best part of the christmas story

(repost)

As a history buff, I'm well aware of the horrible and disturbing things people have done in the name of religion--including and in particular the name of my favorite Christmas baby. History provides a great case against the belief that people are basically good and badness is an anomaly. Still, every year when I read the Christmas story in Luke 1-2, the part that amazes me is how God chose to come to earth.

I mean, come on, the God of the Universe. Creator of all things. Divine, holy, righteous, perfect, omniscient and all-powerful. If it were me, I'd have gone with a more comfortable route--perhaps descending from the clouds and immediately reclining on the nearest jewel-encrusted throne. My entrance would've been flashy--with an entourage of heavenly host and lots of human genuflecting in my direction.  I probably would've landed smack on TOP of King Herod's palace.

But God chooses a young teenager from a podunk farm town to carry His son to term. He antes up a step-dad who is a carpenter by trade, the original Joe Six-Pack.

Grand entrance? Before going into labor, Mary schleps to Bethlehem for some stupid government census (and if she hadn't have gotten knocked up by the Holy Spirit, she could've stayed home, but because of her condition and saving social face she has to accompany her intended to his ancestral home). The town is mobbed with people obeying Cesar's command and Joseph gets turned away--no place to stay. (Remember, this is Joseph's ancestral home--were the relatives too shocked by his pregnant teenaged fiancee to let them sleep in the back room? I always wonder...)

But! There's a barn, says the guy running the local brothel (an "inn" in Biblical times is NOT the modern-day equivalent of a Best Western). Go out back and take that empty stall. Luke doesn't tell us, but I bet the guy charged Joseph anyway--that's human nature, isn't it?

While Mary is pushing and straining to get the Lord of the Universe through her birth canal, angels are gearing up overhead. Angels must look like something humans cannot fathom--I believe this because every time they show up in the Bible, the first thing they always have to tell people is Don't be afraid. Jesus comes forth--Joseph wipes his brow with relief and Mary leans back exhausted and sweaty against a scratchy pile of straw.

And a heavenly host descends.

Here's my absolute favorite part of the story: the angels don't show up in Herod's throne room or scare the crap out of Cesar Augustus while he's feasting. They don't announce the birth of the Lord of the Universe to rich people or powerful people, temple scholars or the High Priest. Nope, they present the big birth announcement to shepherds, working in the fields that night. All of God's glorious bragging about the birth of His only son is sung out to a bunch of guys working third shift on the outskirts of town.

Why?

We know from reading on that later, when the Magi visit, King Herod goes mad with jealousy when he hears of prophecy fulfilled and a bunch of baby boys under the age of 3 get whacked. Incidentally, when the Magi visit, King Herod calls in the temple brain pool who agree that yes, Bethlehem is where the King of the World would be born, but they don't follow the Magi to visit, either.  Heck, they don't even send along an apprentice scribe to report back what the Magi end up finding.  I suspect the truth was and still is that rich and powerful people would've felt threatened or defensive by God's coming.  I argue that pride's the deadliest sin, the biggest barrier between man and God.

But ordinary folk, farmhands in the hillside of Bethlehem react quite differently. They immediately rush to the barn behind the brothel and find Jesus--I like to imagine their appearance.

Quietly and awkwardly they enter the stall and inquire--was a baby just born? A boy? Is it the Christ? Mary holds out the bundle of red-faced infant wrapped in rags, Joe Six-Pack steps aside and lets them take turns holding the baby, the third shift shepherds marveling in turn as we all do at a newborn's tiny perfection.

When they leave, they head straight downtown to tell everyone they could find of what they saw and heard. The reaction on the streets was "amazement."

In that first Christmas, God reveals himself to ordinary people, folks literally on the fringe of society. The guys alone in the fields watching animals on the outskirts of town.  The shepherds weren't important by society's standards, but they welcomed the announcement with enthusiasm.  The scholars, the pious leaders, the rich and powerful were too hampered by pride or greed to acknowledge His gift.  God knows who needs His promise and Jesus was born in a cold, dark cave for exactly those people--people with nothing to offer, nothing to lose. Christmas is about grace, humility and goodwill, love--the hard kind of love to folks who don't return it in kind and usually don't deserve it in the first place. Religion hasn't remained true to these ideals, but if you read the Bible's version closely you'll find the truth in the Christmas. Only someone divine would set aside all their power and glory to save lost souls and love them no matter what--no working for it, no earning it, no ritual, no sacrifice--God only wants people to believe and be amazed.  Just like the shepherds were.

Joy to the world!  First announced by a heavenly host to shepherds watching over their flocks by night.  If I was God, I would've worked it a whole lot differently--and that's what makes the Christmas story awesome.

Read More

heavenly hosts

Why, thanks for the complements on the new header. That is in my front yard--we had 4 candy canes in the front garden but now we're down to three--either the wind or snow knocked one over and it is buried beneath a drift. My decorating skills are paltry at best, our lights are crooked and falling down. At night we have nothing on our neighbors who evidently read the tutorial on Hanging Christmas Lights 101. Our lights look so pathetic that I'm kind of embarrassed to turn them on, but it's too frigid to go stand on a ladder and try to fix them. And we're so far back from the road that only our few neighbors can really see the lights, they're mostly turned on for our own benefit. But honestly, there's not an ugly spot around our property right now, except just beside the driveway where that lazy dog pees yellow splotches because he doesn't want to be troubled to jump through the drifts.

Unless I get lazy, which is what happened yesterday. You see, in Wisconsin, it's smart to pull on snow pants, boots, coat, hat and mittens if you're heading outdoors for any length of time. Common sense--keeps you dry and warm in the snow. But I presumed Mr. Furry-Lazy-Bones (AKA "Jax") would pull his usual Holy crap it's freakin' COLD out here--I'll just whiz a little by the edge of the drive where they plowed a path and then hurtle my body weight towards the front door so this crazy lady can let me back in the house. Naturally the little monster decided to mess with me when I eschewed snow pants and grabbed his leash.

He took a running plunge into the nearest snow drift, dragging me behind him. Within seconds I was in snow past my knees--at least a 3 foot drift--wet, cold and irritated.

Fast forward to 5:30 this morning when I got up early to watch the meteor shower. (Have you ever seen one? I never have until this morning.) I pulled on an extra fleece, snow pants, coat, hat and mittens over my pajamas. I stood on the driveway looking at the starry sky, marveling at the vast beauty and mystery of space and God and the universe. Mr. D let the dog out and he made a beeline for the edge of the driveway, peed, and sprinted straight back to the house. I had half a mind to grab him by the collar and drag him into a snow drift.

The meteor shower was a neat thing to see--I'm glad I made the effort. Granted, it felt a little spooky to stand in the silence and watch the occasional blast of light flash past in the sky. The experience gave me good time to meditate, pray and be still. The night sky is so beautiful, yet I rarely take time to give it my full attention. Imagine if you looked at it several times a week--how familiar it would become, how much more you'd notice about it.

Spill it, reader. Do you look up?

Read More

on the west bank of buffalo creek

Trips and events clutter our calendar this month, leaving me breathless. And it will be a mix of rushing around like mad or sitting still whilst traveling, no internet access, no way to hack away at the to-do list. In the midst of this chaos, we made a round trip to Monti, Iowa on Friday.

Go ahead, try and find that on your map. The Garmin won't locate it. Neither will Google or Mapquest. It's literally an intersection in the middle of Iowa. The intersection of two country roads (off the beaten path) surrounded by miles of cornfields--as far as the eye can see. When you reach this particular intersection in Iowa, you'll see five houses, a small Catholic church with a graveyard and a town hall. That's it.

But Monti, Iowa is where my sister-in-law's father was born, lived and died. I found that rather amazing, to be born and die in the same spot--especially one as obscure and underpopulated as Monti, but there you go. J's dad was a kindhearted, fun-loving and generous Irish farmer. Lest you think this description of his life sounds a bit boring, I'll add that he was a well-traveled (to Europe over 10 times) and drove a Jaguar convertible. He had water fights with his grandchildren and brewed his own hard cider (which nearly gave me a contact buzz when I held a glass of it to my nose one Christmas). Many people will remember him fondly for a very, very long time.

We attended his funeral mass in that tiny Catholic church and walked behind the church to attend his burial. His grave is on a grassy knoll where you can see his farm--acres of corn and his house. In a world where everything is about moving and doing and going places and getting far, I found myself reflecting on how one man lived one life in one very quiet place from start to finish. That didn't make his life less valuable or meaningful. If anything, it gave me pause and I wished I could know that stillness and peace of knowing so well and staying so long in one spot.

***

Congratulations to Shelly over at Surviving Munchkin Land! She won the box of Ink Obsession Designs note cards. Sharpen your pencil, Shelly, and start spreading goodwill via mailboxes!

Read More

magi-cal christmas

In Matthew chapter 2 we can read the only account of a visit to the Christ child by magi--Wise Men from the East who were drawn across mountains and valleys by the appearance of a strange star.

I've always been fascinated by this aspect of the Christmas story--for the record, there were 3 recorded gifts, but no mention of how many wise men visited Jesus. They didn't appear at the stable with the shepherds, they showed up later on and found Jesus and Mary living in a house in Bethlehem. Bethlehem was a shabby outpost town, mostly populated by shepherds and soldiers. We don't know where the wise men came from, other than "from the East"--scholars have speculated everywhere from Persia to China and lands in between.

I got to play a Wise Man once in a Christmas play. It was one of those shadow productions where you posed behind a giant sheet with a floodlight illuminating the scene against Christmas songs sung by a choir. In this case, the song was We Three Kings of Orient Are and I knelt on a wooden platform spanning the baptismal tank, dressed in my father's bathrobe (bought expressly for use in Christmas programs) with a crown on my head and a gift box held aloft in my hands. On either side were my sidekick kings, Ben Huggins (who I secretly crushed on) and some other boy I don't recall.

Grown up now, I consider those kings--magi. Magi were learned men, wise men. Scholars from a foreign land who studied the night skies for signs and prophecies. Whatever drew them to Bethlehem was something unusual and fabulous to spur them on such a journey. They traveled 500 miles (or more) on camel, across rugged terrain and through regions full of political upheaval. They recognized the importance of that sign in the sky and followed it to the source. They agreed that the star (a comet? convergence of planets?) was an opportunity they shouldn't miss and took the journey at great personal risk and expense to see firsthand what the star meant. They didn't have anyone's confirmation--"Hey, Abdul, did you happen by Jerusalem in the past year to see this baby king? What was it like? Was it worth the trip?" No, these men were pioneer scholars, going into the unknown. They knew there was a chance they'd make the trip for nothing.

They didn't take their journey without some preparation. They read ancient texts and put together the history. They studied writings in other languages than their native tongue, pieced together prophecies fulfilled and still promised, they researched and took notes. They concluded, before their journey began, that the star in the sky pointed to the birthplace of the king of the Jews.

In Matthew 2:2 they arrive at Herod's palace in Jerusalem--near enough to where Jesus lay blowing spit bubbles and examining his fluttering hands above his face in Bethlehem. The wise men assumed (not incorrectly) that the birth of a mighty king must take place in the political and religious center of Jewish life--Jerusalem. They assumed the current leader knew something about it.

I figure the magi must have had some significance for King Herod to grant them an audience. Wealth? Reputation? Political alliance? Whatever the draw, they got to the throne room and explained their presence: "Where is the child...born to be king of the Jews? When we were in the East we saw the star. Now we have come to worship him."

They knew. Look at those words. These guys were convinced because of the star, their research, the way it all added up. This baby was important. They came from far away to worship a future king. A baby swaddled in diapers was worth their honor and reverence--and gifts.

King Herod double-checked the magis' story with his own chief priests and scholars. Yep, a Jewish king was supposed to be born sometime in Bethlehem in Judea. He secretly cut a deal with the magi. "Find the child and report back."

The magi continued another 6 miles to Bethlehem. It says in Matthew that the star went ahead of them, finally stopped above the place where the child was. "When they saw the star, they were filled with joy." I wonder if anyone else noticed the star in the sky. They must have. What did they think it meant? Was it scary? Beautiful?

Here is the moment, the culmination of their efforts. They stop their camels outside of a little house in a dusty po-dunk town. Inside this humble abode lies a great future king. The heavenly light above confirms this. They gather their gifts from leather saddle bags--or did they travel with an entourage of servants? I imagine they did. Out come treasures: gold, incense and myrrh--precious things.

At no point did the magi retrace their steps. They didn't look at the tiny house, shrug and say, "Well this was a wild goose chase. Let's get a bottle of wine before heading back home." They stepped inside through faith and saw Jesus and Mary. They bowed and worshipped and presented their gifts.

It amazes me how moved they were, these foreigners of a different faith. They never questioned Jesus's worth or value. They simply took the journey to see the fulfillment of a promise and fell to their knees in God's presence.

And, to their credit, they went immediately home, never returning to King Herod, the reigning king, who no doubt promised Good Things if they complied with his request. They didn't succumb to the temptation of a bath and feast and comfortable bed undoubtedly promised at the palace in Jerusalem. Without hesitation or debate they returned home.

I admire the magi for the leap of faith their journey took. I wonder if I'd recognize a sign from God the way they did. I heard once that we don't realize miracles these days because we aren't looking for them. The magi believed in the power of a baby in a crappy neighborhood over the power of a ruler in a palace. They believed in the unseen and unknown, took a trip through some of the (still!) most treacherous regions on the planet, and what they found filled them with joy. The Wise Men. Seeking truth. Seeking knowledge. Finding Christmas.

Read More

more zen moments

In college I took "Eastern Religious Studies," a real yawn of a course at 8:00 MWF--and believe me, on Friday I was barely propped up on my roommate's shoulder for the lectures. But I did learn that karma is the effects of a person's actions that determine his destiny in his next incarnation. In my faith, this same concept is called the "Reaping-Sowing Principle," but does not apply to the next incarnation--Western religions like their retribution and consequences paid more immediately. Or in the immortal song lyrics by Ratt, "What goes around, comes around."

Last night I'm in the Momvan running late for church, all 3 kids packed in and ready to roll. We get a third of the way there and I hear an awful flapping sound from beneath the driver's side--WTF? I pull over at the next parking lot and take a look. It's December, dark and chilly at 6:00. You all know the week we've endured here between D's car and the sewer pump. My patience for misfortune is running thinner than Kate Moss.

There, jammed into my rear driver's side tire, is a lanyard and keys. The lanyard is making the flapping sound as it slaps along the inside of the wheel well. I reach out and try to pry it out and am rewarded with the hiss of a slow leak where some sharp metal end has impaled my Michelin. I do the math in my head (if a Momvan is headed west at 45 mph at 6:00 p.m. with a slow leak and an oncoming train is heading east at 100 mph at 3:30...). The answer is to leave the lanyard and keys where they are, double back and stuff the kids in Mr. D's car and make a fresh attempt at the journey. If I stay the course (and really, what moron would do that?), I'll end up in the church parking lot at 8:30 with 3 boys, no cell phone and a really flat tire.

I swapped out the vehicles without further incident (other than knocking over all of the golf clubs on the side of the garage), and on the way to church think:
* If bad things happen in threes, this should totally count as our third and I should be good for a while.
* What kind of an idiot would leave their keys in the middle of the road like that?
* Wait a minute...that idiot now HAS NO KEYS and will be looking for them.
* I have a flat tire, the person who caused my flat tire is looking for keys they'll never find.
* That seems like justice served.

Read More

prophets--heavy stuff

It's kind of cool to predict the future. I've told my son, "If you don't stop throwing that toy on the driveway, it's going to break." I know what will happen, I tell others what will happen and then I sit back feeling superior when my predictions come true. I predicted the collapse of the housing market, the demise of the SUV with rising gas prices, the credit crunch and the war in Afghanistan. It wasn't rocket science, but it was easy enough to see where things were headed. Heck, back in 1995 I was telling my female students, "Looking for a research topic? Look up the Taliban. That's some seriously scary stuff going down in Afghanistan."

Sometimes I see what's coming and it is U-G-L-Y. "He'll cheat on her after they're married. Once a pig, always a pig." That's not the kind of prediction you share with lots of people because it's impolite and scandalous. I took enough flack spouting off about gas prices and the irresponsibility of driving SUVs through the suburbs to my sisters-in-law a few years back when one was driving an Expedition and the other was driving an Escalade and considering buying a Hummer. But my predictions on economics and environmental issues are not necessarily a personal attack like my predictions about a spouse's predilection for extramarital sex.

But I'm no prophet, per se, and I'm glad I'm not. In my slog through the Old Testament, I'm into the prophets and man, their job sucked. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel--ordered by God to tell their friends, family, neighbors and strangers alike that God would smite them but hard if they didn't clean up their act. And all the prophets were stuck between that rock/hard place: alienate everyone in the world with their angry ranting and strange behavior OR get God's smackdown.

I'm in the middle of the book of Jeremiah where he describes God's words as literally burning him up inside if he doesn't speak them. But he's a social pariah, beaten by the king, despised by all who know him. People probably saw him coming down the street and spat at him or turned the other way because someone so "off" is too painfully awkward to confront. I know I would've turned my shoulder on Jeremiah and muttered through my veil to my neighbor lady at the well, "That poor crazy man, someone should just lock him up so he stops bothering everybody."

The prophets have nothing but Bad News, condemnation and hellfire and damnation spouting from their lips. Nobody believes them, nobody likes them. Yet I imagine they all had days when they wanted to sugar coat God's message and just give somebody a hug and say, "It'll be okay. Your children will grow up safe and healthy and your vineyard will stand for generations." I'm sure they wanted to be accepted by their society, loved and respected.

But if they didn't speak, Israel didn't stand a chance. Someone had to be the voice of reason, of correction, of warning. I know that feeling. I tell my sons, "Don't mess around with that fire or you'll get burned." And when Mr. G comes screaming and crying into my arms fifteen minutes later with a scorching hot marshmallow burning into his bare shoulder, I don't feel self-righteous and proud, I don't think it serves him right. I feel bad that he didn't listen to me and now he's got to suffer. His pain strikes me in my heart, just as I suppose the pain of God's wrath executed on their own families and friends struck the prophets. Nobody thinks of the prophets as loving other people, but I bet they did. Beneath all their scruffy long beards and camel hair robes, they were human beings with the same needs and urges and temptations that the rest of us have.

Occasionally I read about modern day prophets--David Koresh, for example, and I view them with skepticism. Men (and women) who claim The End is Near! and walk around damning the infidels to hell make me think, "Poor misguided soul." Okay, I actually think, "Whack-job. Someone needs to commit them before they hurt sombody else." Generally it's pretty obvious when a person's prophesysing is self-serving. Still I wonder what if, in the midst of all the false prophets, I ignore what a real prophet is saying?

The Bible says we all have spiritual gifts--and one of them is the gift of prophecy. I am so thankful I don't have it. That's one thing I've discovered lately during my slog through the Old Testament. It's easy to admire Old Testament leaders, Moses, David, Josiah. It's tougher to admire the prophets, but their dedication is growing on me. Poor unappreciated sons of guns. I bet nobody sat around in exile after the Babylonians burned up their vineyard and carried off their children into slavery saying, "Dang. That Jeremiah, he was right on the money, wasn't he? Wonder where he's at now. I ought to thank him and give him a chance to gloat and say 'I told you so.'"

Read More