Looking for Joy in All the Right Places

At church yesterday, we lit the Advent candle of joy. Joy is my middle name. Literally, not figuratively . . . though I would gladly trade the literal for the figurative.

Joy seems so elusive to people. Happiness is not, although we think it is. Happiness is temporary and surface-level. I feel happy when I get to sleep in. I feel happy when the dog greets me enthusiastically at the door. I feel happy when my favorite Christmas song comes on the radio. I feel happy when I eat dark-chocolate-covered blueberries.

Joy is different. Joy is deeper. Joy is a condition of the heart, not a reaction to my circumstances. I've known people who profess to be joyful, Christians who claim to have "the joy of Christ" (or some churchy thing like that), whose daily attitudes show them up for liars. You can't have joy and grumble every time I see you about how hard your life is and how uncooperative your kids are and how inadequate your bank account is and how decrepit your body has become . . .

It occurred to me this past week (for some unknown reason) that an awful lot of us believe that our joy -- or at least our happiness, but probably our joy, as well -- is dependent on being able to do the things we want to do. Kids assume they'll be happy when they're adults and can do all the things they can't do when they're young. Adults assume they'll be happy when they're retired and can spend their days not working, but doing what they want. Poor people assume they'd be happy if they had enough money to not have to work so hard at a job they don't like. Rich people assume they'd be happy if they didn't have obligations to people to do things they don't enjoy doing.

I know that I would give my right arm for a day with no obligations of any kind, present or future, when I could spend my time on whatever appeals to me at that moment and not feel guilty doing so.

But I have enough sense to know that, although that might make me happy for the day, it would not make me joyful. Joy is different. Joy is deeper. Joy is a condition of the heart. Joy has nothing to do with doing what I want to do instead of what I have to do.

Joy, it seems, has more to do with doing the things I'm truly supposed to be doing as opposed to the things I think I should be doing or the things I think will make me happy. Doing those good works that "God prepared in advance" for me to do.

If God prepared some low-key, menial work for me to do, I will never find joy doing the grand and glorious work I prefer that gets me lots of attention and praise from the people who see me.

If God prepared some kids for me to nurture and raise, I will never find joy putting them in daycare every day and running off to a job, even if I love what I do, even if I am "changing lives" in my fabulous profession, even if I think being a stay-at-home mom will drive me crazy.

Joy comes from being exactly where God wants you, because God made you and knows how He made you and what you were made for. Because the joy comes not from what we're doing, but from the condition of our heart when we are so in love with God and so completely trusting of His love for us that we are willing to go to the lions if that's what He calls us to. When that relationship with God is completely right (which is a daily effort while we're here on earth, I think), our heart is right, and the joy comes.

This is not a revelation to most believers. We know this. The revelation comes in how poorly we are living what we profess to believe. If we believe that our joy is in our relationship to God, why do we continue to seek it in the praise of others? In the love of our family? In success at our careers? In dark-chocolate-covered blueberries? Why do we give little more than obligatory lip service to the one thing we were created for and then wonder and complain about the fact that we have no genuine joy in our lives?

Seek joy this week, friends -- in the only place it can ever be found.

Christmas and the Six C's of History

Mrs. A is the history teacher extraordinaire at our school, and last Friday, she had lunch with my daughter and her homeschool cohorts to discuss the six C's of history: change over time, causality, context, complexity, contingency, and connection. To think like a historian, you need to look for these things in the stories you study.

This conversation came back again in church yesterday as we talked about Joseph.

See, as much hullabaloo as Christmas gets, we need to remember that it is the lesser of the two primary Christian holidays. The Christmas story is only the prelude to the real story -- the one we celebrate on Easter.  But, of course, Easter wouldn't have happened without Christmas. Contingency.

And our view of the Christmas story is pretty sentimentalized. As Aaron, our Sunday School teacher pointed out, while Luke's presentation of the story could be almost lullaby-ish (and that's the one you hear the most), Matthew's brings out the brutality of the age. Herod the king was a genuine lunatic; that slaughter of hundreds of babies was bloody and unspeakable. Picture this happening in a middle eastern country today and the international outcry it would cause. But back then, the king was the king, and he did what he wanted. Change over time.

Joseph must have been a pretty resourceful man to pick up his wife and newborn at the drop of a hat, in response to a warning in a dream, and move them to Egypt (the closest place out of Herod's jurisdiction) and just live there for a couple years. Finding a way to make a living and a place to live among a people of a different language, culture, and religion. We have romantic images in our mind of them camping out or something down there for a couple weeks . . . no, it was years. Herod died and his son took over. They had started a new life. And then they picked up and came home again at another angel's instructions in a dream. Causality . . . complexity . . . and prophetic fulfillment thrown in there, to boot.

But a certain detail of the story stuck out to me yesterday. When Mary was found to be pregnant, this was scandalous. Actually, scandal is hardly the word for it. Extramarital sex is so commonplace anymore, a single woman getting pregnant is hardly news these days, unfortunately. But the Jewish law said that Mary could be stoned to death. Joseph had every right to call her out and have her executed. Context.

But he didn't. Even before the angel came to fill him in on what was going on with this baby, he had already made the decision to "put her away quietly." Just end the relationship. No public condemnation. Leaving her alone with a baby may sound cold-hearted to the modern ear, but folks, this was a tremendous act of mercy on his part. More context.

Fascinating to think: the whole story could have ended right there. She's my betrothed -- she's pregnant -- it's not mine -- hand her over to the authorities for punishment, which was death. Had that happened, of course, God would have found another way to save the world, but He chose these people for this task because he knew that wouldn't happen. He knew Joseph. He knew he was merciful. He knew he would hear God's voice and obey. And the Christmas story -- and therefore the Easter story -- depended on Joseph's mercy and obedience.

Contingency.

So much depends on mercy and obedience. So much that we are not even the least bit aware of. This small act of mercy . . . this seemingly insignificant act of obedience . . . could have monumental effects on your life, other lives, society, even history. I must never forget to be merciful and to obey.

And there, my friends, is connection.

"So, Where's This Abundant Life You Promised?"

Yesterday, we lit the "Joy" candle of the Advent wreath at my mother-in-law's church (which confused me a bit, because we lit that candle LAST week at church in San Antonio -- but whatever). There was a little reading about how Christ came to bring us joy, and then there was a prayer thanking God for His gift of joy, and then I think we sang a song about joy.

And I found myself wondering about all the thousands and thousands of people celebrating Advent in churches around the world, lighting the Joy candle this week (or last week) and thinking, "Joy? What's that?"

Because I've been there. No joy. No peace. No hope. None of this stuff we're promoting as the benefits of Christ's coming. I talked the talk. I went through the motions. But none of it was real to me, and I knew it.

Not that I doubted who Christ was and why He came and what He did for me. But if I was honest with myself, none of it really made a measurable difference in my life.

And I'm wondering if some of you, dear readers, are there, too.

Singing the songs, reciting the prayers, saying the expected lines, but not feeling any of it.

Not that our feelings define reality, because they don't. Just because I FEEL afraid doesn't mean there's anything in my life to fear. Just because I FEEL hopeless doesn't mean there is no hope. Just because I FEEL alone and unloved doesn't mean that I am either. We cannot be ruled by the tyranny of our emotions when our emotions are influenced by so many things.

Nevertheless, if you are a believer, if you have surrendered your life to the lordship of Christ, there should be a difference. You should be able to look at the you from fifteen years ago and the you today and see that you are more at peace. More joyful. More hopeful. More like Christ and less like the world. And if you are not, I think you should seriously consider the possibility that something is very wrong in your spiritual life -- something that is critical enough for you to stop everything else and deal with right now.

I remember a point in my spiritual walk many years ago when I did a "face-to-face" with God and said, Alright, what's up with this? You make some very clear promises in your word. Not promises for an easy life or a "happy" life . . . I'm not even asking for those. But you promised an abundant life. You said that was why you came. Where is my abundant life? Where is my love, joy, peace, all that? You and I both know I can't produce it myself -- it has to come from your Spirit, a gift from you. So where is it? Am I doing something wrong? Am I reading that scripture wrong? Did you lie to me? What's the deal?

Don't tell me that's irreverent, or disrespectful -- that was REAL. And I'm convinced that God isn't interested in our routine, ritualized platitudes we recite every week if they aren't real. He'd rather we came to Him in a wrestling stance, as long as we're coming to Him actually wanting Him and not just out of habit or duty.

We all have our ups and downs in our faithwalk. Not every day is a mountaintop experience. But I want to encourage you, dear reader, if you are in this place -- where you're just going through the motions and you know you have been for a very long time, maybe even for your entire walk with Christ -- that you decide that 2015 will be the year that you either poop or get off the pot. That you will dig deep and wide into scripture, every day. That you will pray with purpose and desperation, many times a day. That you will ask questions of everyone you know who might have answers. That you will go to the places where God is expected to be and expect to find Him there. That you will intentionally and purposefully do everything you know to do to meet God . . . to meet God . . . to actually MEET GOD . . .  and finally find out if this Christianity stuff is for real or not.

So that next year, you can light the Joy candle with genuine joy, like I did this year. (Twice.)

Remembering Mom

As I sit here typing on my laptop in our "music room" (also known as my school work room), I can look to my left and see an old manger scene sitting on top of the harpsichord in the corner.

I say "manger scene" and not the more common "nativity" because "manger scene" is what my mother called it, and this one was hers. When I was young, it used to sit under our Christmas tree. I've kept that tradition up by putting a nativity scene under our Christmas tree every year -- but not this one. Our tree nativity is a cheaper one that won't make me cry if the dog happens to get a hold of a shepherd and chew him up. This manger scene is sitting up high and out of danger.

It's an old set. The paint is chipping off of most of the pieces in spots and has been for a long time. My mother commented one year when I was home for the holidays that she was thinking about just spray-painting all the characters gold or something. I'm so glad I talked her out of that idea. I don't care that the paint is chipped. It needs to look like this.

Just outside the door to this room, I can lean out and see our huge metal clock on the wall which our eldest has decorated with little felt elves climbing all over it. My mom made those elves.

There's also a small tree halfway up the stairs that is decorated with eight or nine sets of different felt ornaments -- ornaments my mother made. A different set every year for most of my growing up years at home.

And on the window by the kitchen table, there are several crocheted snowflakes hanging. I'm pretty sure my mom made those, too.

I get a bit huffy about Christmas most years. At least once a season, I'm overwhelmed by the thing that our culture has turned Christmas into . . . which has NOTHING to do with Jesus coming to earth. I get annoyed that other people's expectations get in the way of my celebrating the Savior's birth in a way that's meaningful to me. (And yes, I know that's my problem and not theirs.)

My point is, I'm very aware of the fact that Christmas (contrary to popular belief) really is NOT about family and kids. We made it a holiday about family and kids . . . and there's nothing wrong with a holiday about family and kids . . . as long as family and kids don't start taking the place of the actual center of the holiday.

And for far too many of us -- even us churchy super-Christian folks who take offense at people saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" and at people writing "Xmas" because "you're crossing out Christ!"-- far too many of us have done just that. We do self-righteous lip-service to Christ and put family in the throne of our hearts every December.

Nevertheless . . . I enjoy getting these Christmas decorations out every year and remembering my mother. And baking caramel corn and remembering my mother. I had a great mother. It's good to remember her. Because she remembered Christ.

Meditations On an Obscure Verse

No more let sins and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground.
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found.

You don't recognize that Christmas carol? That doesn't surprise me. This is the third verse of "Joy to the World." Unless you've sung the song from a hymnal every Christmas for three or more decades, you may not be familiar with this verse.

We sang this song last Sunday in church, and when we got to this verse, for some reason, I didn't gloss over it as I have in other years. I actually tried to figure out what the heck this is talking about.

No more let sins and sorrows grow . . .

First of all, I had to figure out who the songwriter was talking to here. Is he asking God to do this? Or telling us, the listener to do it? Seeing how two lines later, he speaks of God in the third person ("he"), I'm assuming he's not speaking to God in the second person here; I'm assuming he's speaking to us. YOU stop letting sin and sorrows grow.

Where do sins and sorrows grow? He could be talking about them growing in the world around us -- about dealing with the effects of the fall in our world. But as I wrote earlier, I think we are much too focused on sin in others; we need to focus more on the sin in ourselves. That's where sins and sorrows grow: in our own hearts.

And the songwriter is telling us that we can stop those sins and sorrows from growing. It is within our power. (At least it is now that Christ has come to liberate us from our bondage to those sins and sorrows.)

Nor thorns infest the ground? That seems to be a reference to the curse after the fall (the curse also mentioned in the last line of this verse). "Cursed is the ground because of you . . . it will produce thorns and thistles because of you . . ."  Because you've chosen to reject the authority of God, because you chose to become your own god, God's blessing no longer falls on the work of your hands. Your labors will increase and often be fruitless.

And again -- if I'm correct that the songwriter is speaking to us here -- he is saying that we can stop this now. Thorns don't have to infest our ground. Our strivings in life don't have to be meaningless and fruitless anymore.

Why? How?

He comes to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found.

Wherever the curse is found, wherever its effects are seen -- which is over the whole earth -- the blessings of God can now flow. That blessing that we removed from us after the fall is now back. And why is it back?

Because he -- JESUS -- came to make that happen.

He came to fix what we screwed up at the fall. From the minute he was conceived as a little zygote in Mary's womb, his entire purpose for being in human form was the fixing of that screw-up.

I think the reason this verse jumped out at me this year was because I am quite conscious of the fact that I am allowing certain sins and sorrows to grow in my heart. I know they're wrong. I've weeded them out in the past. But right now, for whatever inexcusable reason, I'm permitting them to be there. And the image of them as a plant is important. Because it reminds me that the weeds of sin and sorrow in my life that I don't pull up are not innocuous. They "take root". They multiply and spread. Like the weeds in my garden and yard, if you don't pull them when they are tiny, those roots grow deep and wide, and their removal now requires major disruption of the lovely ground around them.

But they can be pulled. They are not sovereign in the garden of my heart. All because Jesus came. And His blessings now flow.

And heaven and nature sing!!!!

Thoughts While Taking Communion Yesterday

This is the body of Christ, broken for you.

Broken for me. Because I'm a sinner, and that's what it took to get me back into a right relationship with God.

And Lord KNOWS, I'm a sinner. These people who go around thinking, "I'm not so sinful -- my good outweighs my bad, so I'm safe on judgment day" . . . seriously? Have they read the Ten Commandments? Do they understand the standards here? Complete submission to God is a formidable challenge, and nothing less than complete submission counts.

I sin all the time. I sin sins that I know are sins even while I'm sinning them. I wake up saying I'm not going to do this, and I still do it. I hate what I do, and I do it anyway. Over and over. There are certain sins that I've stopped doing over the years, but I'm well aware that it wasn't me and my self-control that ended that behavior. It was an act of God. Praise Him.

The body of Christ, broken for me, because I can't take care of this myself. Thank you, Jesus.

And now, at Christmas, I'm happy to be reminded that your whole reason for coming to earth was for this body-breaking moment. Yes, it is good to hear your preaching . . . but most people didn't really listen and don't really listen. Yes, it was beneficial to see your example of righteous living . . . but most people weren't and aren't paying attention. All that was good, but if those were your sole purposes for coming to us, your mission was not very successful. But that wasn't your mission. Your mission was not to instruct my mind, or to inspire my spirit, but to save my soul.

PRAISE YOU. And thank you!

This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.

Shed to establish a new covenant. We've been learning about that in BSF. A covenant -- a commitment with a promise -- but stronger than those words imply.

An unconditional covenant . . . there's nothing I have to do (or can do) to earn the benefits of this covenant, except receive it. Thank you, Lord.

A one-sided covenant . . . God did all the promising. We just enjoy the things promised. Praise you, Jesus!

But I can't receive it unless I believe. Just like I can't "receive" my husband's love unless I believe that he really loves me. As long as I doubt his love, I have my guard up. I don't get to experience the benefits of his love for me without making myself vulnerable. I have to believe, and believe strongly enough to risk getting burned if I'm wrong. "There is no fear in love," James tells us.

And there is no unbelief in the covenant. Only faith. "The righteous shall live by faith." I believe, Lord; help thou my unbelief.

The blood of Christ, shed for me. To make a covenant with me before I even knew Him.

Thank you, Jesus.

Do this in remembrance of me.

The STUFF. Stop Buying the Stuff!

Black Friday is this week. Uuugggghhhhh.

I've never enjoyed Christmas shopping. Wait -- no, that's a lie. I did enjoy it at one time, I think. Way back when. But it's been a long time. I don't much enjoy shopping in general, but particularly when I have something specific that I'm looking for, and that I have to get, and a lot of these types of items.

This year, there's even more to it. As I mentioned in my post about our trip to Fredericksburg, I'm increasingly finding myself disturbed by the excess and consumerism in our society. Good heavens -- the amount of crap we BUY!!! Really, it's shameful.

We have closets FULL of clothes, to the point that we literally could wear something different every day for weeks and never wear something twice, but we still pick up new stuff once a month or so while we're out looking around in the mall. (Well, some people do. I don't.)

We have kitchen cabinets crammed full of utensils and appliances that we rarely if ever use, but we still find something at the friend's Pampered Chef party that we think we just have to have. We have enough food items sitting on our pantry shelves to keep us from dying for, again, weeks if we needed to, yet we still bring an entire week's worth of food and more home every time we go to the grocery store -- and we probably throw out enough food in a week to keep a starving African child alive for a good long time.

The STUFF . . . just the random stuff that we keep buying because we think we need it -- it will change our life somehow -- it will give us that extra bit of spare time that we need to connect with our family -- it will add that touch of beauty or fun that will bring us joy in our homes -- it will give us health and strength and vitality as soon as we have the self-discipline to do something with it . . . oh, what sorry people we are. It's not magic, for Pete's sake, it's just stuff.

And more than that: we inflict this STUFF on the people we love. We give them more useless items to fill their spaces and fail to fill their voids. We even ask children (and some adults) to make lists for us of things that they want us to give them. Don't tell me you don't need anything -- Christmas is for things you want. Forget how content you feel in your current circumstances: dig deep, create a place of lacking in your life, and figure out something you want, gosh darn it!

My oldest struggles with the Christmas list her extended family requires of her every year. She doesn't need or want much of anything. She doesn't want to get excess junk. She genuinely would rather just have money to use when she needs to buy something later. This year, she put toys on her list that she wants to give to some children she knows who get little or nothing for Christmas. That way, she gets the fun of opening presents on Christmas day and also the joy of giving to someone else who genuinely appreciates it. And she doesn't have to find a place or use for stuff she never really wanted.

I'm proud of her. It remains to see how that will go over with the family.

Why We're Fat

One reason I hesitate to give up Facebook entirely: people do post some fascinating articles on there.

Last week, it was one titled, "12 Graphs That Show Why People Get Fat." VERY interesting. Here's the title from one graph: "The Obesity Epidemic Started When The Low-Fat Guidelines Were Published." Heart disease was skyrocketing and scientists believed that saturated fats were to blame, so they started telling everyone to limit their saturated fats . . . and we all started getting chubbier.

Now, the article rightly points out that correlation doesn't prove causation -- just because they happened at the same time doesn't necessarily mean one caused the other. But does it not make sense? When we get rid of the fat in our foods, we need to add something else to make it taste good: sugar. Another graph in the article shows how "Sugar Consumption Has Skyrocketed." My mother used to add a little sugar to canned vegetables; she thought it took away the tinny taste from the can. I still do that. I'm not sure I can eat canned vegetables any other way.

Another graph: "People Gain Lots Of Weight During The Holidays, Which They Never Get Rid Of." I have to say, this one surprised me. Not that people gain weight during the holidays, or that they never get rid of all of it, but that it was enough to be a significant factor in obesity. I guess if you start when you're twenty adding on a couple pounds every Christmas, by forty you've added forty pounds to your body.

But feasting has always been a feature of the holidays, yes? Why hasn't it been a factor before? I'm guessing because before, Christmas only lasted one day. People worked right up until Christmas Eve and didn't spend the whole week between Christmas and New Year's celebrating. The stores weren't putting holiday items out in October to make you crave those holiday goodies so you have them sitting around for two months. It's nuts.

Here's another good one: "The Social Environment Can Strongly Affect Caloric Intake." We consume more calories the more people we are around while we eat. Putting food into our mouths becomes an exercise in social connection, rather than in staving off hunger pangs. Wow. Human beings are just fascinating, you know?

"People Don't Burn As Many Calories Working." Of course. The problems innovations caused us by making our lives easier. "People Are Eating More Vegetable Oils, Mostly From Processed Foods." Again: processed foods = easy. Easy living = a curse more often than we want to admit. "Food Is Cheaper Than Ever Before." This is starting to remind me of a line repeated often in my new favorite TV series, "Once Upon A Time":  Magic always has a price. So does convenience.

But here's the one that hit me the most: "Increased Food Variety Contributes to Overeating and Weight Gain." You know these diets that focus on what people ate in Bible times and all -- "What Did Jesus Eat?" Well, he ate healthier food, yes, but he also probably ate basically the same stuff everyday. So did other people throughout history, I suspect, expect for the exorbitantly wealthy ones. They ate to sustain their bodies; they didn't eat merely for the pleasure of eating. At least not on a daily basis. We eat for the pleasure of eating. And the variety of foods we have to choose from makes eating a pleasure, not just a necessity.

In the four or five weeks of school we've had so far, I've taken the same lunch every day I've had to stay for lunch: an apple and a granola bar. If I were at home, I would never have dreamed of limiting myself to such a scanty lunch -- it would have taken all the self-control I have to do that. But at school, I have fifteen minutes to scarf down a lunch between classes, and I'm only eating to keep my energy up for the afternoon. Lunch is not for pleasure -- I'm getting my pleasure from teaching. So that scanty lunch is completely satisfying; I'm not even hungry for more when I get home.

Very revealing to me, that.

Emmanuel

And so this is Christmas . . .

For all my talk about focusing on Jesus during Christmas, like everyone else, I get far too caught up in all the doings. So caught up that I missed my last two blogging days. But that's okay, because I probably would have ended up blogging about Phil Robertson, and these two people (here and here) said it all more eloquently than I would have.

But it's Christmas Eve now, and everyone is still in bed after a late-night Dominion binge, so I'm considering this morning the significance of what these next couple days are all about. God becoming a man and living with us.

This is, of course, a mystery whose depths we will never really be able to explore fully. In our limited human capacity, we will never completely understand the hows and whys of divine incarnation. But we get glimpses of truth . . . usually the glimpses that God needs us to see for some reason at that point in our lives.

I blogged recently about Jesus teaching us to be human.  This is the glimpse God has had for me lately. That Jesus came to live in human flesh to show us how to live. I know, I know -- didn't I learn that in fourth grade Sunday school? Well, yes, I learned that fact in Sunday school . . . the reality of what that fact means takes the instruction of the Spirit to sink in.

Consider some of the things Jesus did on earth:

- He slept. All the work he had to do, all the needs around him, all the burdens on his shoulders, and he took the time to sleep when his body needed it. And to sleep soundly -- the disciples had to wake him up to point out the raging storm that was about to sink their boat.

- He socialized. And not only with "his own kind". The Pharisees got on his case for hanging out with the sinners and low-lifes. He cultivated relationships, and apparently did it well enough that people -- especially those sinners and low-lifes -- sought him out to be with him.

- He separated himself on occasion, spending time alone with the Father to get re-juiced. And I doubt he felt guilty about it.

- He prayed. Again, we can't ever really comprehend the relationship within the Trinity and what this kind of prayer was like -- but Jesus, in his human form, spent extensive time in prayer. Before he chose his twelve disciples, he spent all night in prayer. If Jesus needed that kind of connection time with the Father, what makes me think I can get by on the occasional shout-out?

- He fasted. Despite his divinity, there was still something about existing in human flesh that meant that flesh had a pull on him which required a conscientious effort to deny once in a while to get his focus back where it needed to be. Again, if Jesus needed to fast, for crying out loud . . .

- He devoured Scripture. As I said in that blog, he didn't call down the angels to battle Satan during his temptation in the wilderness.  He used the same weapon we have available to us -- the Word. He showed us how it's done.

Hebrews tells us that we don't have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our human weaknesses, but one who was tempted in every way just like we were, but succeeded in not sinning. I think we need to remember what a gift that is. That when we are struggling, he's not standing over us clucking his critical tongue, shaking his aggravated head, wagging his accusatory finger. He GETS it. He's been there. He knows.

Thank you, Lord, for willingly becoming our Emmanuel. Pleased as man with man to dwell!  Merry Christmas, all!

Christmas Ugh

One week 'til Christmas Day.

If you've read my blog for more than a year, you've surely picked up on my frustrations over the holiday season. I get so aggravated at the commercialism . . . but I also get aggravated at the secular anti-commercialism, especially when it is spouted by religious people and sources. If you're a believer, Christmas is NOT about "family", "giving", "the kids", or any of that stuff. Christmas is about a specific historical and spiritual event -- an event of profound significance that is worthy of deep and joyous worship on our part.

But the way we celebrate Christmas in America these days makes it almost impossible, it seems, to remember that event in any meaningful way. Try as we might, our efforts to "put Christ back in Christmas" really are so shallow. We have special programs at church . . . but in the end, those are usually just about putting on a show (often "for the kids"), eating holiday food, fellowship (the churchy word for socializing), and perhaps a single poignant moment seeing the manger scene portrayed once again -- then back to more food and fellowship.

We do some volunteer work one night with the homeless or a group of needy kids ("giving") . . . but what does that have to do with Christmas, really? We should be doing that all year long. And from what I hear, most of those organizations would actually be more grateful if we stopped by to help in January when everyone suddenly forgets about them again.

We listen to the traditional Christmas carols on the Christmas music station in the car . . . and get a momentary emotional rush from the power of the music and the memories it invokes (rarely, if we're honest, to the ideas behind the words), and then immediately turn around and start bouncing to "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree."

We maybe read a brief "Advent devotional" each morning during December . . . another thing on the full to-do list for the month.

We send Christmas cards and letters and make sure they have a scripture reference in them and make mention of Jesus somewhere . . . but we're really just doing this to keep in touch with folks.

On the big day, we read the Christmas story from Luke 2 and say a quick prayer . . . just touching base with the heavenlies before the orgy of gift-opening.

Putting Christ in Christmas kind of feels like putting bunko in the neighborhood bunko night: it relieves our conscience by giving us a legitimate excuse to put time and energy into doing all the things we REALLY want to do.

I have a dream of a Christmas one year where there are no presents, no decorations, no Christmas specials on TV, no fattening Christmas goodies -- where I spend the Advent season with me and God (and occasionally with the family of believers corporately) worshipping and studying and praying and meditating on the amazing fact that the God of the universe chose to take on human flesh and become one of us. And to wake up on Christmas morning genuinely overwhelmed with the joy and awe that such a truth should inspire in humanity.

Because that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

It's Okay to Give Up Traditions. Really.

I'm trying to decide if I'm weird. My girls were watching a Christmas movie the other day where some tragedy was happening (I wasn't paying close attention) and they weren't going to be able to do something that they always did at Christmas -- and the whole family was absolutely despondent that Christmas was now ruined. And I'm thinking, Seriously? It's not like Christmas doesn't happen every single year. You can do it again next year. Buck up. I mean, a little disappointment, yes -- but a ruined Christmas?

For some reason, the idea that someday, we won't be doing Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's house came up this year, and my girls find that quite upsetting (and even Hubby, to an extent). "It won't be Christmas if we're not with the whole family opening presents at Grandma and Grandpa's!"  Uh . . . yes, folks, it most certainly will be. Not that I don't enjoy our Christmases in Lindsborg with Hubby's family, but Christmas will most certainly not be ruined when that tradition has to end. That tradition does not define Christmas for me.

Maybe I feel differently because of my own family Christmases. We had our traditions, but we often mixed it up, too. In fact, for most of my life, we haven't celebrated Christmas on Christmas Day. One of my sisters put her foot down one year and said she was done trying to decide which family to be with (or trying to get to both families in one day); her brood was not leaving the house on Christmas Day. We could have them before or after -- take it or leave it. (Wise woman, she was . . . )

So we usually celebrated on Christmas Eve or the day after. It was a bit disappointing the first year (because I was pretty young), but I quickly got over it when I realized everything was still just as fun . . . just on a different day.

My mom, also, was one to try new things a lot. Let's put the tree here this year. Let's have barbecue brisket for dinner this time. (That one became a yearly tradition 'cause we all liked it so much.) Let's make this craft with the grandkids after dinner. One year she bent a hanger into a wreath shape and stuck peppermint candies on it where you could just pull one off at any time to eat, and she offered mints to everyone who came in the door all season. I loved that.

And actually, it's the different things we did that I remember the most. The year mom put only the top half of the tree up on a table with the gifts around it so the then-tiny grandkids couldn't get into it. The year my sisters, their husbands, and I went to see "Superman" on Christmas afternoon while mom and dad stayed with the napping grandkids (THAT was so cool!). The year we prepared music ahead of time and did a little concert for each other (that one didn't catch on . . . but it was memorable!).

Several years ago, for a reason I don't recall now, my whole family met in Kansas City for Christmas. We went ice skating and opened gifts in one of our hotel suites. One year, we spent Christmas Eve at a sister's house and had cheese soup and home-made donuts. And I have vague memories of a Christmas Eve when I was very young that we spent at a downtown church listening to a big choir concert -- something I was too young to appreciate then but would love to do now.

THOSE Christmases I remember. The rest of them are a muddled memory of sameness.  Don't get me wrong -- very enjoyable and happy sameness. I still treasure those times. But it was when we were willing to, "just for this year", give up something we always did and try something new that Christmas was really special. By NO means, was it ruined. Sheesh.

We had friends in Missouri who packed up one year and spent Christmas in New York City -- just their family. And they all LOVED it. It sounded like so much fun! Maybe I can talk my family into that one year.

But . . . I kind of doubt it.

Thoughts While Listening to the Christmas Music Station in the Car

- Who doesn't like Karen Carpenter's voice? Such a sweet, natural, pleasing tone. And we only hear it in December.

- "Mr. Grinch" = linguistic brilliance that could only have been written by Dr. Suess. And brilliantly performed.

- I know I should be okay with artists doing the traditional songs and giving them their own personal flare -- I mean, some of these interpretations are great, and they become the new classics.  But some are really awful. And most are hopelessly forgettable. I most get annoyed when they do a classic ("Let It Snow", anyone?) and don't make it their own -- when their version is orchestrated and paced and everything just like everyone else's.  They apparently think that their fabulous voice and their minor melody changes here and there make it better than what's been done before and worth the audience's time to listen to. Yeesh.

- And speaking of . . . I don't ever quite get over the sound of Hall & Oates singing "Sleigh Bells". It's just . . . odd to me.

- Now, there are a few artists that get it right. James Taylor on "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."  Whitney Houston on "Do You Hear What I Hear." (Oh, Whitney . . . seriously, the lady had pipes.)

- I know how many people love "Christmastime is Here", the Charlie Brown song. I don't. The vocals make me cringe. Call me Grinch. Your heart's a dead tomato squashed with moldy purple spots . . .

- My favorite this year (and for a few years now): "Christmas Eve/Sarajevo" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.  This is the one Christmas song right now that completely transports me, that I get totally lost in. I'm air-guitarring, air-pianoing, pounding out the drums on the steering wheel . . . I'm downright dangerous. I asked for the CD for Christmas so I can enjoy it in the safety of my own living room at home.

- Fascinating the many, many different styles of music we listen to during the holiday season that we would never deign to listen to in, say, July.

- I'm noticing something interesting this year: I find myself rather bored by the traditional mid-20th century crooners and their classics (Perry Como, Johnny Mathis, Bing -- you know, with the cheesy sounding choir in the background). But when Harry Connick Jr. does the same song in the same style, I'm enthralled. And I usually don't even know I'm listening to Harry Connick Jr. until the song's over. If I had the musical knowledge, I'd try to analyze exactly what it is he does differently that appeals to me. Gotta love Harry.

- I have yet to hear "O Holy Night" anywhere this year. I love that song.

- One of these years, I'm going to have to pick what I think are the definitive versions of each Christmas song and make my own personal Christmas CD. And to my surprise, I think one of those definitive versions would be Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You". The first time I think I heard that song was many years ago, during a morning newscast when they were showing her live giving a concert to troops overseas. She was singing with passion and gusto and blowing it away, and I was just flat out impressed.

- And for the umpteenth year in a row, I find my favorite Christmas hymn is "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing". The whole song. All the unfamiliar verses, too. Glorious in sound and glorious in sense. Just glorious.

Except when some uber-hip modern poser who has no sense at all of the meaning of the words just butchers it trying to "make it their own". Step away from the microphone, buddy.

Las Nuevas Tamaleras

Our family saw the most interesting play last Friday. It was called Las Nuevas Tamaleras (The New Tamale-Makers). What was so interesting about it?

1) It was bilingual. One character spoke all Spanish; another spoke a mix of Spanish and English (probably what one would call Spanglish); the other three spoke English with some Spanish words thrown in here and there. The person who invited us (my husband's assistant at work, who was one of the actresses) told us that we would be able to figure out what was being said in Spanish from the context and gestures and stuff. Not quite. We got the gist of what was going on, but we surmised from the audience's laughs that a lot of the funniest lines came from Spanish-speaking Doña Mercedes, and we missed them.

2) At first, I didn't like the delivery of the actresses. They seemed to be speaking so slowly, it all felt very over-acted. And maybe it was. But it occurred to me later: even with my very limited Spanish vocabulary, I was picking up on a lot of it, and I think that was because the Spanish-speakers were speaking slowly, not rattling it all off like so many Spanish-speakers do. (Or like it sounds to us English-speakers -- I suppose to those who don't speak English, it sounds like we're talking fast, also.) Maybe the actresses were told to speak slowly -- Spanish and English -- so the native speakers of each in the audience would more easily understand the other. So, okay. I can appreciate that.

3) It was about a Mexican tradition of making tamales for Christmas, one we are aware of but unfamiliar with. A couple of elderly Mexican ladies, who have been in heaven bemoaning the fact that they can't make tamales in heaven, get sent down to help three clueless young Latinas at their first attempt at the task. 

As I said, this was a new cultural thing for us, the tamale business, but the audience was loving it.  In fact, this is a play they perform at this theater every December, and it has apparently become a family tradition for many in San Antonio to see it every year. I can imagine why; if this is a part of your culture, there was a lot here to appreciate. We appreciated it, even from the outside.

And wouldn't you know, we seemed to be inundated with tamales for the rest of the weekend! The church we visited on Sunday had a strong bilingual ministry (in fact, the associate pastor who preached at our service was from Mexico). They had a "tamalada" scheduled for the next day -- an open cooking class for anyone wanting to learn how to make tamales. And many of the tamales made there were apparently going to be served at a Posada Dinner later in the month.

Then our youngest picked Mamacita's for lunch after church (our favorite Mexican place we've found in town so far). The furious appetite we all had for some Mexican food after we left the play may have contributed to that choice.  I decided to be adventurous and try the tamales. None of us had ever had them before (well, hubby might have tasted one). I thought they were fine. Hubby and youngest were kind of, "meh". Eldest almost gagged. I'm not sure why, although she's not a big Mexican food fan anyway. I guess it's just as well I didn't go to the tamalada and bring home more tamales -- I'd have been eating them all myself.

All in all, a fascinating cultural weekend for us. And it got me psyched to start learning my Spanish again. Still looking for a Latina friend who will talk Español with me . . .

Veiled in Flesh the Godhead See

It's Christmas Eve, and I'm in Kansas.  Nothing particular planned today.  Our church in Sioux City has two huge Christmas Eve extravaganzas happening at the Orpheum theater.  I suppose it would be nice to see those.  One disadvantage of always being "home" for the holidays is we are never in town to experience our own church's Christmas Eve services.

Our church in NJ did four services on Christmas Eve -- two "family" services (geared toward kids), and two adult services, including a candlelight service at eleven.  As I said, I never got to go to one, but if the candlelight service was in the spirit of the Advent and Lent services they held every year, I think I would have enjoyed it very much.

I think if I could just choose for myself my own Christmas Eve celebration, it would include a small, meaningful candlelight service at a church where I don't know anyone in particular, so I don't feel a need to be social and can focus on why I'm there.  Focus on what happened on this night (okay, I realize it didn't actually happen on THIS night, but on the night that we are remembering this night).

To focus for a few minutes on the amazing concept of the God of the universe -- creator and sustainer of all there is -- holy and separate from all he has created -- the God of the universe making a conscious choice to give up the privileges of deity for a time and become one of us.  To feel our pains.  To live our struggles.  To be tempted as we are.  To be hungry and cold and lonely and discouraged and abandoned by everyone who was supposed to love him . . .

He CHOSE to bear that pain.  Sometimes, I think I've heard the end of the story so often and take it so for granted that I forget the awesomeness of each moment of the narrative.  And this moment -- this voluntary stepping into the limitations of human existence -- it's a big one.

Recently I had occasion to re-read the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, and I was struck again at that famous shortest-verse-in-the-Bible: "Jesus wept."  I think there's so much more significance there that we realize.  Jesus was standing there ready to raise his friend from the dead and end the misery of the mourning loved ones around him.  He knew the end of the story and that it was good -- phenomenally good.  Why did he weep?  He wept because it hurt him to see those he loved in pain.  Even when he knew the pain was going to be short and was going to be worth it, he entered into their pain with them and felt it deeply and it caused him to weep.

May I never lose the wonder of a God loving me enough to voluntarily enter into my life, my walk, my pain.  Hail, the Incarnate Deity.  Thank you, Lord.  Happy birthday.

Honesty

Interesting the way the events of life have lined up these days.  An unexplainable act of evil.  A prediction of the end of the world.  The commemoration of a Savior's birth.  The pains and questions we are each dealing with in our own souls -- I have mine, you have yours.  No coincidences here, I'm sure.

Our immediate instinct after an event like Sandy Hook is to determine to take control of the situation so nothing like this ever happens again.  Take away all the guns -- or arm all the teachers.  Lock away all the mentally and emotionally disturbed -- or integrate them better into society so they heal.  Protect the schools like an army base -- or bring the kids home to homeschool.  Nothing ever actually gets done because we can't ever agree on what needs to be done.  Because deep in our hearts, if we're honest with ourselves (which we rarely are), we know there's nothing that we can do to fix this.

For many of us, our personal pains and questions echo the events of the day and take us even deeper.  We see pain within . . . we see brokenness within . . . we even see evil within, if we're honest enough to face up to it (which we rarely are).  And we are determined to take control of the situation so nothing like this ever happens within us again.  Stay away from people -- or embrace people more.  Put up protection walls -- or open up the heart to others.  Seek knowledge and advice -- or forget what I know and go by my instincts.  Discpline myself -- or indulge myself.  Nothing gets fixed within us because we don't really know how we need to be fixed.  And deep down in our hearts, if we're honest with ourselves (which we rarely are), we know that even if we knew how to fix ourselves, we couldn't or wouldn't be able to do it.

At some point, each of us must come to the horrible realization that we are out of the Garden of Eden and there is no way back.

Many of us never allow ourselves to realize that fact fully.  We psyche ourselves up with the idea of a spark of good within us all, ignoring the selfish motives behind all of our good -- rationalizing our selfish motives as self-actualization and healing, the ultimate virtue in modern life -- explaining away the evils prevalent in the world as "freedom" and "choice" and "nature", which must be inherently good.  We refuse to see how broken the world is, because if this is true, it seems to render our lives as a hopeless, meaningless wallow of futility.

Enter into our hopeless wallow . . . a baby.  A baby called "Christ the Lord" -- that is, the Messiah, the promised one, the one sent to save, who is by his nature Master and Sovereign over all and able to move the universe at large and the human heart at small to bring all things together for his glory and for the good of his people.

A Lord.  A holy, just, omnipotent, omniscient, all-loving Lord.  Exactly what we need, if we're honest with ourselves (which we rarely are).

Keepin' Things New

Last night, we did Christmas here at home with our immediate family. Yes, that's a week early. In New Jersey, we started opening our presents to each other at home before we flew back to Kansas for the holidays. It didn't seem to make sense to ship our gifts to each other to Kansas and then ship them back again. Anyway, the tradition has stuck. And every evening of this week is busy, so this was the only night we could do it.

And we had a new twist to the tradition this year . . . our eldest's boyfriend was there, too. He was over studying with her for finals (and yes, I think they got at least a little bit of actual studying done), and he just ended up staying. She had been invited to go with his family to his aunt's earlier today, but they ended up not going. Still, they're only 15 . . . only been dating a couple months . . . and they're joining each other's families for minor holiday get-togethers. Ah, it begins.

I thought it would be weird to add someone to our holiday traditions. It wasn't. He's a good kid. We didn't have a lot of gifts to open this year, so it was kind of low key. We all played Eastin's new Monopoly Deal game afterwards (the gift she got for finding the pickle ornament on the tree), and then Apples to Apples. A pleasant evening.

In a way, it was kind of nice to add something new. I'm all for traditions, but I like to freshen things up, too. Kind of like how the Bible says to "sing a new song" to the Lord. The old hymns are awesome, but you gotta add something new to keep things . . . well, new.

Decking the Halls

I've been decorating the house for the holidays this weekend. This is one of those holiday activities that I don't have a problem with. For one thing, I don't let it stress me out. I give myself plenty of time so I can afford to take my time. I don't feel obligated to put out every decoration I have every year. When I start getting tired or grouchy about it, I take a break.

But also, my Christmas decorations add to the meaning of the holidays for me. I've learned to decorate with the mantra, "If it isn't beautiful, useful, or meaningful, I don't need it." And most everything I have now fits that criteria.

I have a small collection of Nutcrackers I put out. These are meaningful to me -- I took ballet for about 8 years and was in the Nutcracker all but one of those years. The Nutcracker is a significant part of the holidays for me.

I also have a collection of small tomtes I set up around a Swedish Christmas tree on the dining room tables. Tomtes are Swedish elves that are said to live in the barns -- the kids put out food for the tomtes on Christmas to bribe them into not playing pranks on the family the next year. These are a connection with my own Swedish background and my husband's upbringing in Lindsborg, Kansas.

We also have a Christmas in Lindsborg collection of ceramic buildings from his hometown. Again, a connection to our past -- and they're beautiful.

I have a small tabletop tree that I decorate with several sets of felt ornaments that my mother made, a different set every year. There's also a nativity set in almost every room of the house.

And of course, just about every ornament we put on the tree has a story behind it.

There are a few things I would get rid of -- and I weed something out probably every year. But the house decorating is a holiday tradition that passes my Scrooginess test and stays.

Brightening a Blackened Holiday Season

Is it just me, or has Black Friday reached a new level of insanity this year? My husband was heading to Walmart at midnight last night hoping to snag an inexpensive laptop (we need another now that his work computer is gone). But I told him an FB friend said something about getting "tickets" earlier in the evening for something, so he headed over at 11 to see what that was about. He was grumbling this morning about Walmart not making things clear . . . what a madhouse . . . lines up and down aisles, out doors . . .

That FB friend described fist fights over the xbox games she wanted. Insane. Do you remember the craziness over Cabbage Patch Kids one Christmas way back? Seriously, what is wrong with people?

Readers who've read my blog for a while will probably roll their eyes at my Scrooginess cropping up again this year, but here it is. I really don't like what Christmas has become. The stress, the craziness, the checklist of celebratory duties that we force ourselves through with no sense of meaning behind any of it. The stupid, formulaic Christmas movies on every night. The countdown TO the 25-day countdown to Christmas on the now inappropriately named ABC Family channel.

My family was way late this year getting our Christmas lists to family. I really wish we could give up writing out Christmas lists altogether. A friend just commented, "If you want your kids to focus on giving at Christmas, stop asking them what they want." Duh. It seems ridiculous to me that every year, we make our kids write up a list of stuff they want someone to give them. And when they can't think of enough things (as is the case with my kids sometimes), we get out catalogs, have them search the internet, watch more TV commercials . . . to have them beef up their list of wants. Ridiculous!!

I may just completely rebel next year. Refuse to do Christmas as usual. If we move and are doing Christmas in a new place, that may make it easier. It's time to redeem the holiday season.

Hark Yet Again!

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see. Hail, the incarnate Deity!

I love that phrase, "veiled in flesh". Think about what a veil does. It covers body parts you don't want the world to see outright. But those parts are still there, and what you see gives you hints of what's hidden. A Muslim woman may hide her body, but her eyes are still visible, giving evidence of the beautiful woman attached to them.

God "veiled himself in flesh" -- he put on a physical human covering to hide the deity inside. But his real nature still peeked out. In his words, in his miracles, in his loving glances . . . the idea of Jehovah God becoming a human being would have positively scandalous to first century Jews -- downright heresy. Yet, those who knew him best came to believe just that.

Pleased as man with man to dwell -- Jesus, our Emmanuel!

Every year at Christmas, I am struck again by the idea of Jesus choosing to become our Emmanuel -- God with us. Becoming one of us.

I remember hearing a story once of a boy watching ants scurrying around an anthill which was directly in the path of another boy's Big Wheel barreling down the sidewalk. "I wish I could become an ant," he thought, "so I could warn them of what's coming and tell them to get out of the way!" The gap between the nature of a human and that of an ant is simply dwarfed by the gap between the nature of God Almighty and that of his human creation. I think because we are made in God's image, we sometimes don't remember what a monstrous gulf lies between us and our Maker and what a monumental sacrifice it was for Christ to give up so much of his own nature to veil himself in flesh.

Hark -- Yo! Listen up, folks! -- the herald angels sing, "Glory to the newborn King!"

Hark Again!

Peace on earth and mercy mild . .

"Peace on earth" is one of the Biblical mantras taken up by the secular world. Who can argue with that aim, right? But in all honesty, it's a phrase that annoys me. (Or maybe it's just spillover annoyance from my currently stuffed-up head. Christmas spirit . . Christmas spirit . . ) It annoys me because people toss around the phrase so casually with no real consideration for what it would honestly take to have peace on earth. Let's be frank -- we don't even have peace in the church, and we're supposed to be the unified Body of Christ. Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I don't have a whole lot of hope for anything resembling what most people would define as peace on earth.

Yet, I still find the declaration of the herald angels to be comforting, because while I don't hold out much hope for the nations and peoples of the world to stop fighting, share a Coke, and live "in per-fect har-mo-nyyyyyy", I do have hope for Jesus to create peace in my own little tormented heart . . . and in my home . . . and in my family . . . and isn't it true, really, that that's where peace on earth would have to start? With individual men and women coming to peace with themselves and their God? May his mild, gentle mercy shower on us and give us peace!

God and sinners reconciled!

Hallelujah! I find this line to be a bit premature in a Christmas song, because the reconciliation really didn't happen until the cross, thirty-three years later. Nevertheless, all time is Present in God's economy, and at the moment of Jesus' birth, his resurrection was as good as accomplished. Sinners reconciled to their God! ME reconciled to my God! Once the decision to come to earth as a man was made, and the material body was inhabited, the commitment to the death on the cross was a done deal.

Joyful, all ye nations rise! Join the triumph of the skies!

Rise up JOYFUL! Every nation! The rich nations . . the poor nations . . the spiritually cold and the spiritually hot . . the stiff and formal . . the loud and enthusiastic . . the hungry and desperate . . the fattened and over-satisfied . . . ALL ye nations! Rise up joyful! Join the song of triumph -- TRIUMPH! Triumph is VICTORY, people! God and sinners reconciled is a grand and glorious victory!!

With the angelic hosts proclaim, "Christ is born in Bethlehem!"
Hark! the herald angels sing,
"Glory to the newborn King!"