It's Christmas Eve and I'm sitting in Mum and Dad's kitchen with a decent cup of coffee having just polished off a Bailey's and read my proper Advent study book. I drove down this morning (before the forecast heavy traffic) and spent the afternoon peeling carrots, making stuffing, catching up with my parents, playing with my niece (my nephew had far more important things to do). It's been a nice, stress-free start to Christmas proper.
So I thought I should just collect my Christmas thoughts, partly because being away from home means less easy access to a computer and therefore less blogging over the next week or so, and partly because I anticipate that the next few days will be a mass of activity and people and then the inextricable slide towards New Year and before we know it it'll be January and Advent will be a dim and distant memory.
I think that all-in-all the time for reflection that I'd hoped for has been a reality. This has definitely been the least manic build-up to Christmas I've experienced for years and that's felt really healthy and positive. I've appreciated being a punter at church but with the option of making the occasional contribution. It's been great to arrive at my parents with my health and sanity intact.
I'm not sure that I've had any major new revelations about God and the significance of Christmas, but that's OK. That said, I loved watching The Nativity this week. I thought the delicate balance of the human and the spiritual, the profound and the mundane were incredibly moving. I was impressed that the characters and their stories were engaging without being over-simplistic, and that many of the key underlying elements of the Biblical narrative were present without being signposted from three miles away. I'm glad they didn't bother with a CGI heavenly host - let's be honest, that could only ever have ended badly. I'm glad I recorded it because I know that I need to watch it again, to find the hidden things I missed this time and to prompt myself to think more deeply about the things that weren't quite as I imagined.
I have two questions about it though. The first is whether it was actually watched by anyone who isn't already either a card-carrying Christian or at least a regular churchgoer. If so, I'd love to know what they thought. The second is whether the BBC will have the guts to commission Tony Jordan to do the same with Easter as a four-parter over Maundy Thursday to Easter Sunday.
So it's Christmas and I'm about to sign off until 2011. But just a heads up on a couple of New Year's Resolutions I'm seriously considering. The first is to read the Bible in a year. The second is to go through the whole of January (and maybe beyond...) without shopping in a Big Four supermarket, using little independent shops as much as possible. Who's with me?
Friday, December 24, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Preparing for Christmas
Today I've been doing Christmas prep stuff. It's been nice. I started the day with a little shopping trip to buy a massive ham for Boxing Day, and marzipan and icing for the Christmas cake. Then it was back home to do some tidying up followed by hanging out for a bit with my sister, nephew and niece which is always a lot of fun. Then I put the marzipan on the cake and the ham in a pan of water to soak (I don't really understand why - I'm just following orders) and cracked on with some present wrapping.
But amongst all that I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that while all that was lovely and a great way to get ready for some quality time for family and friends, it didn't really have much to do with actual Christmas, a feeling that was confirmed to some extent by watching the first episode of The Nativity tonight.
Now I think there's huge value, in a world of family breakdown and the fragmentation of society, to set aside time when we're actively encouraged to take time out and invest in relationships and I totally get that in many ways it's precisely those things that ultimately reflect the whole point of God sending Jesus as a baby in the first place.
So why are Christians so bad at making the two add up? How can we embrace all that's good about the relational, creative, beautiful elements of Christmas and harness them to point people to the source of those relationships?
But amongst all that I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that while all that was lovely and a great way to get ready for some quality time for family and friends, it didn't really have much to do with actual Christmas, a feeling that was confirmed to some extent by watching the first episode of The Nativity tonight.
Now I think there's huge value, in a world of family breakdown and the fragmentation of society, to set aside time when we're actively encouraged to take time out and invest in relationships and I totally get that in many ways it's precisely those things that ultimately reflect the whole point of God sending Jesus as a baby in the first place.
So why are Christians so bad at making the two add up? How can we embrace all that's good about the relational, creative, beautiful elements of Christmas and harness them to point people to the source of those relationships?
Sunday, December 19, 2010
A shepherd's eye view
Close your eyes. Picture the sky. Look closely at the stars. The harder you look, the more focused you will be and the clearer the stars will appear. As you look, imagine that it’s not 2010 but 4BC. You’re not living in a Western democracy but under the oppression of the Roman Empire. You’re a shepherd, despised, on the fringes of society. You’re often alone in this wild, untamed landscape. You can go for days without seeing another person. Yours is a dangerous occupation. Sheep are easy targets for the wolves, bears and even lions known to roam this hostile terrain. Tonight is just another night for you.
But there are other shepherds here tonight. Between you, you’ve built and lit a fire. It goes someway to combating the biting cold which creeps over the hills after the relentless heat of the day. It also warns off the wild animals and gives you the opportunity for a well-earned rest. You look at the stars, spread out like jewels in the velvety blackness of the sky.
You become aware that one of the stars seems to be moving, not like the shooting stars which light up the sky with their brilliance, but getting bigger and moving closer. As you watch, there is an explosion of light, and a sound, a beautiful sound fills the hillside. As your eyes adjust to the light, and the first swell of terror begins to subside, you can begin to make out figures in the light. You see faces, beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. These are men, but unlike any you’ve ever seen before. They are huge, dressed like royalty, far more intimidating than any Roman soldier you’ve had the misfortune to encounter. And then a voice:
You realise that the creature staring you down must be an angel, a heavenly messenger. He looks you straight in the eye.
As he continues, you get the unnerving sense that his eyes are tunnelling into your heart.
The Christ? The Messiah? Hang on though, the angel hasn’t finished.
And then the sky errupts. This angelic spokesman is caught up in the ultimate Hallelujah Chorus as he’s joined by countless other heavenly beings, praising God and celebrating the birth of this baby who will change the world.
And then as quickly as they arrived, they disappear.
You look around, convinced that it’s all been some weird hallucination. But, no. The other shepherds, quietly minding their own business not five minutes before, are on their feet. The air is electric with excitement. Everyone’s buzzing, desperate to see this amazing baby for themselves. You start running. You’ve all but forgotten the sheep – they’re so unimportant now.
It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve no idea where this baby is. The only clue you’ve got is that he’s in a feeding box. So you ignore the plush hotels, full of businessmen in town for the census. You make your way gradually to the outskirts of the town. And then you get this odd sense that you might be nearly there. This is the run down area and the only building is a pub with a dark alleyway which leads to a courtyard.
You enter the courtyard, and by the light of a flickering candle, you make out figures in the dark of the stable. As a shepherd you’re no stranger to the smell of animals but as you enter the building you’re aware that somehow this is all wrong – the Messiah, the Saviour of the world being born in a stable.
A man looks up, startled, as you enter. You’re slightly embarrassed – you still don’t really know why you’re there at all. And yet, as you explain your encounter with the angels, a tired, wry smile crosses his face, a look which suggests this is nothing unusual.
He beckons you into a corner where a young, exhausted woman sleeps – she can’t be more than 16 or 17, maybe younger. She is totally unaware of your presence. Across her chest, lies a tiny baby, no more than a few hours old. You’ve seen babies before but this is different. It’s not a physical difference – this baby is as fragile, defenceless and vulnerable as any other, and yet as you look you feel a catch in your throat and an odd sensation in your stomach.
Quietly you ask the baby’s name. Jesus. There’s nothing unusual in that – it’s a common enough name in this area. And then you remember what it means. Saviour. And then any lingering doubts you had about the identity of this child vanish. This is the Messiah, the Christ, the saviour that you, as a Jew, have been waiting for for centuries.
And the only response is to tell as many people as you can. You and the shepherds with you sprint from the stable. You knock the doors of every house you pass, you tell every person you meet in the street.
By the time you’ve finished, the town is in an uproar. And then you remember the sheep. You make your way back to the field, your head full of everything you’ve seen. The fire is still burning dimly and as your eyes adjust to the light you see that all your flock appear to be together. You lay on the ground by the fire and look at the stars, spread out like jewels in the velvety blackness of the sky. And as normality creeps back in, you realise that nothing will ever be the same again.
BASED ON Luke 2:8-16
But there are other shepherds here tonight. Between you, you’ve built and lit a fire. It goes someway to combating the biting cold which creeps over the hills after the relentless heat of the day. It also warns off the wild animals and gives you the opportunity for a well-earned rest. You look at the stars, spread out like jewels in the velvety blackness of the sky.
You become aware that one of the stars seems to be moving, not like the shooting stars which light up the sky with their brilliance, but getting bigger and moving closer. As you watch, there is an explosion of light, and a sound, a beautiful sound fills the hillside. As your eyes adjust to the light, and the first swell of terror begins to subside, you can begin to make out figures in the light. You see faces, beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. These are men, but unlike any you’ve ever seen before. They are huge, dressed like royalty, far more intimidating than any Roman soldier you’ve had the misfortune to encounter. And then a voice:
“Don’t be afraid.”
You realise that the creature staring you down must be an angel, a heavenly messenger. He looks you straight in the eye.
“I’m bringing you news that will bring great joy to everyone.”
As he continues, you get the unnerving sense that his eyes are tunnelling into your heart.
“Today your Saviour was born in the town of David, Bethlehem. He’s the Christ, the Messiah, the one you’ve been waiting for.”
The Christ? The Messiah? Hang on though, the angel hasn’t finished.
“This is how you’ll know who he is. You’ll find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in an animal’s feeding box.”
And then the sky errupts. This angelic spokesman is caught up in the ultimate Hallelujah Chorus as he’s joined by countless other heavenly beings, praising God and celebrating the birth of this baby who will change the world.
And then as quickly as they arrived, they disappear.
You look around, convinced that it’s all been some weird hallucination. But, no. The other shepherds, quietly minding their own business not five minutes before, are on their feet. The air is electric with excitement. Everyone’s buzzing, desperate to see this amazing baby for themselves. You start running. You’ve all but forgotten the sheep – they’re so unimportant now.
It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve no idea where this baby is. The only clue you’ve got is that he’s in a feeding box. So you ignore the plush hotels, full of businessmen in town for the census. You make your way gradually to the outskirts of the town. And then you get this odd sense that you might be nearly there. This is the run down area and the only building is a pub with a dark alleyway which leads to a courtyard.
You enter the courtyard, and by the light of a flickering candle, you make out figures in the dark of the stable. As a shepherd you’re no stranger to the smell of animals but as you enter the building you’re aware that somehow this is all wrong – the Messiah, the Saviour of the world being born in a stable.
A man looks up, startled, as you enter. You’re slightly embarrassed – you still don’t really know why you’re there at all. And yet, as you explain your encounter with the angels, a tired, wry smile crosses his face, a look which suggests this is nothing unusual.
He beckons you into a corner where a young, exhausted woman sleeps – she can’t be more than 16 or 17, maybe younger. She is totally unaware of your presence. Across her chest, lies a tiny baby, no more than a few hours old. You’ve seen babies before but this is different. It’s not a physical difference – this baby is as fragile, defenceless and vulnerable as any other, and yet as you look you feel a catch in your throat and an odd sensation in your stomach.
Quietly you ask the baby’s name. Jesus. There’s nothing unusual in that – it’s a common enough name in this area. And then you remember what it means. Saviour. And then any lingering doubts you had about the identity of this child vanish. This is the Messiah, the Christ, the saviour that you, as a Jew, have been waiting for for centuries.
And the only response is to tell as many people as you can. You and the shepherds with you sprint from the stable. You knock the doors of every house you pass, you tell every person you meet in the street.
"He’s come, he’s here. The Messiah, he’s here.”
By the time you’ve finished, the town is in an uproar. And then you remember the sheep. You make your way back to the field, your head full of everything you’ve seen. The fire is still burning dimly and as your eyes adjust to the light you see that all your flock appear to be together. You lay on the ground by the fire and look at the stars, spread out like jewels in the velvety blackness of the sky. And as normality creeps back in, you realise that nothing will ever be the same again.
BASED ON Luke 2:8-16
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Unfolding the mystery of love
A short quote from St Ambrose from yesterday's "grown-up" Advent study on Mary's visit to Elizabeth...
Elizabeth is the first to hear Mary’s voice, but John is the first to be aware of grace. She hears with the ears of the body, but he leaps for joy at the meaning of the mystery. She is aware of Mary’s presence, but he is aware of the Lord’s: a woman aware of a woman’s presence, the forerunner aware of the pledge of our salvation. The women speak of the grace they have received while the children are active in secret, unfolding the mystery of love with the help of their mothers, who prophesy by the spirit of their sons.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
All things work for good...
If, on 30 January, you'd have asked me to describe Christians to you, I'd probably have told you they were deceitful, unreliable and spineless. If you'd then been foolish enough to ask me what I thought of the Church, you'd have heard words like "dangerous", "deeply unprofessional" and "out of touch". That's because on 29 January I lost the job I'd started the previous May, for which I'd relocated from London to Leicestershire. And why had I moved? Because my position at the church where I'd been employed for five years had been made untenable under a new leader.
I genuinely don't want to dwell on those experiences here because the intervening eleven months have been so significant. If you asked me those questions about Christians and church today, you'd get cautiously optimistic replies which touch on things like community, relationships, healing and safety.
I owe the fact that I'm still sane to some extraordinary people. To my family who have done nothing but love me in extravagant ways which I'll never be able to repay. To Alison, who cried when I couldn't. To the countless friends who offered me company, alcohol and chocolate when I needed it most. To my new church family who have just let me "be". To my new colleagues who have gone the extra mile to demonstrate that many in church leadership exude vision and compassion, and that the Church isn't dead, it just falls asleep and has nightmares every once in a while. And all the countless others who've dropped a little bit of grace into my life this year.
I know it's a cliche, but the truth is that underpinning all of this is God, who has worked little miracle after little miracle.
Yes, the damage has been done and there are still people I wish never to encounter again, and places I still can't go, and moving on from that will be a long, tough journey. But I'm feeling more optimistic than I have for a while.
I genuinely don't want to dwell on those experiences here because the intervening eleven months have been so significant. If you asked me those questions about Christians and church today, you'd get cautiously optimistic replies which touch on things like community, relationships, healing and safety.
I owe the fact that I'm still sane to some extraordinary people. To my family who have done nothing but love me in extravagant ways which I'll never be able to repay. To Alison, who cried when I couldn't. To the countless friends who offered me company, alcohol and chocolate when I needed it most. To my new church family who have just let me "be". To my new colleagues who have gone the extra mile to demonstrate that many in church leadership exude vision and compassion, and that the Church isn't dead, it just falls asleep and has nightmares every once in a while. And all the countless others who've dropped a little bit of grace into my life this year.
I know it's a cliche, but the truth is that underpinning all of this is God, who has worked little miracle after little miracle.
Yes, the damage has been done and there are still people I wish never to encounter again, and places I still can't go, and moving on from that will be a long, tough journey. But I'm feeling more optimistic than I have for a while.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Christmas Nativity
This morning I had a timely reminder of the fundamental difference between being child-like and being child-ish.
After a couple of years in which I had some fairly significant issues with church (it's a long story, for those who aren't already in the know), I've been starting to put down a few roots in a tiny Baptist chapel in Leicestershire. On a lot of levels it's everything I thought I didn't want from church - too many hymns, at least thirty years out of date (probably closer to fifty), pews etc. Then I realised that actually what I needed included things like genuine community and the opportunity to "do" church regularly with other members of my family (my sister, niece and nephew, in this instance). And it seems to be working out, which is gratifying.
However.
For the last couple of weeks I've witnessed the age-old uphill struggle which is the Christmas nativity practise. Anyone who's ever helped in a Sunday school knows the drill - you spend the first three weeks of December forcing children to read either a) large chunks of the Bible which contain words they don't understand (like "virgin", for example) or b) a really poor script of the Christmas story from the point of view of the animals in the stable. At some point in this process you start shoe-horning said children into "costumes", comprised variously of dressing gowns and tea towels, net curtains and tinsel and the obligatory blue tabbard and white pillow case. Into the mix you then chuck a selection of either a) carols which contain words they don't understand (like "virgin", for example) or b) some really poor songs written from the point of view of the animals in the stable. Then, when everyone's reached the end of their tether you either a) "perform" in front of a church congregation who've seen it all before or b) "perform" in front of a group of old people in a nursing home who are supposed to be blessed by the experience, with you having invariably had to make last minute substitutions for at least three of your key cast members who have forgotten to come to church that week (or whose parents have wisely decided to take them Christmas shopping instead).
I think this is a travesty on a number of levels. The first is that it actually doesn't take a huge amount of thought to achieve the same ends in a way which makes the whole thing far less stressful for Sunday school teachers (and children). In the last couple of years before I left London we generally adopted the approach of simply reading the Christmas story either from the Bible or from a script (generally not from the perspective of the animals in the stable), and then inviting children to come out of the congregation, put on a costume and join a nativity tableau at the front as the story progresses. It's not the perfect solution, but it massively cuts down on rehearsal.
But I think more importantly, by writing off December as "practise for the nativity", we lose a vital opportunity to unpack the Christmas story, one of the fundamental building blocks of Christian faith. It's no wonder even church-going kids struggle to separate Christmas fact from Christmas fiction. And when we compound the issue by telling the story either in words that children don't understand, or that imply that a fictionalised version is the truth, we do both ourselves and our children a huge disservice.
Rant over.
After a couple of years in which I had some fairly significant issues with church (it's a long story, for those who aren't already in the know), I've been starting to put down a few roots in a tiny Baptist chapel in Leicestershire. On a lot of levels it's everything I thought I didn't want from church - too many hymns, at least thirty years out of date (probably closer to fifty), pews etc. Then I realised that actually what I needed included things like genuine community and the opportunity to "do" church regularly with other members of my family (my sister, niece and nephew, in this instance). And it seems to be working out, which is gratifying.
However.
For the last couple of weeks I've witnessed the age-old uphill struggle which is the Christmas nativity practise. Anyone who's ever helped in a Sunday school knows the drill - you spend the first three weeks of December forcing children to read either a) large chunks of the Bible which contain words they don't understand (like "virgin", for example) or b) a really poor script of the Christmas story from the point of view of the animals in the stable. At some point in this process you start shoe-horning said children into "costumes", comprised variously of dressing gowns and tea towels, net curtains and tinsel and the obligatory blue tabbard and white pillow case. Into the mix you then chuck a selection of either a) carols which contain words they don't understand (like "virgin", for example) or b) some really poor songs written from the point of view of the animals in the stable. Then, when everyone's reached the end of their tether you either a) "perform" in front of a church congregation who've seen it all before or b) "perform" in front of a group of old people in a nursing home who are supposed to be blessed by the experience, with you having invariably had to make last minute substitutions for at least three of your key cast members who have forgotten to come to church that week (or whose parents have wisely decided to take them Christmas shopping instead).
I think this is a travesty on a number of levels. The first is that it actually doesn't take a huge amount of thought to achieve the same ends in a way which makes the whole thing far less stressful for Sunday school teachers (and children). In the last couple of years before I left London we generally adopted the approach of simply reading the Christmas story either from the Bible or from a script (generally not from the perspective of the animals in the stable), and then inviting children to come out of the congregation, put on a costume and join a nativity tableau at the front as the story progresses. It's not the perfect solution, but it massively cuts down on rehearsal.
But I think more importantly, by writing off December as "practise for the nativity", we lose a vital opportunity to unpack the Christmas story, one of the fundamental building blocks of Christian faith. It's no wonder even church-going kids struggle to separate Christmas fact from Christmas fiction. And when we compound the issue by telling the story either in words that children don't understand, or that imply that a fictionalised version is the truth, we do both ourselves and our children a huge disservice.
Rant over.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Rights or responsibilities?
Today I've been thinking quite a lot about yesterday's tuition fees debacle - both the policy itself and the riots. I've realised I feel quite strongly about the issue of further and higher education, and maybe I'll share some of my thoughts another day. But I've also realised that there's an Advent theme running through the events of yesterday.
I think it's on days like yesterday that we see the utter inadequacy of human systems of government, and even our "enlightened" commitment to the rights of the individual seem at best naive and at worst dangerous. So when I read in Isaiah of the birth of a child who will govern with wisdom and whose reign will establish justice and righteousness, I start to feel a little more hopeful.
But we live in the "now and not yet". We know what the world should be like whilst being acutely aware that the reality is very different. Maybe in this inbetween time we should be taking a good look at ourselves and choosing to focus not on our human rights - to protest, to an education, to participate in the political system - but on our spiritual responsibilities - to act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with God.
Isaiah 9:2-7
Micah 6:8
Thursday, December 09, 2010
I haven't been able to invest any real time and thought into an Advent reflection today, but having blogged everyday since December 2 I'd be really cross with myself if I failed today!
So I've cheated. I've had a hunt for some Christmas quotes and thought I'd post a few. Some are inane. Some are almost profound. Are there any that resonate with you?
To the American People: Christmas is not a time or a season but a state of mind. To cherish peace and good will, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas. If we think on these things, there will be born in us a Savior and over us will shine a star sending its gleam of hope to the world."
Calvin Coolidge (1872-1933), American president. Presidential message (December 25, 1927).
This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone."
Taylor Caldwell (1900-1985), English novelist.
The joy of brightening other lives, bearing each others' burdens, easing other's loads and supplanting empty hearts and lives with generous gifts becomes for us the magic of Christmas."
W. C. Jones
A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."
Garrison Keillor (1942-), American author. 'Exiles,' Leaving Home (1987).
Christmas--that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance--a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved."
Augusta E. Rundell
Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more."
Dr. Seuss (1904-1991), American author of children's books. From 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas'.
Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends."
Margaret Thatcher (1925- ), English political leader.
Christmas is for children. But it is for grownups too. Even if it is a headache, a chore, and nightmare, it is a period of necessary defrosting of chill and hide-bound hearts."
Lenora Mattingly Weber (1895-1971), American author.
Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall. We traditionally do this in my family by driving around the parking lot until we see a shopper emerge from the mall, then we follow her, in very much the same spirit as the Three Wise Men, who 2,000 years ago followed a star, week after week, until it led them to a parking space.
Dave Barry
Santa Claus has the right idea. Visit people once a year.
Victor Borge
http://www.famous-quotes-and-quotations.com/christmas-quotes.html
http://www.allthingschristmas.com/quotes.html
So I've cheated. I've had a hunt for some Christmas quotes and thought I'd post a few. Some are inane. Some are almost profound. Are there any that resonate with you?
To the American People: Christmas is not a time or a season but a state of mind. To cherish peace and good will, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas. If we think on these things, there will be born in us a Savior and over us will shine a star sending its gleam of hope to the world."
Calvin Coolidge (1872-1933), American president. Presidential message (December 25, 1927).
This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone."
Taylor Caldwell (1900-1985), English novelist.
The joy of brightening other lives, bearing each others' burdens, easing other's loads and supplanting empty hearts and lives with generous gifts becomes for us the magic of Christmas."
W. C. Jones
A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."
Garrison Keillor (1942-), American author. 'Exiles,' Leaving Home (1987).
Christmas--that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance--a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved."
Augusta E. Rundell
Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more."
Dr. Seuss (1904-1991), American author of children's books. From 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas'.
Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends."
Margaret Thatcher (1925- ), English political leader.
Christmas is for children. But it is for grownups too. Even if it is a headache, a chore, and nightmare, it is a period of necessary defrosting of chill and hide-bound hearts."
Lenora Mattingly Weber (1895-1971), American author.
Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall. We traditionally do this in my family by driving around the parking lot until we see a shopper emerge from the mall, then we follow her, in very much the same spirit as the Three Wise Men, who 2,000 years ago followed a star, week after week, until it led them to a parking space.
Dave Barry
Santa Claus has the right idea. Visit people once a year.
Victor Borge
http://www.famous-quotes-and-quotations.com/christmas-quotes.html
http://www.allthingschristmas.com/quotes.html
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
A taste of heaven
The time has come to tackle the tricky and potentially contentious issue of Christmas music. It only be December 8 but I'm already starting to feel like I've experienced the full gamut of seasonal offerings from the truly ridiculous to the utterly sublime.
My first carol: Angels from the realms of glory
Not a bad way to start, although when you're running a bit late for church and still a little out of breath, the whole "Co... mahahahahahh.... ahahahahahh.... ahahamand worship" thing can be a bit of a killer.
First Christmas song on the radio: All I want for Christmas is you by Mariah Carey
Ah, Mariah. She might be a nutter (albeit a nutter capable of turning in a magnificent performance in Precious) but this is a tune. A cheesy, predictable tune, but a tune none-the-less.
Most unlikely new Christmas song: Christmas Lights by Coldplay
I don't know why but "Christmas" and "Coldplay" don't really sit well in the same sentence. I used to think Coldplay were a bit rubbish until I went to see them at Wembley last year and realised they're actually rather good. Unfortunately, this song lacks any of the creativity of Viva La Vida (which is a great album), as well as failing on the lyric front by banging on about how it doesn't feel like it's Christmas until there's snow and other such cliches.
Most ridiculous Christmas lyric: Angels by Dickie Valentine
Because I work in a classy shop, we only play classy Christmas music, by which I mean, of course, the stuff recorded by Bing Crosby, Louis Armstrong and Frank Sinatra et al. Unfortunately, while these songs might have a little more to offer musically than the likes of Wizard, they're really not much better on the lyric front. But my "favourite" worst lyric so far has to be from this song which contains the line "A is for the angels that make up the Christmas list". If ever there was a song that manages to demonstrate how utterly we have corrupted the magnificence of the Christmas story, this has to be it.
Worst song full stop: Jingle Bells by Basshunter
I heard this on the radio this afternoon and it's so awful I can't even be bothered to critique it.
Marmite Christmas track (by which I mean you'll either love it or you'll hate it): Dubstep remix of The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy by Tchaikovsky
This was produced, as far as I can tell, as part of the promotional package for Radio 1's dubstep weekend. I'm not a dubstep aficionado (which may or may not surprise you) but I found this oddly compelling. Tchaikovsky, on the other hand, was probably turning in his grave.
A little taste of heaven: Christmas Food Court Flash Mob of Hallelujah Chorus by Handel
This has been doing the rounds on Facebook for the last few weeks, but I've only just discovered it. Not only is the quality of the performance phenomenal, given the context, but for me this is just a little glimpse of heaven. I love the coming together of the mundane and the extraordinary, the creation of a "thin place" amid consumption and busy-ness. I wonder whether this is the closest we'll get to sharing the shepherd's experience of that first Christmas.
Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE&sns=fb
My first carol: Angels from the realms of glory
Not a bad way to start, although when you're running a bit late for church and still a little out of breath, the whole "Co... mahahahahahh.... ahahahahahh.... ahahamand worship" thing can be a bit of a killer.
First Christmas song on the radio: All I want for Christmas is you by Mariah Carey
Ah, Mariah. She might be a nutter (albeit a nutter capable of turning in a magnificent performance in Precious) but this is a tune. A cheesy, predictable tune, but a tune none-the-less.
Most unlikely new Christmas song: Christmas Lights by Coldplay
I don't know why but "Christmas" and "Coldplay" don't really sit well in the same sentence. I used to think Coldplay were a bit rubbish until I went to see them at Wembley last year and realised they're actually rather good. Unfortunately, this song lacks any of the creativity of Viva La Vida (which is a great album), as well as failing on the lyric front by banging on about how it doesn't feel like it's Christmas until there's snow and other such cliches.
Most ridiculous Christmas lyric: Angels by Dickie Valentine
Because I work in a classy shop, we only play classy Christmas music, by which I mean, of course, the stuff recorded by Bing Crosby, Louis Armstrong and Frank Sinatra et al. Unfortunately, while these songs might have a little more to offer musically than the likes of Wizard, they're really not much better on the lyric front. But my "favourite" worst lyric so far has to be from this song which contains the line "A is for the angels that make up the Christmas list". If ever there was a song that manages to demonstrate how utterly we have corrupted the magnificence of the Christmas story, this has to be it.
Worst song full stop: Jingle Bells by Basshunter
I heard this on the radio this afternoon and it's so awful I can't even be bothered to critique it.
Marmite Christmas track (by which I mean you'll either love it or you'll hate it): Dubstep remix of The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy by Tchaikovsky
This was produced, as far as I can tell, as part of the promotional package for Radio 1's dubstep weekend. I'm not a dubstep aficionado (which may or may not surprise you) but I found this oddly compelling. Tchaikovsky, on the other hand, was probably turning in his grave.
A little taste of heaven: Christmas Food Court Flash Mob of Hallelujah Chorus by Handel
This has been doing the rounds on Facebook for the last few weeks, but I've only just discovered it. Not only is the quality of the performance phenomenal, given the context, but for me this is just a little glimpse of heaven. I love the coming together of the mundane and the extraordinary, the creation of a "thin place" amid consumption and busy-ness. I wonder whether this is the closest we'll get to sharing the shepherd's experience of that first Christmas.
Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE&sns=fb
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
A Christmas mystery
For possibly the first time in my life, I'm actually managing to do an Advent study - I bought a study guide a few years ago but never really got round to using it properly. Last week I read about the Patriarchs, this week it's the Prophets and so on and so forth. I have to be honest - it might help me to be a bit disciplined about reading a chunk of the Bible every day (never a bad thing) but it's not very inspiring. That's more a reflection on the study guide part of the study guide rather than the actual Bible bit - I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to suggest that the Bible isn't inspiring.
But alongside the "proper" Advent study I'm reading a book that my family bought years ago with a view to reading it together in the run up to Christmas. We never actually succeeded. Called The Christmas Mystery and it's about a young Swedish boy called Joachim who finds a magic Advent calendar in an old bookshop and discovers that behind each door is a picture and a tiny piece of paper. The story which unfolds is that of a journey - well, two journeys really. As the days creep by, Joachim learns about Elspeth and her journey to Bethlehem, but also grows in his own understanding of the real meaning of Christmas. Well, at least I assume that's what happens - it's only December 7 and there's still seventeen chapters to go!
The book, while aimed at children, has an almost Narnian ability to engage adults who want to give their inner child a Christmas outing, and it's fair to say I'm enjoying it much more than my grown-up book! And Joachim was right about one thing:
But alongside the "proper" Advent study I'm reading a book that my family bought years ago with a view to reading it together in the run up to Christmas. We never actually succeeded. Called The Christmas Mystery and it's about a young Swedish boy called Joachim who finds a magic Advent calendar in an old bookshop and discovers that behind each door is a picture and a tiny piece of paper. The story which unfolds is that of a journey - well, two journeys really. As the days creep by, Joachim learns about Elspeth and her journey to Bethlehem, but also grows in his own understanding of the real meaning of Christmas. Well, at least I assume that's what happens - it's only December 7 and there's still seventeen chapters to go!
The book, while aimed at children, has an almost Narnian ability to engage adults who want to give their inner child a Christmas outing, and it's fair to say I'm enjoying it much more than my grown-up book! And Joachim was right about one thing:
He knew that Jesus had loved everyone, but in his dream he had been fond of chocolate too.
Monday, December 06, 2010
Playing with the wrapping paper
This afternoon my sister, niece and nephew popped round for a gingerbread reindeer and a cup of tea. We spent a couple of hours eating, chatting, wrestling, making up really poor reindeer jokes and building a slightly stale IKEA gingerbread house - it's not just the furniture that comes flatpacked.
But the highlight came right as they arrived. Nate, who'll be three in January, was particularly looking forward to seeing my Christmas tree and was all ready to help decorate it. Unfortunately, I'd spent Saturday evening hanging baubles and coaxing fairy lights into life, and I was concerned that Nate would be disappointed that there was nothing left to do.
I needn't have worried. As I opened the front door, he raced past me into the lounge and all I heard was "Oooo!!", the surprise and excitement evident in his voice. It was a beautiful moment!
I know that a lot of people think Christmas is just for kids, and I think it's almost impossible for us adults to rediscover that simple, instinctive sense of awe that Nate expressed this afternoon. With age and maturity we have to embrace new levels of Christmas complexity - taking a hit to the wallet, shouldering more responsibility for making sure others are able to enjoy the celebrations, being sensitive to the challenges that this time of year brings for many.
And in the quest to reconnect with the real meaning I'm not sure it's necessarily as simple as approaching Christmas like a child. We all know how easily children get distracted by sparkly things - Nate's reaction to my tree this afternoon is a brilliant case in point - and we need to make sure that if we're going to try and see Christmas through a child's eye we don't do the spiritual equivalent of ignoring the present and playing with the wrapping paper.
But the highlight came right as they arrived. Nate, who'll be three in January, was particularly looking forward to seeing my Christmas tree and was all ready to help decorate it. Unfortunately, I'd spent Saturday evening hanging baubles and coaxing fairy lights into life, and I was concerned that Nate would be disappointed that there was nothing left to do.
I needn't have worried. As I opened the front door, he raced past me into the lounge and all I heard was "Oooo!!", the surprise and excitement evident in his voice. It was a beautiful moment!
I know that a lot of people think Christmas is just for kids, and I think it's almost impossible for us adults to rediscover that simple, instinctive sense of awe that Nate expressed this afternoon. With age and maturity we have to embrace new levels of Christmas complexity - taking a hit to the wallet, shouldering more responsibility for making sure others are able to enjoy the celebrations, being sensitive to the challenges that this time of year brings for many.
And in the quest to reconnect with the real meaning I'm not sure it's necessarily as simple as approaching Christmas like a child. We all know how easily children get distracted by sparkly things - Nate's reaction to my tree this afternoon is a brilliant case in point - and we need to make sure that if we're going to try and see Christmas through a child's eye we don't do the spiritual equivalent of ignoring the present and playing with the wrapping paper.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
The problem with believing
I've been thinking a little bit about miracles today. Not, in fact, the whizz bang Christmas kind - the virgin birth, for example - but just the ordinary ones, if that's not a contradiction in terms!
I mean the kind that creep up unnoticed, that we only fully recognised with benefit of hindsight. I'm thinking of the conversations I have that I later realise would have been an impossibility a matter of weeks before, of circumstances that appear insurmountable which seem to resolve themselves without any effort on my part, the glimpses of hope which so easily pass us by.
But I find that thinking about miracles can quickly take me down a darker path. My problem is not that I don't believe that God can do miracles; my problem is that I'm certain that he can.
I know I'm not alone in struggling with the next logical step - the reality that while God could act, he rarely does. I struggle to take comfort from the story of Job, from his exchange with God in which he's bomdarded with rhetorical question after rhetorical question designed to leave him in no doubt as to God's sovereignty and omnipotence. In the last few years my biggest fights with God have come not as a result of doubting he exists, but precisely because I'm convinced he does.
Sometimes belief is far more painful than doubt.
I mean the kind that creep up unnoticed, that we only fully recognised with benefit of hindsight. I'm thinking of the conversations I have that I later realise would have been an impossibility a matter of weeks before, of circumstances that appear insurmountable which seem to resolve themselves without any effort on my part, the glimpses of hope which so easily pass us by.
But I find that thinking about miracles can quickly take me down a darker path. My problem is not that I don't believe that God can do miracles; my problem is that I'm certain that he can.
I know I'm not alone in struggling with the next logical step - the reality that while God could act, he rarely does. I struggle to take comfort from the story of Job, from his exchange with God in which he's bomdarded with rhetorical question after rhetorical question designed to leave him in no doubt as to God's sovereignty and omnipotence. In the last few years my biggest fights with God have come not as a result of doubting he exists, but precisely because I'm convinced he does.
Sometimes belief is far more painful than doubt.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
A new kind of fabricated Christmas
This afternoon I had a moment of clarity.
I'd just got back from buying my Christmas tree and wreath for the front door, and was having a cup of tea whilst thinking about my decorating options and the cleaning and tidying I'd need to do in order to get my flat looking Christmassy. I suddenly became aware that I was focused on a set of assumptions about Christmas that seemed to be at odds with my desire to try and reconnect with "the real meaning of Christmas".
Some background...
This year, for the first time in twelve years, I'll be celebrating Christmas as a punter, rather than as a "professional Christian". I don't have services to organise, school concerts to attend and carols to play, and that feels like a big deal.
I've been aware of a sense of wanting to celebrate Christmas "like everyone else". Interestingly, the things I've found myself drawn to are things from the past - you know, how Christmas used to be. I think the weather's had something to do with that - one of my abiding memories from childhood is reading Tom's Midnight Garden with its vivid pictures of a frozen river with its Christmas markets and ice-skaters.
So my moment of clarity this afternoon came as I realised that I was at risk of simply embracing a new kind of fabricated Christmas, rather than genuinely rediscovering "the real meaning". Producing homemade Christmas cakes and puddings, having a beautifully decorated and just being pew-fodder could prove to be as misleading and unhelpful as collapsing, exhausted, after racking up a dozen back-to-back carol services.
This Advent could turn out to be quite a steep learning curve.
I'd just got back from buying my Christmas tree and wreath for the front door, and was having a cup of tea whilst thinking about my decorating options and the cleaning and tidying I'd need to do in order to get my flat looking Christmassy. I suddenly became aware that I was focused on a set of assumptions about Christmas that seemed to be at odds with my desire to try and reconnect with "the real meaning of Christmas".
Some background...
This year, for the first time in twelve years, I'll be celebrating Christmas as a punter, rather than as a "professional Christian". I don't have services to organise, school concerts to attend and carols to play, and that feels like a big deal.
I've been aware of a sense of wanting to celebrate Christmas "like everyone else". Interestingly, the things I've found myself drawn to are things from the past - you know, how Christmas used to be. I think the weather's had something to do with that - one of my abiding memories from childhood is reading Tom's Midnight Garden with its vivid pictures of a frozen river with its Christmas markets and ice-skaters.
So my moment of clarity this afternoon came as I realised that I was at risk of simply embracing a new kind of fabricated Christmas, rather than genuinely rediscovering "the real meaning". Producing homemade Christmas cakes and puddings, having a beautifully decorated and just being pew-fodder could prove to be as misleading and unhelpful as collapsing, exhausted, after racking up a dozen back-to-back carol services.
This Advent could turn out to be quite a steep learning curve.
Friday, December 03, 2010
An underdog story
I've thought of a fourth reason why the real meaning of Christmas should be an easy sell. If there's one thing we Brits love, it's a story in which the underdog wins against all the odds. And let's face it, the Christmas story has no shortage of underdogs.
We have the shepherds, social outcasts invited to be the first visitors of the newborn baby Jesus.
Then there's Mary, with the odds stacked against her in an extraordinary way - a teenage girl who, at the risk of losing her fiance, her reputation, her dignity and her life, responds to Gabriel's announcement of her pregnancy with the courageous, "Yes, I see it all now: I am the Lord's servant maid, ready to serve. Let it be with me just as you say".
But the ultimate underdog is surely Jesus himself. We may complain about the NHS but in a world with neither universal health care or a basic understand of the principles of hygiene, God was clearly taking an outrageous risk sending his son, on whose tiny shoulders the future of creation rested, to earth as a baby. I think the matter-of-fact way in which the gospels record this fact, and even John's profound statement that "the Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighbourhood" can almost disguise the enormity of God's decision.
But then, the underdog always comes good in the end. Don't they?
We have the shepherds, social outcasts invited to be the first visitors of the newborn baby Jesus.
Then there's Mary, with the odds stacked against her in an extraordinary way - a teenage girl who, at the risk of losing her fiance, her reputation, her dignity and her life, responds to Gabriel's announcement of her pregnancy with the courageous, "Yes, I see it all now: I am the Lord's servant maid, ready to serve. Let it be with me just as you say".
But the ultimate underdog is surely Jesus himself. We may complain about the NHS but in a world with neither universal health care or a basic understand of the principles of hygiene, God was clearly taking an outrageous risk sending his son, on whose tiny shoulders the future of creation rested, to earth as a baby. I think the matter-of-fact way in which the gospels record this fact, and even John's profound statement that "the Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighbourhood" can almost disguise the enormity of God's decision.
But then, the underdog always comes good in the end. Don't they?
Thursday, December 02, 2010
What's not to like?
I've been thinking about this whole "real meaning of Christmas" thing and I've concluded that it really shouldn't be a hard sell. I mean, what's not to like? It has a whole number of key elements that people love; just off the top of my head I can think of three - a baby, a party and some presents.
The challenge comes, of course, as you start to scratch beneath the surface a bit, as you begin to realise that this is no ordinary baby, no ordinary set of gifts, no ordinary party.
But maybe that's the value of Advent - it's an invitation to look a little deeper, to take time to reflect on the familiar, to go on a journey without making any assumptions about where you'll end up.
The challenge comes, of course, as you start to scratch beneath the surface a bit, as you begin to realise that this is no ordinary baby, no ordinary set of gifts, no ordinary party.
But maybe that's the value of Advent - it's an invitation to look a little deeper, to take time to reflect on the familiar, to go on a journey without making any assumptions about where you'll end up.
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