Living in Cook County, we avoid a lot of pre-Christmas hype. December in the Twin Cities, I felt the frenzy in the air, almost believing that there must be something wrong with me, since I wasn’t frantic. Strangers (women, now that I think about it) spoke to each other at checkouts, anxiety in their voices: “How are you doing? I haven’t even started yet….” You’d think they were training for a marathon, but no, it’s checking off their lists of presents. Or finding more stocking stuffers. (Stocking stuffers—when did this happen? Stockings used to be the whole deal complete with an orange in the toe.)
And then the endless Christmas music—some lovely sacred hymns, but when piped over a retail frenzy they sound preposterous— a child born in poverty to refugee parents— as a backdrop for buying stuff?
Secular carols proclaim “the hap-happiest time of the year,” wishing all a “merry little Christmas,” or a “holly, jolly” one, when for many the season holds loneliness and grief.
Some equate prosperity with good behavior. I saw some parents wrestling a howling 3-year-old out of a store just before Christmas: he was screaming about a toy he wanted, and they were saying no, with the musical reminder overhead: “You’d better not pout, you’d better not cry…. I’m telling you why….”
Okay, I’m sounding like Ebenezer Scrooge, before his ghostly visitors. But all of this—the shopping, wrapping paper, carols piped over stocking stuffers, the last-minute bargains – could be kind of fun or simply annoying. But they become wrong and even tragic when they bury the true heart of Christmas, which we all desperately need. If Martians visited between Thanksgiving and New Year—they would assume Christmas is a time to buy stuff. Like my son Steve said, “Of course Christmas is the big holiday in the United States—it celebrates our national religion— consumerism.” That is why it transfers easily to other countries like Japan.
No, the true heart of Christmas is connection. In A Christmas Carol, Ebenezer Scrooge allows his ghostly visitors to show him isolation. We see him learn to “keep Christmas well,” as he forms bonds with and cares for others. Maybe this is why many of our best Christmas memories are not about stuff, but about relationship—with family, community, and outsiders.
Ultimately Christmas confronts us with the most crucial connection of all—God’s choice to become human in Jesus. Christmas is the Feast of the Incarnation —“carne” being flesh—(literally “meat” as in chili con carne). God’s presence in human flesh changes everything—it shows God’s unconditional love for humanity. And God’s choice of flesh –leading to suffering and death— means there is nowhere God is not with us.
The date doesn’t matter; the Feast of the Incarnation (Christ’s mass) was placed between a couple of Roman solstice festivals – typical of people to find a holiday and fill it with new meaning. (And, heaven knows, we could use a little brightness and jollity in the dark and cold of winter.) What matters is the message of Emmanuel—God with us. From Eden, when we’re told “god walked with Adam in the cool of the day,” to the announcement at the end of the world, “behold the dwelling of god is with mortals”—God’s priority is connection, is being “with us.”
Most of us have experienced the sense of disappointment, of let-down after Christmas, a sort of, “Is that it?” You hear people say, “How was your Christmas?” The response is usually “yeah it was good…” or “well, it was quiet…”
We ask kids what they got for Christmas. We don’t usually ask adults. But we have all been given the greatest gift of all: a God who has chosen weakness, presence, and connection in the incarnation. In our real lives—usually not very “merry”—we are pulled into depths of anxiety, sadness, and vulnerability. And because of the incarnation, “lo and behold” God is there.
Each month a member of the Cook County Ministerium will offer Spiritual Reflections. This month’s contributor is Mary Ellen Ashcroft, Vicar of Spirit of the Wilderness Episcopal Church.
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