Just Fun

Here's a link for some Christmas fun: http://www.powerpres.com/xmascard03.html

Objectifying Faith

I've been thrashing around in my head, attempting to answer a bit of guilt: Why am I such a curmudgeon when it comes to Christmas?

This nativity scene says it all.

Penguins.

I laugh and poke fun at holiday stupidity and excess. I do it because I follow Jesus. If Jesus turned tables in anger over Passover marketing, what do you think he'd do about Christmas - a holiday bearing his honorable title?

I do not assign blame for the demise of Christmas onto the "secular culture." Why are we always so surprised when people who lack faith don't get it? Of course Madison Ave. will have a different view of a holy day than a person who actually believes Jesus came. It is only natural for a naturalist to fumble the ball when the Hail Mary pass is made by a fundamentalist. Put Jesus in the hands of a religion-neutral social economy and what do you expect? Reverence?

I blame Xmas on Xians.

It's because we are so prone to objectification. When Moses went up the mountain, the void had to be filled; a golden calf did interim duty. When Moses returned, a couple of tablets of stone came with him. The tablets were interesting, but it wasn't the tablets that were important, it was what was written on them: God's words.

But evangelicals, in desperate need of an Object, insist that monuments with the ten commandments be placed in government buildings. What makes us think this will work? It's never, ever, worked before. This is a silly, unnecessary, childish tantrum over something that is trivial, at best, and deceptive, at worst.

Deceptive because we make the assumption that having engraved words on a stone will do ANYTHING. Madonna - singer, not Virgin - wears a cross near her pointy brassiere. Does this phase her? Does this change her? Does this make her holy? If the cross doesn't work for Madonna, the Ten Commandments aren't going to work for the United States government. And in some locations, such placement may produce justifiably similar disgust.

The same is true of Nativity Scenes, angels, stars.

I don't have answers. I know how to poke a finger at the problem, but I don't have a clue how to fix it. It is exhausting for me to envision how we could ever turn this Polar Express around.

So I'll sit here by the fire, listening to "White Christmas," slurping some Egg Nog, smelling the pine air, and praying that the little porcelain babe over there in the made-in-China creche might just come alive, toddle over over to me, and whisper The Answer in my ear.

Fabricating Christmas

The big debate gets hotter every year: Will Kmart be able to say "Christmas?" Will the Red Kettles show up in front of Trader Joes? Will the Menorah be larger than the Manger in front of City Hall? Will the neighborhood association police complain about my front-yard, light-up, blow-up, life-like, genuine, animated, musical nativity scene?

Here are some choices for your own nativity idol:

This one has stuffed Joseph and Mary, stuffed angel, even a stuffed star.

I like this portly group -

Weight Watchers does Christmas.

Next year, a little less ham,

and let up on the egg nog, people.

Well, here we go. See what a little self control can do? Skinny, super-model Xmas. Not too much mutton on that scrawny lamb. And I wouldn't advise Mary to ride the donkey home - maybe she should carry it.

Sweet babushka holidays.

Here's a wonderful snow globe nativity. Shake it up and it will snow, just like it did in Bethlehem.

Also, it plays music. You can tell by the little music notes.







Here's the big one. Inflates. Lights up. Guaranteed to show the world you're a Christian. You can put it right next to blow-up Grinch, blow-up Homer Simpson, and blow-up Big Bird, all celebrating this holy time of year.


Don't get angry. I have a nice creche in my home for which I paid good money. And we set it out every year. And it does mean something. But it doesn't "Keep Christ In Christmas."

I wonder if we shouldn't just pack it in. Give up. Let the merchandisers have Christmas, and we can take our own celebration back. Let's do a little research, come up with a birth date for Jesus sometime in the summer, say August 4, and move the whole spiritual party to that end of the calendar.

Joseph had a dream, wherein he was instructed to transport Jesus from Bethlehem to Egypt to protect the babe from the politically correct slaughter that was going to take place. The goal of King Herod's decree? Obliterate Jesus.

So, in keeping with the spirit of the season, I've had a dream. I was told to move Jesus from December 25 to August 4, in order to protect him; protect him from Christmas. And before you nod your head and point a finger at some ACLU lawsuit and claim moral superiority, ask yourself these questions:

• Do my children really know the difference, or is it all just a Santa Claus tale?
• Do I make a point to pull away the cultural trappings of Jesus' birth and face off with the reality of incarnation? At least sometime during the celebration? [Have you ever seen a baby born? It's not pretty. It's dramatic and honest.]
• Do I want the Government, Walmart, Madison Ave., Willow Creek, Southern Baptists, or any other human agency to nativitize Jesus?

This year I will celebrate Christmas. And I will celebrate Jesus' birth. Not necessarily at the same time.

Interview

It was a maple. It had hung on, stayed around, watching all the action, taking it all in, refusing to follow the crowd. I had seen it and admired the tenacity of the Last One to Fall.

So I wanted to ask it why.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it was not my time.”

“But why now?”

“Because it was cold, and I was lonely.”

I looked him over, saw the rough edges. “You look tired.”

“Yes. I ran out of endurance. I couldn’t hold on any longer.”

The wind kicked up and he danced a bit in it. I was surprised at the loft he had left. “So it’s not over yet.”

“No. Still some life here. Don’t write me off. I’m not done.”

Any color was gone. He was not bronze or gold or brown, but ashen. The sugar had gone out of his veins.

He looked up at where he’d been – far away in the heights. There was nostalgia in his brittle nature.

“But it will be soon; it will not be long.”

And a strong breeze caught him, tossed him up and then down and he lost another part of himself. He flew up again, higher now, reaching and straining to resume his place in the world. The air threw him against the tree and pieces of him scattered in an autumn march, circling and climbing, carried into the sky by the enemy that brought him down after all.