Christmas Peace And Old Curtains

For the warm white lights that are now winding their way around my basement apartment that lies on the border of two cities. For Jimmy Stewart’s George Bailey, and Bing Crosby’s Bob Wallace. For the memory of cheese melting on crackers in the oven on a cold Christmas Eve night. For these things and more, thank you.

Christmas peace, be born in me today. Christmas peace and new truth, be born in me this yuletide.

There are not many things in life that are as soothing and warming to me as those things that I will enjoy during the next month or so. The abundance of beautifully decorated trees inside department stores, some featuring traditional Christmas colours of red and emerald green, and other trees that are dressed with bulbs of blue and white or silver and gold. The storefront window displays, adorned with faux - and sometimes real – frosting, or paintings of plump snowmen sipping on steaming cups of cocoa, or perhaps children screaming in delight as they ride a toboggan down a steep blinding white hill. There’s the music that we will be hearing everywhere before long. Nat King Cole smoothly singing “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” Sinatra crooning out “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams,” and of course, the irreplaceable Bing imparting the wish that “all our Christmases be white.” And there’s the extra smiles that are on the faces of loved ones and strangers alike.

All of these can serve to further brighten an already happy day, or they can be a kind of salve during tumultuous times.

There is also something comforting in the continuity of it all. As so much changes around us throughout the year, still, every Christmas season the bejeweled trees will be there, along with the line-ups of kids waiting to see Santa Claus in the mall while their parents use their free hand to hold onto a steaming cup of hot apple cider. There are the volunteers standing beside the Salvation Army kettles. And, as always, we will turn on our television sets and there Rudolph will be making a pact with his dentist-elf friend to be “independent together,” as they venture out into the cold unknown.
At Christmastime we are also re-introduced, through carols, movies, and church services, to the story of Jesus’ birth in a stable in Bethlehem. We are told of how his family traveled there because Joseph came to his census – something that must give hope to beleaguered spouses everywhere.

This was an integral part of my childhood, and indeed right up to my early to mid twenties. Each year at home, in the week or two leading up to Christmas Day, we would tape up the advent calendar to the wall and look forward to opening up a different little square each day, revealing, if I remember correctly, a different Bible verse describing a part of the story of Jesus’ birth. And every year there was the Sunday school program at the small-town church that I attended, where inevitably little boys and girls would dress up as shepherds, or angels, or perhaps camels. There was the lighting of the advent candles on the Sundays preceding Christmas Day, where a family was selected to go up to the front, read a passage from the Bible, and light the candle. I remember doing this as a small boy, getting all decked out in my grey suit and tie, and making my way down the center aisle of the church.

Perhaps my favourite memories of Christmas, besides the presents – what kid wouldn’t say presents – are of Christmas Eve services. If you could stay awake through the at-least-half-hour choir cantatas (a word that almost still gives me the shivers,) you also got to sing a lot of carols, like Angels We Have Heard On High, O Little Town of Bethlehem, or perhaps The First Noel, in itself a nice song even though it tried your patience with all of its 36 or so verses. The end of the service was particularly lovely, when the sanctuary lights were turned down and everyone quietly sang Silent Night, Holy Night as we each lit the thin candles we were handed on the way in to the service. It was a special time.

At the time, the Christian story that I was presented with, of God sending his son to the world to be born of a virgin in order to be the salvation for all the world, it was defining. And though this is no longer the case for me, it is still a part of my story that I cannot and will not forget.

Christmas peace and warm memories, make room at the table for new truth. Along with the space created on the poinsettia-imaged tablecloth for the mashed potatoes, the turkey and the ham, make room for new insights, new thoughts, new understandings. For, as comforting as it is to have the things this time of year that do not change, such as the Miracle on 34th Street, or Yukon Cornelius’s ever-futile search for silver and gold, or Zuzu’s petals, the reality is that time in so many ways does not stand still. We evolve, we change, and as we do, so does our understanding.

There are important values that I was introduced to and heard each year when presented with the Christian Christmas story. Peace, goodwill toward humankind, the glory of humility, the connection between the divine and humanity. But as time marches on, with scientific discovery, an understanding of the context in which the Bible was written, and increasing introduction and appreciation of other deep religious and non-religious traditions, we can no longer claim that Christianity has a trademark on these values. They are broad, human values, and not restricted to one faith tradition. Peace and love are not Christian values, they are human ones. This perspective can lead to an openness and an inclusivity that is desperately needed in our world, here in North America and abroad. Love and peace break down barriers. The need may seem more palpable when we turn on the nightly news and see the conflicts between Christians and Muslims or Israelis and Palestinians, but it is just as important in our North American society, where too often segments of society are left to feel inferior. Women. Immigrants. The gay and lesbian community. The disabled. How can these barriers be broken down? How can these people be welcomed and seen as equally valuable and important members of society, because that is exactly who they are. They are not just minority groups to be “tolerated,” but equally vibrant and wondrous colours within the human kaleidoscope.

I suggest that it can be done through a renewed emphasis and living out of these broad, human values. Peace, love, compassion, goodwill toward humankind. Anything that gets in the way of these things must be discarded. Sometimes the curtain must be drawn in order to let the light shine through, as pretty as those curtains may be, and even though they may have been handed down from your great-great grandma Mabel. They must be drawn. Going further, they very well may need to be replaced entirely because they no longer match the walls of the apartment, or, to withdraw the metaphor, the world’s growing understanding.

A few of the curtains that may have to go in order to clear the way for the light of the “big values” to shine through include, but are not restricted to:

1) The belief that humankind fell from God’s grace because of Adam and Eve, and therefore need something outside of themselves to be “right with God.”


2) The belief that God exclusively revealed him/herself through the birth of Jesus.


3) The belief that one can only be close to the divine if one believes that they are a sinner, that Jesus died as payment for their sins, and that he literally rose from the dead.

3b) Add to this the harmful belief that those who believe otherwise are “lost,” “misguided,” or even worse, destined for eternal hellfire.

These beliefs were constructed during a specific time and in a specific context, and if love, peace and unity are to expand on our earth, we must seem them as just that. Instead of continually expecting those of differing faiths or perspectives to come to Jesus, at least the version that is often presented, we must do a better job of meeting people where they are, with love and a commitment to learning from them. We must live the “big values.” Peace, love, compassion, humility, which if I had to make a good guess was what Jesus had in mind in the first place.

So what to do. Is this the year that I replace the angel on top of my tree with a pretty bow instead? Will I undergo the arduous process of sifting through my iTunes playlist and remove carols such as O Come All Ye Faithful and Away In A Manger? Will I stop talking of when I was a boy reading scripture in church?

No, I will do nothing of the sort. The angel will still shine on the tree-top, the carols will still ring, and I will bring out the small blue bottle of Aqua Velva that passed as frankincense when I was a wise man as a boy in the Sunday school program. These are a part of my life, and I will not abandon them. I will be warmed by these memories. But the curtains are firmly drawn, and I will be open to new understandings.

Christmas peace and new truth, be born in me today.

Turn My World Around

Lately I've been having cravings for the old music. You know, the songs you used to listen to when you were a teenager, the ones you recorded onto countless mix tapes - yes, tapes (google it, those of you under 20.) Granted, my cravings for the old music aren't as strong as my cravings for, say, peanut butter or good beer, but they do occur quite frequently. When I hear "Hand In My Pocket" or "Ironic" I think back to driving around the streets of London with Ken, listening to Uncle Joey's ex at high volumes.

Cut. It. Out!

But for the most part lately, I've been finding myself wanting to listen to the old Christian stuff. Bands like Whitecross, Petra, DeGarmo & Key. Now, I must say that there is a lot of it that I can't listen to because of how highly infused it is with evangelical theology. One such song is DeGarmo & Key's "Boycott Hell," an anthem which includes lyrics such as "Don't let a neighbour go, form a holy picket line. We gotta let them know, don't you think it's time, to boycott Hell." I even had a t-shirt with the song title plastered in big red letters on the front. During my latest craving, however, I got to listening to Kenny Marks, another Christian rock singer. After a quick iTunes search I came across "Turn My World Around," a song that isn't as overtly religious, until the last verse. The beginning of the song goes like this:

"City by city, town by town, side by side
Gonna tear the walls down.
Minute by minute, heart by heart, hand in hand, you know it's time to start

I'm gonna turn my world around
Gonna lift up every head and every heart in this town
Turn my world around

Step by step, street by street, soul by soul,
Everyone that I meet.
Face by face, night by night, smile by smile
I'm gonna change this whole world tonight."

Listening to this song and others like it, the old feelings of zeal and passion come up as they did 15 years ago when I was listening to it the first time. Now the inference in this song, one that becomes clearer in the third verse with lyrics like "I'm gonna wrap my arms around this lost and dying world" is that the way you turn the world around is by telling people of your religious faith. But even if it wasn't about religion, if it was just about making the world a better place and changing circumstances for people, would the ideas be helpful?

*And so concludes the religious component of this article, and a polite request for an absence of debate on the topic; it's exhausting*

My main point is that it is not our job - not my job - to change anybody. No one. Anywhere.

Each person who has ever lived has had their own answers, whether they've been able to see that or not. While all of us are connected, probably much more than we know, each of us has our life to live out, and we each do that in our own unique way. But our tendency can be to view things quite differently.

Once we find our truth, or perhaps more accurately once it rises up in ourselves to the point of us being conscious of it, we suspect that this must be the way it is for those around us. It may have to do with the activities we take part in, the books we read, the way we eat, the beliefs that we believe. But I think that sometimes we can assume that the things that make our lives fulfilling will naturally fulfill others.

Not the case.

First of all, who am I to know what would help another person grow into themselves more fully? There's a dose of arrogance in that thinking, the one that presumes that "I have the answers that will help you." Perhaps one reason why we sometimes think this way is because it massages our ego with some sense of power and control over other people, even if it's not something we're consciously aware of.

In reality, my formula of reading inspirational books and Enya could well induce a near catatonic state for someone else. While I may not understand it, role-playing games, poker, or watching Heroes may enrich anothers life. I don't understand these things, but that's alright.

It's not our job to change anyone. Indeed, there may be a subtle violence in play when we do try to change someone to be different than they are.
As hard as it is, we - I - must give up our need to be right and to have all the answers. Our job is not to change or fix anyone. Our job is to love.

Period.

Love doesn't necessarily mean "doing" anything. It can often include actions, like giving flowers to someone or sending them a card, but maybe it's more about "being" than doing, especially if our idea of doing is to make it all better for someone or fix what's wrong. After all, is that what we want? For someone to fix things or make everything better? Or would we rather just know that someone is there, that they are present with us no matter where we are or what kind of day we're having.

In this way, maybe love is more about presence and being there, rather than necessarily about changing anything.

Something Holy

There's something holy in the way that the green in the leaves waves goodbye at the end of the summer. It's like the Wizard's Omaha State Fair balloon leaving Oz, with all the munchkins looking up and waving farewell, shouting "Goodbye! Goodbye!" with their tiny little voices. In our case, though, we know that we will see the green leaves again next spring. There's a sweetness in our goodbyes too, because their departure hastens the arrival of their gold and burnt-red cousins, which will dance above our heads in countless degrees of glory for the next several weeks.

There's something holy in the half-moon shaped date cookies that Grandma brings to each and every family Christmas. They are an anticipated part of that magical day, along with the knitted slippers that she will hand to you as a gift. Cookies and slippers filled with holiness because of the hands that made them. And there's something so very holy in the hugs that remain, many years after these hands ache too much to knit the slippers, to make the cookies.

There's something holy there when you find yourself walking behind an elderly couple on a pathway beside a fountain, near red, pink, and violet flowers. Bent over by age, their love and faithfulness stands strong as they enjoy a short walk outside of their retirement home.

And there is something holy in this fine-tip pen and the blue ink that spills down onto this crinkled paper, continuing the evolution, continuing the learning that began so very many years ago with desire, with power, and an explosion of stars.

Leaving The Path Behind

Living a religious or spiritual life is often compared to taking a path. The destination is often a peaceful, joyous afterlife, where “real life” begins after this temporary, earthly existence. But before getting there, we walk the path, accomplishing necessary tasks along the way. For evangelical Christians – I’ll speak of this particular religion due to experience – the start of the journey is critical and happens when a person makes a decision to believe that they’re a sinner and that they need Jesus to forgive them of their sins in order to be acceptable to God. After this is done, other tasks along the journey may include getting baptized, trying to share their faith with other friends who are not on the path, and reading books in order to find out how to walk the path more accurately. Prayers are prayed, sermon notes are jotted down.

And this is all quite fulfilling to a great deal of people; it provides meaning to their existence. I truly realize this, and am reminded tonight of the quote, “Religion doesn’t work because it’s true, it’s true because it works.” So for the countless throngs for whom this pathway works, I have an increasingly deep and genuine appreciation for that fact and am happy for you.

But for many others, any kind of path that one must follow is much more like a maze that is far too exhausting to navigate. They wonder if they are walking too slowly or too quickly, if they should turn left or right. Energy is spent trying to find the right book or tool. If they become unhappy or unfulfilled they sometimes will chalk it up to themselves, that they must be straying from the path, or not having enough faith. This can get all the more confusing when you have countless varying groups claiming to hold the secret to walking the path more accurately than anyone else. Recently a Christian pastor told me of another minister, who, in referring to their particular denomination, remarked that of the many varying denominations, it “most closely resembled how the church was in Jesus’ day.” Have you heard of anything more ridiculous? I have a strong aversion to the over-used acronym “LOL,” but…LOL!!! (I will not, however, be rolling on whichever floor that people roll on in times such as this. I draw the line there.)

But back to the pathway to God.

In my humble opinion, there is no path.

The path may very well be something that has been constructed over the course of human history because of humanity’s fear of the unknown. I tend to agree with John Shelby Spong when he writes that humans were confronted with powerful forces which they felt they had no control over, such as wind and fire. Over time they came to believe that god(s) held control over these powers, and if only they could figure out how to please these gods, or follow the right path, they’d be a-ok. And if you want to be cynical, there’s a fair amount of importance and prestige to be gained by religious leaders who claim to know the right way to walk the path.

Another thought is that while walking a set path may seem to provide some comfort and safety – and safety to a great degree is really so very wonderful – is that what we really want? Maybe. But maybe we also want wildness, and passion that does not “follow a path.” Maybe to find this passion that we ache for, we have to let go of the idea of a path. Anyways…

There is no real path which we must follow. For those people who have struggled to walk the path, only for it to become an exhausting maze, hopefully something will happen for them to realize that they don’t have to be caught up in it any longer. It can vanish before your very eyes.

And that is the key. To learn to see with your own eyes and to trust them. This requires a decisive step to say goodbye to the false assumption that humanity – and you – are essentially flawed or in need of something or someone to make you better or good. It’s all up to you. We can take the steps that are uniquely ours to take. What are the passions inside of you that are waiting to be lived out? What are the gifts inside that are just waiting to be born into the world?

There is no path.

But don’t take my word for it. Take yours.

Before You Say Goodbye

Funerals are unique things to be a part of. It’s very interesting to watch and listen to what goes on during the couple days of visitations and the service.

Besides the undeniable and necessary presence of grief, one of the other most notable presences is that of family and friends whom you haven’t seen for years. Forget about seen, at funerals you see people whom you haven’t talked to or perhaps even thought about, since, well, who knows when. Generally it is good to see these people again, and so you sit down next to them and get caught up on the details of their lives. Over coffee you hear about your Great Aunt’s granddaughters terrific new job; between bites of the finger sandwiches you’re scarfing down – maybe ham and cheese or perhaps salmon – you smile as you listen to cute stories about your distant cousins sons first words or first steps.

…And then perhaps more often than not you go your separate ways, until the next funeral, where you will have more stories to tell under a different but still familiar umbrella of grief. Sure, there’s weddings too, but chances are if you never talk to these people, you aren’t going to invite them. With funerals the invitations are null, whoever comes, comes. Bottom line, though, is that you sometimes find yourself saying “It was really good to see so-and-so again…why is it again that we are never in touch?

Another noticeable, and striking thing about funerals is how nice everyone is when talking about the person who has passed away. Whether it’s the funny stories that are shared with others as you strain to read the cards on the flowers to see who sent them, or the minister attesting to the person’s praise-worthy attributes. Almost always you will hear something like “Remember when Uncle Frank ate 7 donuts all at once on a dare?” or “Edith had a serenity about her that brought a sense of calm to everyone around her.” Seldom will you overhear things like “Cousin Jen was always the lazy one; that’s why she dropped out of college,” or “Aunt Brenda never had as good of a personality as her sisters.” And of course this positivity is the way it should be.

What can be learned from all this? Firstly, we can put more effort into keeping in touch with people - not just on special occasions. And more importantly, treat people kindly on a day-to-day basis, in life, not just after they're gone. As nice as it is to honour, memorialize, and reminisce about someone who has passed, isn’t it better to honour, uplift, and enhance the lives of those who are still around us?

I hope you’re enjoying your summer day.

Mark Andrew

The Crunch-Crunching

I am reminded of the crunch-crunching of hard snow underneath my feet as I make my way to wherever I am going, wearing heavy boots, the ones with furry tops on them. My winter coat is similar in its furry glory; I think that I look like an Eskimo when I pull my hood up over my head (it’ll be several years before I learn the term aboriginal or native people.)

In my mind I can hear the sound of the thin blue piece of plastic that I have dragged along the white streets to the hill. I will soon sit on top of this ‘vehicle,’ place my small hands into the two designated slots and try to go as fast as I can down the hill. The sky is black, the stars are countless, and I can see my breath. I think that it looks like I’m smoking, and that’s so cool.

I am reminded of just how early I would wake up on that morning. There was no going back to sleep, only laying there with my eyes wide open, straining to hear any sound of my parents finally – finally – getting out of bed. It truly was the most wonderful day of the year.

Briefly I remember that thick furry coat again. I can’t be older than 7, and I am on the schoolyard at recess. The girl I had a crush on gives me a kiss on my half-frozen cheek, and I am in heaven. My first reaction, though, is to run.

Fast.

As. Fast. As. I. Can.

In my mind and with my heart I can remember the Sunday School pageants. The requirements for being a wise man are very few: a bathrobe - a multi-colored striped one, easily borrowed if you didn’t have one, a long stick, and something resembling gold, frankincense, or myrrh. A small blue bottle of Aqua Velva sufficed one year.

I am reminded of that night, those nights. Because before there can be a most wonderful day of the year, there has to be a most wonderful night. The oven has grown cold after warming the cheese and crackers that were enjoyed earlier, only an hour or so after returning from the service. The last piece of chocolate from the advent calendar is hanging there, just waiting to be eaten (or it could be hanging there, just waiting to be ate, I’m not quite sure.) And the lights. The lights on the tree that have been there to open a happy, magical place in my heart for a few weeks now, they are unplugged one last time before the day. All that is left in the house by the lake is stillness. But just behind my eyes lay the dreams. The dreams and the absolutely uncontainable anticipation.

Merry, Merry Christmas, Everybody.

Simplify

Give me something simple. Let me bask in something far removed from chapters and verse, analysis and opinion. Let me live in joy and happiness and instinct, laughing out loud heartily and spelled out fully, unashamed of the grin on my face that resembles a 5 year old more than it may typically resemble a 31 year old. Intensity, burn within me and through my eyes, lighting up everything and everyone around me. Let me see them as I am, full of dreams and passions, insecurities and half-steps.

In the moment that my eyes become sullen, may it not sink my spirit nor tire it. May my spirit be that of a child, one of wonderment and learning. Laugh for seemingly no reason, more than occasionally.