Mere Human
For unto us, a child is born. The
Book of Isaiah
The Word became flesh. The Gospel
of John
This is the categorical imperative of the
Christian Faith: You shall lovingly accept
the humanity entrusted to you. You shall
accept yourself. Johannes Metz
Ikemoto told her, "I work at a college, where my job is to teach people how to draw."
She stared back at her father, incredulous, and said, "You mean they forget?"
Adulthood does a number on our memory. (Says the man who can't find his glasses.) Yes, we forget many thing that came natural when we were young. So instead, we spend our mental energy learning how to look good (posture or pretend or play-act). Or, we give way to the tyranny of the "should"--you know, looking over our shoulder to know what to feel, do or say.
It is no surprise, that it is the nature of our culture to live vicariously through those who are placed on a pedestal. And so, we yearn for someone who is "above it all." And then we act taken aback, when the bubble is burst. "Tsk, Tsk," we say. "How could that happen?"
Nothing says Christmas like swirling tales of whatever is lewd, bawdy, risqué, careless and melodramatic. All of it enamors us. We can't decide to act shocked, or to buy the magazine with the latest update. (To answer your question, yes, I have followed the Tiger Woods saga.)
One writer's lament (sprinkled liberally with incredulity) made my head turn. He wrote that "sadly," Tiger has been "reduced to being a mere human."
Wait a minute.
Is this a bad thing?
To be human?
It made me laugh, because I didn't know that being human was a downgrade, and something to be avoided at all costs.
Not that I haven't heard it before. As a child, my church taught me to "war against" my "sinful-humanity" (the two words always joined, which is a lot of mental luggage for a first grader). But here's the deal: Advent (Christmas) is also the story about someone becoming human. So I find the pundit's comment odd (or perhaps poignant), because this is the season when we wait on a God, who is being "reduced" to becoming a mere human. This is the story of this season: the incarnation, meaning God in-flesh-ment. A God who embraces and enters all that is human.
(No, I never expected to do a Sabbath Moment about Tiger. Do I have an opinion? Sure. It's this: Another's peccadillos are none of my business. Except to be intentional about adding light to the discussion, and not more heat. I believe that with all stories like this (unless we are personally involved, or they have some stake in the world where we live and move) ask two things from us: 1--prayer for those involved and 2--an invitation to examine our own life and world.)
Kate Wicker calls herself a failed perfectionist, and shares this story in Faith and Family. When I was 3, I fell and cut my mouth while playing in the backyard. I ran screaming to my mom with blood dribbling down my chin and onto my summer dress.
"Does it hurt?" Mom asked as she drew me into her arms to comfort my pain.
"No, Mommy," I sobbed, "but I've ruined my pretty dress."
It wasn't the cut in my mouth, but the bright red blood splatters on my dress that threw me into despair.
Maybe the gift this Christmas is the freedom and permission to lovingly accept the humanity--even if it means the "broken" humanity--entrusted to us. To be reduced to human? Absolutely. The humanity that is "in-fleshed" on Christmas day. It is this humanity that gives us our capacity to choose, to risk, to fail, to learn, to try--and to dance--against all odds, to rage against our frailties and the darkness even in our own hearts, to feel without reservation, to have our hearts poured out for causes and loves unrequited, to find gooseflesh until we believe we will explode with joy undeserved, honoring all of our emotions, to fight, to doubt, to give, to forgive, to make mistakes and to find the courage to fix them, to own and confess behaviors that are not serving ourselves or those around us, to enjoy the journey recognizing that we are a work in progress, and in it all, to give others the permission to be human too, because it is the very reflection of God.
A nervous tourist was afraid to get too close to the cliff. "What would I do," he asked the guide, "if I fell over the edge?"
"In that case sir," the guide told him enthusiastically, "don't fail to look to the right. You'll love the view!"
So. This is the first gift of the season. Today we give ourselves permission to be human. In this Christmas season, I take great solace in this freedom. (Although it is soooo easy to point out the shortcomings of others.)
However, truth be told? There are some days I believe. And there are some days I do not. Some days I see God in all things. Other days, I don't know if he exists. I mine my heart for faith, and sometimes come up empty. I have flashes of hope, and stretches of gloom. I am funny, cynical, empathetic, sad, sensitive, angry, thoughtful, dark, impatient, intense, both caring and insensitive, articulate, a writer though sometimes wordless, insightful and at a loss, self-confident, though at times racked with doubt and reduced to tears. I am a Christian. But there are days I am an agnostic. I am a sinner. I am assuredly a child of God. And before I go about trying to change all of this, or run from it, I need to know that this is, in fact, the me that God loves the best. And that, well, that is good news.
I wish for each of you, rest and peace--not from the struggle, nor from the temptation to eliminate the chaos. But the permission to be free from the need to rise above it all.
Pausing is a place where we can see our selves clearly and without shame.
Snow falls here tonight. Fat flakes, gently floating, meant for Hallmark card photographs. I think that I'll put everything away but the hot toddy, and Sarah McLachlan singing Silent Night, as darkness surrounds us on the Island.
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Nothing's as mean as giving a little child something useful for Christmas. Kin Hubbard
. . .That Passeth All Understanding
An awe so quiet
I don't know when it began.
A gratitude
had begun
to sing in me.
was there
some moment
dividing
song from no song?
When does dewfall begin?
When does night
fold its arms over our hears
To cherish them?
When is daybreak?
Denise Levertov
Our Prayer (and, Christmas gift suggestions)
Lord, in this Advent season, may we give
To our enemy, forgiveness.
To an opponent, tolerance.
To a friend, our heart.
To a customer, service.
To all, charity.
To every child, a good example.
To our self, respect.
Amen.
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Silent Night, Sarah McLachlan (Video from the Christmas Carol Service 2008 in Aix en Provence, France)
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So This Is Christmas, Sarah McLachlan
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