Silent nights . . .

The traveling is over, for most of us (Ben and Kate are somewhere in Oklahoma winding their way back to Denver). The gifts are bought, delivered and opened. Friends and family have visited. Vows have been made to fast until the new year. The house is quiet.

Maybe that is the way it was for Joseph and Mary. The hard journey to Bethlehem was over, leaving behind the talk of the hometown about the young, pregnant, unwed Mary and her husband to be who had such a social, cultural, religious dilemma. I am sure he was not lacking for helpful advice. The beginning of labor. The struggle to find shelter. The odd assortment of visitors. The angels that kept showing up saying "Fear not."

I wonder if the fact that the angels kept saying "Fear Not" was one hundred percent comforting. If angels keep telling you to "Fear Not," maybe there is some reason to be afraid.

But for now all that had stopped. Now it was just Joseph, Mary and a brand new addition to the family, Jesus. Except for the animals noises, and Jesus' occasional crying, things were mostly quiet.

What was to happen now?

I received a few emails today from friends of different political perspectives than mine angling for a fight, or at least a bit of sparring. For a moment I felt the hackles rising.

But they laid back down. And so have I. On the sofa, looking out the window at the last light of the day, a beautiful, cold, bright sunny day.

And it is quiet at the house. Don't know what's going to happen next.

But for now the quiet suits me just fine.

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Christmas Eve ramblings . . .

For a few years my dad read the Christmas story for the outdoor pageant at church. He has a great voice and I always loved to hear him read the King James account of angels, Mary and Joseph, shepherds and wise men.

I prefer modern translations of the Bible for most purposes these days. But I miss the beautiful, powerful, poetic words of the Christmas story that became part of my memory before I was old enough to know I was remembering. I think some of the modern translators feel the same way because they seem to have kept more of the King James language in this story than in other places. Some things are just too good to leave behind. The babe wrapped in swaddling clothes. Shepherds abiding in the field keeping watch over their flock by night. The angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them and they were sore afraid. Fear not, for I bring to you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people, for unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. Let us go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has come to pass. Mary pondered these things in her heart.

Read it for yourself. http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke%202&version=KJV

Today I am reminded of a verse in the beginning of Luke, Chapter 2.

"And all went to be taxed, everyone to his own city."

In my own family travellers will come from Denver, Nashville, South Florida, Montgomery, Savannah, Hartselle, the Panhandle of Florida, and Tanzania. There will be a few from Birmingham.

To Oneonta. Hopefully not to be taxed, or to feel taxed. No, that is not the nature of our gatherings. It is a place of belonging, whether you are kin or not. Chaotic and loud sometimes. A bit competitive during play time, maybe. But everyone is welcome. Everyone belongs. All the taxation is left behind in the stores and malls, with the crumpled lists of things to do, on the office desks or lines of the day planner and on the crowded highways and freeways. This is a time to remember the things that have come to pass, talk of those things that we hope will come to pass, and savor this rare moment of the present that lies in between.

Home is that place of connection which familiar hearts seek because of what has come to pass and the hopes of what will be.

Bon voyage, on this Christmas Eve, for your journey home.

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Watching

Even now in my older age, Christmas evokes a feeling of anticipation. While I would like to claim a heightened level of spirituality celebrating the coming of God onto our planet, that is not entirely true. Not even mostly true. It is a leftover feeling.

Like the leftover feelings of freedom I feel when school is out for the summer. Sure, I still have to go to work in my coat and tie, but when I see kids leaving the school on that last day before the summer break, that wonderful light joyful feeling comes back, just as if I too were walking out the door of the school with arms full of an academic year's worth of accumulated stuff from desks, cloakrooms and lockers, struggling to get to the car and get away as soon as possible.

When I was a child the anticipation of Christmas was almost more than a person could stand. In November or so the Sears and J. C. Penney catalogs, Christmas editions, came out, with huge toy and bicycle sections. Cousin Cliff of Channel 13 Popeye/Three stooges fame and Benny Carl of Channel 6, Bugs Bunny/Clutch Cargo fame hawked the latest toys from Mattel, Hasbro, and Parker Brothers. The window of Wittmeir Hardware, on the second floor of that building, which was kind of like Macy's in Oneonta, was decorated in green and red and sported bicycles, bb guns, and little red wagons. There were probably dolls, but I never noticed. Huge fake snow covered bells were strung across the streets of Oneonta, which was kind of odd because we never really got snow at Christmas and we never had any real bells anywhere, except for that one really big bell that rang at the elementary school for several years, but that had little to do with Christmas. In fact, the feeling it evoked every morning at 7:40 was the Anti-Christmas as far as I was concerned. Our school principal came around every Christmas to every classroom selling those wonderful looking Claxton fruitcakes. He was a Civitan. We always bought one. My dad and grandfather were also Civitans. I never really ate one until I was a starving college student and the brick of candied fruit and nuts was all I could find in my dorm room to eat. But it was great when warmed in a toaster oven.

But back to the anticipation. The tree was up and gifts began to appear. There was a whole lot of shaking going on, clandestinely.

So I watched. I watched the mail for the new catalogues. I watched Cousin Cliff and Benny Carl for the latest toy offerings. I watched the store windows and the decorated streets. I watched the Christmas tree and the gathering gifts. I even watched for our principal to come around with Claxton fruit cakes.

And I watched the calendar.

Watching is a part of Christmas. Joseph watched his young wife and wondered what this all would mean. Mary watched her stomach grow and awaited the blessed delivery. The shepherds were watching their flocks. The wise men were watching the star.

It is not Christmas yet. But it is time to make room. Room to wait. Room to watch. Room for the Holy child, who I think, being a child, would really love all this watching.

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Scenic Christmas . . .make that cynic

Politicians battle for control and power. Religious leaders aren't much different. The world is changing as nations and economies are rising and falling according to their ability to wage war. The homeless wander the streets looking for shelter, many of them children. Only the wealthy can afford to be healthy. The rich are getting richer. The poor are getting poorer. One race blames the other. One nation blames the other. One religion blames the other. The only thing that is for sure is death and taxes, and it seems that the governments will only keep you alive if you owe them money.

Thus was the shape of the world when Jesus was born.

Thank you Jesus that we're different from those heathens.


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