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Wednesday, December 24, 2008
PERFECT IMPERFECTION! Christmas Eve Meditation
By Rev. Cindy Bates
Scripture: John 1:1-5
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. 6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. 8 He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. 9 The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. 11 He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. 12 But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. 14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. 15 (John testified to him and cried out, "This was he of whom I said, "He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.' ")
This day we join with people all over the world in celebrating that God has sent Light into our darkness through the person of Jesus Christ and that Light cannot be overcome by any darkness. It is the most perfect of all Christmas gifts that comes to us in our most imperfect world.
A clergy friend of mine sent me an email the other day with a greeting that said, "Merry imperfect Christmas!" Part of the greeting was a tongue in cheek sentiment about how harried this season can be with the many extra activities and worship services and preparations there are in our congregations this time of year. And part of it was a reminder that Christmas, no matter how much we plan or prepare, is never perfect nor does it need to be. My friend's greeting was accompanied by this story entitled "An Imperfect Christmas" by Dave Meurer. It went like this...
With candles glowing softly in the living room, snowflakes floating quietly into our front yard, and the Bible opened to that familiar "shepherds abiding" passage in the Gospel of Luke, it was a picture perfect Christmas Eve until the coffee table erupted in flames. In keeping with my German heritage, our family has always opened a least one present on the night before Christmas. Somehow a piece of wrapping paper got too close to a candle. It did not merely ignite; it exploded. I blew at it, an effort that merely slid the remaining debris off the table and into another pile of paper on the floor. Instinctively, I began stomping on the paper in an effort to smother the flames. This is an effective way to stop a small fire, unless you happen to be wearing brand-new, furry lion's head slippers, which will immediately flame to life, like some kind of mythological beast roused from its thousand year slumber. In less time than it takes to sing "presents roasting on an open fire" our quiet holiday evening was transformed into a modern-day version of Dante's "Inferno", only stupider and less poetic. "Grab that thingy!" I yelled to son Mark, as I performed an impromptu version of "River Dance" (albeit with more smoke). "The hose?" he yelled back "The red thing that sprays stuff," I barked. But, my wife Dale had already grabbed the fire extinguisher and began blasting away. In a roar of white mist, the flames died out and the room was filled with gently falling ashes. We all stared quietly at the mess. My lion slippers sported melted whiskers, the coffee table bore scorch marks and the floor was covered with a white, powdery residue belched from the fire extinguisher. We opened the doors and windows to clear out the smoke and spent the evening cleaning up. I don't think we ever got back to the shepherds abiding peacefully in the fields. And I finally gave up on my quest for the "perfect" Christmas.
For many years, I had embarked on a futile attempt to achieve that elusive ideal---the romanticized holiday captured in cards, magazines, and thirty-second television commercials.
The ingredients seemed so simple: a warm fire glowing in the hearth, hot cider and cinnamon sticks brewing in the kitchen, the warm flicker of candles, the glow of the tree, and my family snuggled together on the sofa as we recounted the touching story of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus. But every year something went wrong. The hearth belched smoke back into the room, a drink got spilled, the nativity scene camel got broken, or one of the boys asked if he could play a video game right when the angels were about to bring in tidings of great joy!
As each year passed without me realizing my dream of a perfect Christmas, I became progressively more uptight, obsessive and ridiculous. "All. I want is one perfect holiday, just one." I complained to Dale. "Dave, it will never be perfect," she replied. "But can you just let it be good? Can you just enjoy what is, instead of what you think it should be?" It was irritating at the time, but she was right nevertheless. The "perfect" Christmas is a myth. After all, the first Christmas was hardly perfect. It was glorious and difficult, miraculous and earthy, sublime and sweaty, tender and harsh. Angel's songs were mixed with animals' smells. The hopes and fears of all the years were jumbled together as heaven invaded a stable.
Nothing has really changed since then. Christmas is still a mixed bag. Our hopes and fears still meet. There is the joy of the children and the aching heart of a surviving grandparent who will never again be with her beloved spouse at Christmastime. There is the uncle who will be a bore and the nephew who will be a delight. In the shallow materialism of the marketplace, hymns and carols will be played ad infinitum as background shopping music. And yet, in the solemnity of the Christmas church service, those hymns and carols will again move us to tears, to joy, to hope. Christmas may not be perfect. But it can be good.
It can be very good! I don't know about you, but every year I find myself having some pretty high expectations about this season. I want it to be a meaningful, sacred time of truly letting in the joy and the hope I believe Christmas is meant to bring. And then often, the realities of life seem to get in the way. Then I need some reminders that life is not predictable or perfect.
Some time the imperfections are funny, like the Christmas I remember when Mom was too busy preparing the house for company to go with Dad to get the Christmas tree so she sent him by himself, telling him whatever he picked out would be fine. That year we had three different Christmas trees, two were decorated then undecorated and finally the third one met Mom's approval. Dad never let her forget that Christmas of the three Christmas trees. And some of our imperfect Christmases are not funny at all, like the Christmas Eve that Dad went into the hospital, leaving our family home for the last time, because his cancer had gotten so bad that we could no longer care for him at home. He died a few days later. I would imagine that your Christmas stories are also a mixture of joy and sadness, comic reflection and painful recollection.
The imperfect parts of Christmas are the real stories of our lives. What Divine wisdom was at work when that first Christmas was also an imperfect story, a story that says life is unpredictable and can be full of confusion and fear and disappointment and it is into that imperfect life, into our lives, that God comes.
The Monday Noon Book Group is reading a book by Diane Ackerman called "The Zookeeper's Wife." It is a true, poignant story of the courage and triumph of the human spirit set against the backdrop of the terrors of the Holocaust. In an interview with the author, she was explaining the impetus for her writing and she said, “There is an underlying spirit to it, that has to do with being at a point in your life when you can accept all of the mischief and mayhem that the universe is going to throw at you and nonetheless feel a sense of praise. Not because you're in denial about all the harshness. The tough thing is to get to the point where you can accept it and still think it is grace to be born and live.”
One night, many years ago, I remember standing with a young friend, a member of the congregation I served. We were standing, staring through a window into a nursery where his newborn child lay. He said, “You know I always believed in God, but until tonight I didn't really get it.” And with tears streaming down his cheeks he said, “Tonight, I really get it.”
God wants us to get it. God does not ask us to deny the darkness, the harshness, the painful imperfections of our lives. Instead God comes to us, breaking into our human story with just the perfect gift.