I awake Christmas Eve morning agitated, anxious, jittery. The holiday weekend has begun; I have family and friends to look forward to, yet I am nervous out of habit. I feel punch-drunk from the brutal exchange of expectations from Christmases past, and trod dutifully back for another beating.
My pen and journal have helped calm my restless legs each morning this week, and again I reach for them to dig beneath the current of my racing thoughts. How did I come to be so would up around Christmas each year? What messages did I ingest to make the advent of the Prince of Peace so profoundly disquieting?
I remember the ramp-up: pressure around the tree and decorations; Christmas music required on-hand to ritually trigger desired memories and affect. And then there was Christmas morning, when we finally plumb the depths under the tree, desperate for the proper blend of presents and responses to our gifts so to pique our high; only to settle, spent, afterwards into an empty ennui of wondering what gift or experience we must have missed. The whole thing invested with so much performance that we might as well be seducing santa into our beds for a one-night stand.
What is it we are looking for under the tree? Didn't our parents promise us, in December especially but also throughout the year, that if we simply behaved, Santa would take note and reward us Christmas morning? And why would they need to promise this, except that their parenting skills fell short of making an imperfect world palatable to us and, instead of accepting this human flaw and sitting with us to show one can accept such pain in the moment, they displace it to a yearly reckoning wherein a bearded intruder settles the account with gifts.
The dynamics diverge for each family, from orgiastic cheer to unwrapped cartons of cigarettes; from semblances of the family unit, to parents fractured in relationship and psychology alike. There are always variations on a theme. But, almost uniformly, we trace our parents' footsteps in an annual pilgrimage back to the tree, to exchange gifts and hope it somehow fills the void. What we are looking for, boxed up under ornaments and lights, is the love our parents were unable to give.
When we obsess over choosing the perfect gift for our loved ones - with cost and thoughtfulness matched to what they mean to us - we are trying to assuage our guilt for what we have yet again failed to offer, in time or patience or care throughout the year. Contrast this to the gift God gave to us on the same holiday: nothing but his naked, vulnerable, dependent self.
The baby in the manger came with no frills, inside jokes, or utilitarian purpose. He came simply to be with us. He offered himself in purest form, with no adornments. How often do we think ourselves alone inadequate, our presence insufficient if we fall short in the number or value of gifts we put forth? Though we see in the wise men's frankincense and myrrh that a gift of simple presence may inspire an appreciative response that has material aspects, these cannot substitute for the real thing. Both the bible and our own hearts remind of us this, every Christmas morning.
The revolutionary statement Christ made in his first simple moments on Earth applies not just to Christmas, but all year round; at every moment we can stop and be with each other, with our children, remembering that Emmanuel means God With Us. Every day we are threatened with openings to intimacy, with the possibility of eye contact, of showing something true on our face. But not often enough do we accept God's first gift to us - the gift of coming alongside us, being ready for us without an agenda, of affirming we are enough, just as we are. This is the gift that can settle us down. That can end the ache of unrequited love that is chased throughout generations. This is the gift we have been looking for from our parents all along.
Each Christmas, we gather in the dead of winter, starved of presence, craving presents. This Christmas, let us follow God, and simply give ourselves.
Merry Christmas everybody. Please be introduced to this wonderful and a propos track from my friends at Church of the Beloved:
"our gift is not what we can do but who we are."
http://belovedschurch.org/hope/given.php
Showing posts with label homily. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homily. Show all posts
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Resurrection/Insurrection
When I woke up this morning, my eyelids rose like the sun,
but Six hours late; the day had begun,
Ran the globe like a Gerbil to keep up with the sun,
So afraid of the dark I'd become.
I looked out on amber waves of grain that had kept my eyes warm,
and realized an enemy had been born.
Where did all this fear come from - I thought I was safe?
at least since Jesus erased my mistakes - My mistake...
Past sins may be covered but future ones remain, with the pain,
That's how God wants us playing this Game...
It's the tension we don't like to mention...
You'll find me huddled in the corner, a mourner,
peering out where the shadows can't find my eyes; I realize
that Rise is a place where we pitch our tents,
but with stakes that are writhing and driving and Bent --
Don't lament -- and yet...
We all play a part in making prophets' dreams come true--
So don't give a hoot: Pitch in, and pollute,
Cause we're sinners, with innards twisted hiding the truth:
With every layer of hurt comes a layer of guilt, settling down like silt,
It's how we're built.
And if Jesus wants to hang there on the cross to forgive us, fine,
But it we'd let him live, he's just be one of us...
He couldn't have gotten up there without us...
Someone had to sin, for Jesus it's an easy roll of the dice --
But we all blame Judas without thinking twice.
I'm Judas, I'm caught in God's catch-22
I'm going to do God's will then Get crucified too
He's a Jew, and they've been taking the fall, for us all,
From hitler, all the way back to Peter and Paul
But wait -- Weren't they Jew's too?
What hope do we have / if Anti-Semitism goes so far back? When the
Jews had to join us, they lost their counter attack.
no more whining, they inherited our hate, and self-hate was born
And centuries on centuries of internalized fathers we'd never be good enough for.
Think you can grow up and escape from the parents inside?
But there's nowhere to hide - there's nowhere to hide...
So we stuff it all down and then turn it to pride...
Not the Bride of Christ but the Bride of Godzilla:
Welcome to America, how can we Kill ya?
No wonder Judas hung himself from the nearest tree;
He wanted to die in time to get Out of Jail free
When Christ busted Gates open, he went along for the ride --
He knew God's plan, and the hell left behind
on Earth... It's Earth Day, and Shakespeare's Birthday
Was it worth it? What do you say? / To play the part
of birthing art through destruction - that's our function -
whether Christian or not - to heap starbucks cups into landfills cum methane fields and drive the wheels for oil spills to all become a lake of FIRE -
Our job is to destroy the planet... so God can finally Damn it.
(Ahem)
M: As we crucify the land and the Sea, we're only
Fulfilling prophecy. What more do you want from me, G?
G: Maybe some pain in your heart for what you're tearing apart.
Worst thing you could do is think you're home free --
You keep forgetting it all depends on ME.
M: But Lord, its Manifest Destiny. We're staking our claim
with our flags and our drills - Aren't you thrilled? We're finally
Getting this thing under control -- and once our drugs defeat death,
We won't need you at all!
G: The stakes in the land are the spikes in my hands -
And the spear in my side's spilling Carbon Dioxide.
M: We'll stick a spear in the permafrost and then light a match - and to the cattle grazing.
We're taking our stand -- Keg stand, that is -- we're gettin you and this planet DRUNK.
And see if you'll survive the hazing.
G: All the sour wine in Cana won't settle your stomachs.
Your acid reflux can't be cured with drugs -
Cause each night it is _I_ who drip in your cups.
...
John said, "whoever sinneth, hath not seen..." But didn't I see him last week?
When I was at my peak? didn't I hear him speak?
But then I sinned again -- so maybe I was just walking with a ghost --
I didn't touch his hands, too caught up in my plans --
Maybe all along my faith has been built on sand...
The only way to enter in is through SIN - THAT brings me down again.
And remember it is hands with holes that hold me - that's why I keep slipping through...
When I start seeming perfect I think I'm Jesus too. So sue me -
Sin needs to be written on my face to help me remember my place.
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Gospel writers had Judas,
The Nazis had Jews,
Its always better to find someone else to accuse
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Hey Jude, your blood-stained clothes couldn't be any wetter;
Take this sad song from me and make it better
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
EasierToHang a Christ from the Cross
than admit he's the Boss;
(until we taste the albatross)
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Now unemployment's Rising, same time as our Lord;
Better let someone else die by the sword
Impale him, let KVI string them from Cords,
Cause the Lords we choose in the end will be Hitler - or Sarah Palin.
So does that mean we're off the hook?
Does american passtime bible-thumping mean we take a bat to the book?
Can we finally look at what we've done -- knowing now that God has won?
Or do we savor the flavor of being saved --
No longer a slave to sin, Now again we want slaves...
No reel me in, feel me Jesus, reveal us / even if its
against free will to seal us. You can't save us from sin -
In fact you need it to win - Cause then we need you,
and that's where we begin.
If you DON'T want to hang yourself regularly, something is definitely wrong -
So touch your friend's hand while you have them along.
And share a piece of your fish, for that hole in their side.
Decorating a Cross? That's just how we share in the ride.
but Six hours late; the day had begun,
Ran the globe like a Gerbil to keep up with the sun,
So afraid of the dark I'd become.
I looked out on amber waves of grain that had kept my eyes warm,
and realized an enemy had been born.
Where did all this fear come from - I thought I was safe?
at least since Jesus erased my mistakes - My mistake...
Past sins may be covered but future ones remain, with the pain,
That's how God wants us playing this Game...
It's the tension we don't like to mention...
You'll find me huddled in the corner, a mourner,
peering out where the shadows can't find my eyes; I realize
that Rise is a place where we pitch our tents,
but with stakes that are writhing and driving and Bent --
Don't lament -- and yet...
We all play a part in making prophets' dreams come true--
So don't give a hoot: Pitch in, and pollute,
Cause we're sinners, with innards twisted hiding the truth:
With every layer of hurt comes a layer of guilt, settling down like silt,
It's how we're built.
And if Jesus wants to hang there on the cross to forgive us, fine,
But it we'd let him live, he's just be one of us...
He couldn't have gotten up there without us...
Someone had to sin, for Jesus it's an easy roll of the dice --
But we all blame Judas without thinking twice.
I'm Judas, I'm caught in God's catch-22
I'm going to do God's will then Get crucified too
He's a Jew, and they've been taking the fall, for us all,
From hitler, all the way back to Peter and Paul
But wait -- Weren't they Jew's too?
What hope do we have / if Anti-Semitism goes so far back? When the
Jews had to join us, they lost their counter attack.
no more whining, they inherited our hate, and self-hate was born
And centuries on centuries of internalized fathers we'd never be good enough for.
Think you can grow up and escape from the parents inside?
But there's nowhere to hide - there's nowhere to hide...
So we stuff it all down and then turn it to pride...
Not the Bride of Christ but the Bride of Godzilla:
Welcome to America, how can we Kill ya?
No wonder Judas hung himself from the nearest tree;
He wanted to die in time to get Out of Jail free
When Christ busted Gates open, he went along for the ride --
He knew God's plan, and the hell left behind
on Earth... It's Earth Day, and Shakespeare's Birthday
Was it worth it? What do you say? / To play the part
of birthing art through destruction - that's our function -
whether Christian or not - to heap starbucks cups into landfills cum methane fields and drive the wheels for oil spills to all become a lake of FIRE -
Our job is to destroy the planet... so God can finally Damn it.
(Ahem)
M: As we crucify the land and the Sea, we're only
Fulfilling prophecy. What more do you want from me, G?
G: Maybe some pain in your heart for what you're tearing apart.
Worst thing you could do is think you're home free --
You keep forgetting it all depends on ME.
M: But Lord, its Manifest Destiny. We're staking our claim
with our flags and our drills - Aren't you thrilled? We're finally
Getting this thing under control -- and once our drugs defeat death,
We won't need you at all!
G: The stakes in the land are the spikes in my hands -
And the spear in my side's spilling Carbon Dioxide.
M: We'll stick a spear in the permafrost and then light a match - and to the cattle grazing.
We're taking our stand -- Keg stand, that is -- we're gettin you and this planet DRUNK.
And see if you'll survive the hazing.
G: All the sour wine in Cana won't settle your stomachs.
Your acid reflux can't be cured with drugs -
Cause each night it is _I_ who drip in your cups.
...
John said, "whoever sinneth, hath not seen..." But didn't I see him last week?
When I was at my peak? didn't I hear him speak?
But then I sinned again -- so maybe I was just walking with a ghost --
I didn't touch his hands, too caught up in my plans --
Maybe all along my faith has been built on sand...
The only way to enter in is through SIN - THAT brings me down again.
And remember it is hands with holes that hold me - that's why I keep slipping through...
When I start seeming perfect I think I'm Jesus too. So sue me -
Sin needs to be written on my face to help me remember my place.
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Gospel writers had Judas,
The Nazis had Jews,
Its always better to find someone else to accuse
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Hey Jude, your blood-stained clothes couldn't be any wetter;
Take this sad song from me and make it better
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
EasierToHang a Christ from the Cross
than admit he's the Boss;
(until we taste the albatross)
Fill the wounds with salt, say it wasn't our fault
Now unemployment's Rising, same time as our Lord;
Better let someone else die by the sword
Impale him, let KVI string them from Cords,
Cause the Lords we choose in the end will be Hitler - or Sarah Palin.
So does that mean we're off the hook?
Does american passtime bible-thumping mean we take a bat to the book?
Can we finally look at what we've done -- knowing now that God has won?
Or do we savor the flavor of being saved --
No longer a slave to sin, Now again we want slaves...
No reel me in, feel me Jesus, reveal us / even if its
against free will to seal us. You can't save us from sin -
In fact you need it to win - Cause then we need you,
and that's where we begin.
If you DON'T want to hang yourself regularly, something is definitely wrong -
So touch your friend's hand while you have them along.
And share a piece of your fish, for that hole in their side.
Decorating a Cross? That's just how we share in the ride.
written for Easter II / COTA Earth Day Reverb 4/25/09
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