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Mistress of My Own Domain

January 18, 2012 by irreverins

Well…I didn’t mean to take a month-long hiatus from blogging, but sometimes, life happens. Thing is, writing is alot like exercise. What begins as, say, a week-long break turns into a month and then 6 months before you know it…because both writing and movement that demand this thing called momentum… and well, once you’ve lost it, it feels almost impossible to start again. There’s a part of your brain that sort of turns itself off, so that what once felt natural, rhythmic, almost compulsory, becomes a chore.

I say this having taken a month off of writing…and almost 2 years away from the gym! Did i mean to do that? Of course not. But well, life happens. I think I quit going to the gym around the time i found out i was pregnant with my second child, who is now 1 year + 3 months old, so do the math… I was worried about my blood pressure, having had a high-risk pregnancy the first time around. And yes, exercise is good for the bp and all that, but, i opted for walking and yoga rather than eliptical machines, aerobic classes and weights. Then the kid actually got born and was fine, and well… excuses excuses, but you try going to the gym with 2 kids and a full-time job. Also–i will freely admit–vanity plays a big part in my exercise routine. Yes it’s good for your energy level, your immune system, your heart health, etc, but my biggest motivator to work out is the scale. And when i was pregnant, the scales were kind to me. When i was breastfeeding, the scales were REALLY kind to me. So, that’s where almost 2 years of my life went. Happily, mind you. But that nursing diet can only last so long.

Let’s just say that I quit the breastfeeding thing about 4 months ago, and then Thanksgiving and Christmas happened, and well…back to the gym i go! Two years and ten pounds later, i am motivated!

My husband does not get why i need a gym to go to…why i can’t just go run around the block a few times in the morning, do some sit-ups and lift some hand-weights after work, run up and down the stairs a few extra trips while doing laundry. The only coherent response i’ve been able to come up with…”You’re a BOY! You could not possibly understand.”

Thing is, if i bothered to think about it for a minute, I could come up with a better answer, and it would have something to do with space. Home is my space to be a parent, my space to rest, my space to do things i enjoy like reading and cooking and watching my stories. It is my space to unwind, to play, to connect… And once i get there, after a day of errands, working, and/or being who i am in the rest of the world, it’s sort of hard to muster momentum. It feels like jumping in the deep end of a pool that’s very, very cold when in fact, you’re not sure if you even remember how to swim.

Things that require discipline take time, most certainly. But they also require space. Writing calls for a space that is comfortable, quiet, aesthetically pleasing, and filled with good light. [side note=something adorable my kid did, so you can skip this part if you hate hearing about adorable kids. When Silas was just barely walking, he collected a cup of juice, his stuffed dog, his sister's toy laptop, a piece of paper, and a Zane Grey novel, lined them all up on the bottom 2 steps, and then settled himself in like he was ready to write the great American novel. It made this English-major-mama's heart so happy, i cannot even tell you. All this to say: even a baby knows that your space matters to what needs doing...]

I often think that prayer requires the same kind of space that writing does:  comfortable, quiet, aesthetically pleasing, and filled with good light. We often say that we don’t have time for a daily discipline of prayer and discernment; but i think 9 times out of 10, it’s the space that eludes us. I don’t have a good answer about how to find or create this kind of space for oneself, as that very discipline is an ongoing struggle for me (and i get PAID to pray). Just hoping, in my writer’s heart, that the act of articulating the challenge will make it less of one, for me and for others. 

Speaking of having a space in which to write–i am so grateful for the freedom to say and write what i wish (whether it’s good or garbage). And for all the evil it’s wrought on the world, I am ever thankful for the internet. Here’s hoping that it’s ill-usage might be addressed while maintaining our ability to use it as sacred space for writers everywhere, and for the sharing of knowledge that, when we are lucky, makes us all better citizens. Let this scare–and let us hope it is only a scare–make us all a little more mindful and accountable in our own usage of online resources. Ultimately, we can only be responsible for ourselves.

On that note, i bought my domain–literally!  www.irreverin.com. I mean, let’s face it, ‘irreverin’ is not exactly going to become a household name. I don’t expect that anyone is going to try to cash in on or steal my clever handle, nor do i anticipate that some young startup company is going to offer me a cool million for the address (though if they do, they can sure as *%&# have it!)  It’s just that…well, it is a clever name, and it’s mine. And there is something to be said, in the act of writing, for having a room of one’s own. (thank you, Virginia).  

Hope you will continue to visit and read as i get back into the rhythms of movement, the written word, and life in general.  I am the boss of myself, internets or not, and if i get fat–or God forbid, inarticulate!–i have only myself to blame.

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Dreaming of a Green Christmas

December 23, 2011 by irreverins

Yes, the glaciers are melting, and those sad little polar bears on the commercials are trying to remind us. But this is not that. This is a note about living in the desert, where all things green are about as elusive, magical and mysterious as Santa.

Last week it rained. I mean ALOT. Alot for the desert, alot for not being monsoon season, alot for anywhere, really. Desert people are not used to this. They can’t drive in it, they think that school and social functions should be cancelled as if for blizzard or plague, and main roads–unaccustomed to condensation–flood in about 5 minutes. So, a week of this in the midst of shopping season was exactly the kind of chaos you would imagine it to be.

Yesterday I went wandering in the desert. (Don’t tell my husband; he does not like me to do that without taking my cell phone. But without signal, i really don’t know how that phone is going to help me in the event of a kidnapping. I mean, could i use it as a weapon maybe? Is there a tazer app for a droid device?! Because, now that might be kind of awesome…)

Anyway, set out with my dog for some wilderness roaming. And what to my wondering eyes should appear…GREEN. Little shots of it, everywhere…Like a small child had colored the ground with a green crayon, in that loose way that children color without quite getting all the space filled in, but still leaving the illusion of the right color being in place.

Miraculous green. It was not the green of Christmas in Appalachia (which, let’s be honest, is mostly gray and brown except for that which we cut down and decorate); it was not Dickensian, it was not sparkling, and in this place, there is still little hope of snow. No, this was the green of a dry desert place, receiving a blessed drink after long, thirsty seasons of waiting. This was the green of new life that waits, just beneath the surface, to spring up with the first splash of water. This green embraces the light, and it speaks of good things to come.

Welcome, Christmas. We are thirsty, and we are ready.

It will rain, it will rain in the desert.

In the cracks of the plain, there’s a treasure.

Like the thirst of the seed, we await, we believe,

It will rain, it will rain in the desert.” –Emmylou Harris

 

My backyard view--if I were more Martha Stewart and less Charlie Brown

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Who Comes This Night, Take 2!

December 22, 2011 by irreverins

As promised earlier today  (“To Welcome in the Stranger”)  here’s another take of  “Who Comes this Night,” performed by my brother Chris. Under the video is a link to check out his blog for the music business he shares with his wife. Happy listening.

Mockingbird Musicians, Nashville

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To Welcome in the Stranger

December 21, 2011 by irreverins

Oh, the lovely and wonderful things that they don’t play on the radio. In the endless loop of holly jolly reindeer rock–and Celine Dion, of course–we miss out on alot of really beautiful and even prophetic music.

James Taylor’s “Who Comes This Night” has become a seasonal fave of mine, and i’ve never once heard it on the radio. Probably because it has little to do with creating a warm, fuzzy, insular Christmas feeling for ones own, and everything to do with welcoming the stranger and preparing room for the holy.  It also lets us sit with the notion that perhaps Jesus, himself, comes as the stranger. That being the case…are we still ready to greet him?

In most circles, that doesn’t sell. BUT, it makes for a gorgeous song, if you can find it. My brother has shared this for Foothills’ Christmas Eve service a few times while visiting me for the holidays. His version, too, is just stunning. In fact, if i can get a recording of him, i will repost! Meanwhile, JT will have to do. I’m including the lyrics, because they need to be read as well as heard…Enjoy.

Who comes this night, this wintry night, as to the lowly manger?

The Shepherds and the Kings did come to welcome in the stranger.

Who sends this song upon the air, to ease the soul that’s aching

To still the cry of deep despair and heal the heart that’s breaking?

Brother Joseph bring the light; fast, the night is fading

And who will come this wintry night to where the stranger’s waiting?

Who comes this night, with humble heart, to give the fullest measure

A gift of purest love to bring, what good and worthy treasure?

Brother Joseph bring the lamb for they are asking for him

The children come this starry night to lay their hearts before him.

For those who would the stranger greet must lay their heart before him

And raise their song in voices sweet to worship and adore him.

Brother Joseph bring the light; fast, the night is fading

And who will come this wintry night to where the stranger’s waiting?

Brother Joseph bring the lamb for they are asking for him.

The children come this starry night to lay their hearts before him.
Pure of heart this starry night to lay their hearts before him.

"Brother Joseph, Bring the Light!" Chris Campbell via flickr

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Week 4: Welcome

December 20, 2011 by irreverins

It was dark. Rainy. Cold. I’d been in the car for about 12 hours. Alone. Intermittent radio signal through the West Virginia Mountains, nothing but wheezing preachers and country (not the good kind) for much of Virginia, over an HOUR sitting still on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge because i lacked the foresight to plan around rush hour. Now I was within a mile of my friend’s house, i just knew that i had to be–but i’d been in circles for about 20 minutes, unable to read road signs through the dark and rain. This was before GPS kids…how did we ever live without those smug British voices occupying the front seat with us?? I can harken back to many a trip that would have been made simpler and shorter with some sort of navigation device at my disposal. But, well, what fun would that have been?

It was the week of Thanksgiving. I was going to spend a few days with my bff from college, then she was going to ride back to KY with me to visit her family.  We were both young and single, working in crummy jobs while working toward the “whatever’s next” that hangs over one’s head in the early 20′s. She was in law school, I was getting ready to start seminary–though, in retrospect, I may not have known it yet.  After a 12-hour haul from Lexington to Chesapeake, I was exhausted from not only the drive, but from my life in general. Out there on the lonely road, you never know what sort of baggage–and i don’t mean samsonite–will make its way into your car.

So here i was, practically circling her block but so unsure of where to exit, and where to make up for the wrong turn (or 2) I’d taken. At some point i think i called her (yes, i did have a cell phone. however, i’m pretty sure it did not have voice command or speed dial…) and she talked me, finally, to the right turn.

From which point I saw her house at once. Not because i could see house numbers or street names (I couldn’t) but because it glowed from within. And not just in a “somebody’s home with the tv on” kind of way, but in a “my friend lives there!” kind of way. I should explain that this is the friend whose dorm room always looked like a Martha Stewart cover, who could make Southern Living desserts in an efficiency kitchenette, and who, even now, knows how to put a thousand little thoughtful details into any gift or occasion. So in that gloomy, chilly, windy, rainy, never-ending darkness, her house was light and warmth. Even without directions (which i couldnt see anyway) i would have known from a mile away that Rachel lived there.

The glow from inside came not only from the presence of a kindred soul–there were some literal things going on, too. Like a Christmas tree–put up early just for my visit, because that year, we were both feeling the “need a little Christmas” thing. There were several warm and homey scented candles. The smell of something cooking. Strains of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” soundtrack  hanging in the blessed space between it all. I was overjoyed, comforted, and completely at peace with all the world. Basically, it was Christmas. In November.

The simple grace of that moment is what we are after, in all the running and doing and frenzy that can overwhelm us in this season. With every gift we buy, every light we hang, every party we throw together, we seek to create a tableau of warmth and hope for the people we love. A sanctuary to light up the night.

As we move into week 4 of Advent, i think of Mary and Joseph travelling through a dark, cold desert at night. Mary, pregnant and on a donkey, for heaven’s sake. I can scarcely imagine the sciatica. I think of what a welcome haven a home like Rachel’s would have been–warmth, music, food, friends–but instead, as we know, there was no room for them.

I always take a moment at this point in the Christmas story to stick up for the inn keeper–perhaps because i am married to one myself–because our popular renditions of the nativity make him out to be such a Grinch. “How could he not have given a room to the poor pregnant woman!?” we lament. “And carrying the messiah at that!?” Which is where i, the wife of the hotel manager, like to point out that hey–if there’s no room, there’s no room. It would be just as inhospitable to kick out one of the other weary travelers and send them to the Best Western across the street. This is peak season folks. Everybody’s on their own.

But you know… the inn keeper is kind of like the third wise man. He’s not in scripture, we just make him up sometimes to round out the story. All Luke says is “there was no room at the inn.” There’s no Mr. Potter-esque management guy turning them away. In fact, an “inn” in those days would not have been a Marriott, exactly. Not even a Motel 6! (They, at least, will keep the light on for you). No, the sort of inn that the holy family passed by was more of a shelter. Like a ramada (not to be confused with The Ramada) over a state park picnic table. A small nook to keep the wind off.

So could it be, perhaps, that the stable was the warmer welcome? Could it be that these young parents found some blessed quiet and warmth away from the masses that were gathering for the census?

Maybe. Even so, this is still a poor person’s story. All of Luke is a poor person’s gospel. It is the place where God uses a young girl of no upbringing to usher the holy into the world. Where shepherds are the first to share good news. Where animals are present at the birth of Jesus, because really, he came into the midst of real life and work; not into a perfect world, but a world hurting and just waiting for the lights to come on.

The fictional inn-keeper, with his full house and his eye on a profit…well, he’s not fictional. He’s not an ogre, either. He’s us. Forgetting that Jesus came for the poor and downtrod; feeling like Christmas is something we can create for ourselves; rushing to turn a profit in this “peak season” instead of slowing down to experience it. He’s us, about a jillion years ago, just going about his business in harmless fashion–a breath away from a miracle, and missing the whole thing.

To miss the dust, the cold, the lonliness at the edges of the nativity story, is to miss the truth of salvation: that we cannot create it for ourselves, nor is it reserved for those who can afford the biggest toys. Those with the least under the tree are getting the best of this gift. The last shall be first, and all that jazz.

But even if we count ourselves among the “haves,” Christmas comes not a moment too soon. We are, all of us, moving through the dark desert chill, or the dark mountain snow, or the dark coastal rain. Point is, it’s dark. It’s lonesome. We can’t see what’s next and we’re waiting for a glimpse of light and hope; a place that promises someone is waiting up for us, with good things in store. Someone has kept a light on for us, just like Motel 6. We can breathe easier now.

The point is, we must prepare a place for all this to go down. To welcome our friends and loved ones to our homes, to welcome neighbors into our places of worship; to welcome the poor and the lonely to a place that promises good things.

In all the preparations, some people have the knack for getting all the little details right (like Rachel and Martha Stewart) and some of us, well, we don’t quite get it (like me and Charlie Brown).  But anyone can light a candle against the chill. Anyone can open a door. To pull off that comforting Christmass-y glow, you don’t need Better Homes and Gardens. You don’t need that new table from Pottery Barn, the one that seats up to 20 people…what you need is a table of radical inclusion, a place of abundant grace and good news for all who come seeking. How easy it would be to miss them, in all the hurry!  We are keepers of this good news, this place of warmth and light. It may not be Rachel’s house, but it is ours to open, and welcome in the stranger.

***

questions for reflection and discussion:

-When have you been blessed by an abundant welcome? Who made you feel like you were important, expected, and celebrated?

-How can we share this kind of welcome with friends and strangers in this season?

-What are some of the spiritual preparations that enable us to welcome Christ? What is the connection between welcoming Jesus and welcoming ‘other?’

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Ready: Week 3, Day 3

December 17, 2011 by irreverins

I took a self-care day today. That means, took the kids to a baby sitter, got a massage, got my hair done, had lunch, did some light shopping, generally piddled about. In the course of this day, i encountered stylists, receptionists, check-out personnel, waitresses…you know the scene. So let’s say in the course of this day, no less than 5 people asked me if i was ready for the holidays. The drill is supposed to go something like this:
“Are you ready for the holidays?”
“Are you kidding me?? I am nowhere NEAR done shopping, nothing is wrapped, my house is a wreck, I have to work every day between now and Christmas Eve, and my kids have something planned every night this week!”
“Ha ha ha. I know, right? Me too, it’s crazy. I am SOOOO busy.”
“Ha ha ha. I know, right? Every year, I say i’m not going to do this again, and yet… here we are.”
“I know, right?”
… Breathe.

I realize this is the dialogue of a shared cultural experience. This is meant to be a bonding moment. A point of connection (or of earning one’s tip through a sympathetic gesture of understanding).

It is kind of like seasonal music, seasonal flavored coffees, and seasonal scented candles; a background accent that comes attached to these December days. They are small comforts in the form of the familiar. But I’d like to take just a moment and take apart a few essential things that make me stumble over this line of discourse.

First, let me say that I know it is harmless small talk. And don’t get me wrong, I dearly love small talk. Real relationships are built upon small talk, in the beginning; invitations to the sharing of faith begin in small talk; an open door to serve a person in need–yes, rooted in small talk. In fact, now that i think about it…most of my sermons, for better or worse, begin with a moment of small talk. This is not about that.

Thing 1 that makes me twitchy about this conversation–do you ever hear this banter taking place among MEN? “Oh, i know, i’ve just got so much BAKING and DECORATING left to do this week, I mean, when am i supposed to get my NAILS done and get little Gabby some new tights to go with her Christmas dress?!”

Please. According to the movies, commercials, and ad campaigns that shape us in this season, the men get to show up, happy and oblivious, for presents, turkey and football. They have neither a worry nor a passing moment of gratitude for the mothers/wives/sisters/daughters who have contrived to make everything so lovely and meaningful. It is a season for women; created for and marketed to women who, let’s be honest, do 90% of the shopping in most houses. If we aren’t at least a little bit aware of the inequity in all of this, then we are just asking to have our  money taken away from us. Not to  mention our dignity.

And I’m not offended by you, fellas. I’m offended FOR you. (Most of) you could be given way more credit than the hapless Christmas Eve mall-shopping maniac that our culture has deemed standard fair. You are thoughtful givers, you are grateful husbands, sons and fathers, you are discerning businessmen, teachers and pastors who need some good news from all this chaos as much as the girls do. And yet, the world is telling you that you don’t have to get ready for anything. Some woman will do it for you. (can you wrap presents? No, in that realm, you will always suck. We love you anyway. It does not mean you don’t have to buy us presents.)

So, the conundrum–the men are being told, by signals large and small, that Christmas will come for them, wrapped up in a shiny and color-coordinated bow, even if they don’t lift a finger in preparation. Even if they sleep or work or play right up until Jesus comes. Literally. All the while, the women are being told that no matter HOW hard they work/hurry/shop/bake/wrap/worry/clean/decorate/entertain… they will NEVER BE READY.

It will never be enough.

So, who’s really coming up a few reindeer short here? The boys or the girls? Is it worse to have to do everything? Or to be asked to do nothing?

The long and short of it is–nobody is getting a full sleigh here. Nobody is getting much of a real Christmas in the measure of these extremes. You’ve got to wait. You’ve got to watch and hope and wonder, and yes, maybe wrap a gift or two. But you’ve also got to know. When. To.

Stop.

And say, you know what? We are none of us ready. Ever. Nobody is ever, in human form, truly ever prepared for the grace, the joy, the earth-shaking justice, the glory, the radical truth, the all-consuming love, that is coming for us. We are never, in this life, completely whole in the way that Christ’s coming means we should be.

But…well, maybe there comes a time, sometime before midnight on Christmas Eve, to put down one’s checklist and, like Mary, say “Here am I, a servant of the Lord.” There comes a time to realize that the goofy charicatures on the Target and Walmart and Lowe’s commercials do not have to be us. There comes a time when all God’s people can say, ‘we may not be ready. But we are waiting. We are willing participants in this drama, even if our own offerings are not quite wrapped or baked yet.”

Next time somebody asks if you are ready for Christmas, say simply, “Yes! I am.” It will blow their freakin mind. And may even open the door for some small talk. Life-giving, earth-shaking, door-opening, seasonal small talk. With a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.

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Abundance: Week 3, day 2

December 15, 2011 by irreverins

Me, to the 3-year-old, as I toss some things in a box: “We are going to get rid of some of your toys, before you get new stuff for Christmas.”

The kid: “And we’ll give it to some other children?”
me: “Exactly! Who taught you about that, somebody at church?”
Kid: “No, you did!”

The joy for the day: that sometimes they listen. That sometimes, the good stuff sinks in. That “home” and “church” are not utterly separate places. And that we have more than enough to share.

photo by ishane, via flickr

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Week 3, Day 1: Dance it Out

December 13, 2011 by irreverins

Back to my rant on Celine Dion–if you like her, it’s fine. Not judging. Nor do i mean to single out a single performer as “Everything that’s Contrived and Cheesy about Christmas.” Really, there is a whole gaggle of artists contributing to that cause.  I hear Clay Aiken’s “O Holy Night,” and i want to barf more than i want to sing. He literally almost chokes on that low note trying to croon it just right.

Thing is, there are only so many Christmas/holiday songs in the world, and many artists have found that the familiarity of these tunes is the very thing that  makes them sell sell sell. Even if they are rendered poorly. So, what  makes a new listen a good one, and what makes it a tired flogging of a long-dead reindeer?

Joy. I can’t outline for you what makes Celine’s xmas renderings a pain to my ears, but makes Emmylou’s a quiet celebration of the spirit. But i know it when i hear it. And so do you. That’s why you can like Clay and Josh and Kenny G all you want, even if i don’t. But, that said, i thought i’d do a run-down of my favorite Christmas albums and/or songs. They are not all sacred, they are not all new, they are not all ART. But to me, they all bear witness to the joy of this particular waiting, in that fundamental way that only music can do.

Light of the Stable, Emmylou Harris

“Santa Clause is Coming to Town,” Bruce Sprinsteen (to be found on “A Very Special Christmas” album, various artists)

David Grisman Quintet, Acoustic Christmas Album

of course, Vince Guaraldi, A Charlie Brown Christmas

Also, there’s this thing with John Denver and the Muppets. You can never go wrong with Muppets.

  And some really great Motown stuff.  (Thank you, little Michael Jackson!) Let us not forget the very old school–Handl’s Messiah, giving life to the ancient in timeless orchestration. I could go on and on. But i don’t have to, because you have your favorites too. Point is, this is a season to embody the holy. So don’t let the soundtrack just be the mindless loop that plays at the mall. Listen with intention, and play/sing/dance the things that fill your soul.

Whatever your playlist for the season: if this doesn’t make you want to dance, it could just be that you have no soul. This one’s for you, Misters Grinch and Scrooge. Enjoy…

 

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Week 3: The Beginnings of Joy

December 12, 2011 by irreverins

There’s just something about a good beginning…

If we are honest, any good preacher or speaker will tell you that with a good beginning (and a strong ending) you can get away with some not-so-impressive stuff in the middle. Not that one should make a habit of getting by with great intros and crummy content, but there’s some grace to be found in a punchy beginning, and some weeks, that’s a comfort.

This is where Luke takes centerstage in the pageantry and high drama that we bring into late advent. The first chapters, in fact, come as such a spectacle, that many scholars think 1:5-2:52 were a later add-on.[1] Think of it as a prequel that some well-meaning editor whipped up in response to the best-selling frenzy that was Jesus.  I mean, if you’ve got a hit on your hands, you’re going to capitalize! What if JK Rowling had started with, say, The Prisoner of Azkaban? I think it doesn’t really get good until the 3rd book. But had she started there, the frenzied masses would have eventually have cried for more. Not just more in the “what comes next?” realm, but more in the “why is Harry who he is?” department. The people want to know—why does Harry hate going home to Privet Drive? How did he get that distinctive scar? Why does everyone think he is the savior?

In this scenario, JK would be wise to go back and write books 1 and 2, right? Not just for the capital gains, but to better give shape to the epic figure of Harry. Knowing where somebody comes from, what people and experiences shaped their development, where they traveled and what they saw…all that adds up to an identifiable character. A hero with whom we can connect and relate. And really, the better the later and developed narrative, the more we want to know about the back story. Give us more Harry!

So, let’s assume that the author of Luke heard the cries of “Give us more Jesus!” and went about crafting the opening narrative. He (yes, probably he) might have pieced together some oral history, some urban legend, some inspiration from earlier gospels and some stuff from the Q source. And what we wind up with is a family of origin for Jesus, leading up to the iconic stable moment.

Here enters John the Baptist—who we explored in Mark last week—in his own family of origin, connecting him to Jesus not by blood, but also by narrative. Like Jesus, John was divinely conceived. SOMEhow or another, because his mom was old as *%&$, y’all. Like Jesus, John’s impending birth was announced by a heavenly being. In both narratives, the waiting parents are disbelieving, yet willing recipients of the new life to come.

So, a good beginning serves to set Jesus up with a network of people; a purpose; and a place, which, if you know Wendell Berry, is an important thing to have. But, why this particular beginning? When we could easily skip straight to the baptism and beginning of the adult ministry like Mark and John?

In Luke’s case, the beginning trains your vision for the rest of the story. The appearance of an angel to a young girl of humble origin; the journey of poor shepherds to the birth; the delivery amongst livestock—and at tax time, no less—it all adds up to the simple yet critical truth that Jesus was born among the poor and the vulnerable. And there, by choice, he stayed.

Luke’s is the gospel of women, of the poor, of the outcast and the underdog. Could you  learn that by starting in book 3? Sure. But would you really get it without the greeting-card shaped prologue? Probably not. There’s something about the beginning that makes the rest of it stick.

For all that Luke’s gospel speaks to the poor in body and spirit, it also embodies a great joy that should fuel every ounce of our holiday energy expenditures. And the other kind of expenditures, for that matter. Because really, if we can catch hold of that kind of joy—the joy of a young mother, the joy of an angel choir, the joy of the poor being lifted out of dreary hopelessness-then there’s not much waiting under the tree that will hold a candle to it.

Think of Ralphie…Ralphie of Red Rider BB Gun fame. Damn, I love that kid! Thanks to the 24-hour marathon of “A Christmas Story” that runs on Christmas Eve, I can spend that most holy day with equal parts baby Jesus and Scut Farcus (he had yellow eyes! So help me God, yellow eyes!!). Ah…Ralphie.  

You'll shoot your eye out, kid!

Let me interject here that I am fundamentally opposed to guns of any kind—real or toy. But he is just so darned loveable, and the whole story just glows with Christmassy-good cheer and nostalgic humor.

When you think about it, not much happens in that movie. With the exceptions of the triple dog dare incident and the MAJOR AWARD, there’s little sub-plot. No car chases, no bad language (except that implied by “Oh FuUUUUUdge….”) no heady romance, no element of intrigue or the super natural. It is this one kid’s hopeful waiting and joyful expectation that propels the whole movie. It doesn’t matter how many nay-sayers taunt, “you’ll shoot your eye out.” He BELIEVES, and in his choosing belief and joy, we have a story, folks.

Something about that kind of joy tends to evade us as adults. After all, we are past wanting a BB gun. If we want actual stuff, we usually but if for ourselves. Or deem it frivolous and unnecessary. Though Lord knows, any merchant in the free world will tell you that they have this year’s IT-thing, the must-have gadget or gismo. (or these days, the must have APP for last year’s must have gismo). Victoria’s Secret does an annual fantasy bra to the tune of $2-$5 million dollars. It is encrusted with actual diamonds and other jewels–for the woman whose breasts are just too spectacular for a cotton-poly blend.

we could all buy new boobs for less than this bra costs

And this year, a Swiss designer named Ueli has dreamed up a gold-and ruby-crusted (really) Mercedes. To the tune of $11 million.

i don't think those girls come with the car. but for $11 mil, who knows...

Don’t know about you, but I don’t find much joy attached to either of those items. I mean, a million-dollar bra had better work some literal dang miracles on my boobs, is all I’m saying. And a several-million dollar car is just begging to be wrecked or stolen. Not to mention that neither of these things has a snow-ball’s chance in Arizona of actually showing up under my tree. I mean, the whole point of joyful anticipation is, it’s got to be something that could actually HAPPEN. And I’d say there’s more chance of an angel showing up at my breakfast table than somebody buying me a gajillion dollar car.

And not to mention…well, yes, I’ll mention—it is gross consumption. And by gross, I mean grotesque. The joy we are invited to this season is the joy of the poor being lifted up; the joy of finding that God will use the meek and humble among us for spectacular purpose; the joy of believing that something will happen in the world that is far bigger than one’s little self, BUT, that by the grace of God, one’s little self might be a blessed part of it.

Can a kid learn all that in giddy anticipation of the possibility of a BB gun? Absolutely!  Is a grown-up going to get all that from coveting a mega-million dollar undergarment?  [insert rhetorical silent crickets here]  It’s nothing new to say that the real meaning of Christmas is not wrapped up in material gift-giving. However, i think that too often leaves us thinking that Christmas joy has got to be symbolic, and that we are not to hope for anything too big, too real, or too tangible.

Garrison Keillor forgive this poor, wayward English major who does dearly love a metaphor–even in scripture–but for Christmas to come, something pretty doggone literal has got to happen in our midst, or it really is just a Hallmark commercial, and lots of us are out of a job. Luke says the transformation Jesus brings is REAL. It will be power-shifting and order-breaking. And it will start with somebody small. So yeah, we might know that nothing under the tree come Christmas morning will bring us real joy. But, do we still dare to hope that joy is coming for us? Or that we, our very selves, might give shape to that joy in the world?

For all the miraculous underwire—I mean undertone—ringing through Luke’s prologue, perhaps the most joyful noise of the whole episode is not in the angel’s song, but in Mary’s humble response—“Here am I, a servant of the Lord.” As one preacher put it, “her yes has transfigured the story, for now it hinges on her word, her participation and presence in the drama.”[2] Presence. Participation. The power of our simple YES to carry us into the divine drama, and take part in all the joy of knowing that this  new life is coming for US. Even us.

And yes, maybe we learned that kind of joy, flipping through a toy cataloug by the glow of the Christmas tree. Maybe that is the beginning of joy. But, it is not joy’s end. Even if we’ve long given up on ‘getting’ anything as epic as a A Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time. But that doesn’t mean we give up on the joyful wonder of it all.  This unfolding drama can still enamor and transform us all. Go back to the beginning and hear it again. It is your beginning too, and it’s your turn to say yes to your place in all this drama.

Questions for Discussion and Reflection

-Read Mary’s magnificat (Luke 1:46-55). What does her song tell us about the God she knows? What does it tell us about Mary’s own beginning?

-What’s your favorite Christmas movie? How does it embody the joy of Luke’s good news?

-How might we read the gospel differently had Jesus been born to a royal family? Or if Mary had been an unwilling participant in the divine advent?

-The angel tells Mary that she will be “overshadowed by the Holy Spirit.” How cool is that?! What does that mean to the story? Can Mary be “overshadowed” and still be an empowered character in this drama?

[1] Craddock, Fred: Interpretation, Luke. Pg 21…

[2] Stendahl, John, “Mary Says Yes.” The Christian Century, Dec 2002.

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Touch: Week 2, Day 5

December 11, 2011 by irreverins

 

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