe, though, that this new peace of mind and heart, and this giddy expectation for things to come, have something to do with the story behind all the craziness.
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