Fear not . . .what?

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee

"Do not be afraid."

That is the angels' Christmas greeting to Zechariah, Mary and the shepherds. And I left poor Joseph out of Wednesday's post. When he was ready to call it quits with the mysteriously pregnant Mary, an angel showed up in a dream and said "do not be afraid . . ."

I've been thinking about these fearful greetings this week.

Before fear can be felt there must be some awareness of danger, actual or perceived.

Since my sudden realization last week that the goose is getting fat (therefore Christmas is a'coming), I have enjoyed some of the traditions of the season: church Christmas programs, parties with great food and drink and fellowship, caroling, decorations, and a tiny bit of shopping.

I found none of that truly scary. (Moments of concern, sure, but no real fear)

I love the Christmas season. People actually seem to be more friendly. That is a miracle in itself. Oh sure, there are exceptions. A couple of impatient drivers came close to taking out a few young carolers last night, and shoppers can get combative when fatigue sets in or money runs low, but for the most part, the world is a bit jollier, a bit more gentle.

Much of what we enjoy at Christmas is memory. It is a wonderful time after all. Like generations of ornaments on the family Christmas tree, traditions accumulate great stories and remembrances of childhood, family, friends, romance, and gifts given and received. As I was looking up the hill behind my house this morning I remembered the hikes up in those woods with my brothers and sisters when we were young searching for a Christmas tree. I am the number four child, the youngest along on those trips, and I loved them, even though it was difficult for short legs to keep up over the rocky limestone briar-filled pathways of the little mountain behind our house. The only trees suitable for Christmas native to our hill were cedar. We would drag the perfect tree home, along with the deserted bird nests from past springs. Cedars were scratchy and made me itch and their delicate branches were not the best for holding up bubble lights or ornaments, but they were somehow more real than the ones trucked in to the fruit stand. Cedar trees are looked down upon these days, not nearly so stylish as the trees shipped in from up north or transplanted to our local tree farms. But when I see one now I remember good and wonderful things, material for later posts.

The days before Christmas are filled with memories.

Nothing wrong with that. Mary and Zechariah proclaimed memories of ancient prophets as they looked toward the birth of Jesus. Priests explained to Herod that the birthplace of the Messiah was to be Bethlehem as prophesied by Micah centuries before.

Looking back for explanation of the present is a reality of the gospel account of the birth of Jesus.

Looking back was affirming for Zechariah and Mary. The prophecies of the past were being fulfilled. Looking back for us is also often affirming. We forget the hardships of the past and remember the wonder and warmth of times gone by.

So why the admonition to fear not?

We should be affirmed by the past. Looking back it is easier to see the activity of God in our lives, in the history of the world.

But what of the future? The unknown?

The birth of Jesus is not the end. It is a new beginning.

Everything changed when God once again came to walk among us. Things would no longer be like they were. Traditions were shattered. Institutions would crumble. Old rules were repealed. The first became last and the least became great.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

And that is scary.

Or it should be. At least the angels thought so.

So when the angels say, "Do not be afraid" and the response is, "why would I be?" maybe we don't completely understand Christmas.

It is not simply about the past, good or bad. Nor is it simply about the present, or the presents.

It is also about the future. A future that is different because God comes. A future that calls us to change, that calls us out, that calls us to put down our nets and go.

That's a little scary, isn't it?

But if we are to be part of the story, that's the way it is. It would be cool to be part of the story. What if in the big cosmic Christmas creche you became one of the figurines? You know, like the wise guys or shepherds or animals or angels. Okay, that's a bit out there, but it is Saturday morning and I am allowed to digress.

So, fear not . . .

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