Joy to the World
December 24, 2007
Let us take a collective breath, rest, meditate, walk,
sing, eat and take time to share the unhurried
company of those we love.
Wayne Muller
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
A friend told me about the nativity play at their
parish.
A little girl played the role of the innkeeper. Mary and Joseph (Joseph resplendent in his dad's bathrobe) knocked on the inn door and asked, "Is there any room in your inn?" The innkeeper looked at Mary and Joseph, and then looked out at the pastor. She looked again at Mary and Joseph, and then looked out at the pew where her parents sat. She looked again at Mary and Joseph, and said, "Oh well, come on in for a drink."
Now that's the spirit.
When Kierkegaard wrote, "laughter is a type of prayer", I think he meant that with laughter, we give up our need to control or manage or manipulate. We allow ourselves the permission to receive -- this day, this moment, as a gift. It's easy to forget. When we are compelled to do things "by number". Or are constrained to "feel" a certain way. When we run headlong into the yoke of Madison Avenue, "Buy me. Do me. Watch me. Try me. Drink me. It is as if we have inadvertently stumbled into some horrific wonderland." (Wayne Muller)
Yesterday, in the late afternoon, I overheard this exchange at the mall. A little girl (maybe six or seven years old) waits in line for Santa. She is, understandably, tired and a bit cranky. Her mother is close to the end of her own rope. The little girl is slumped on the floor. The mother is squatting down near her daughter, and I hear her say, "Come on, get ready to smile for Santa. He doesn't have a lot of time you know."
In the end, despite our goodheartedness or good intentions, there is little lightness or grace or healing. Or evidence of any "everlasting light".
I wish I had leaned down to talk with the mother and daughter. I'd have said, "It's okay. I have a hard time smiling in a mall too. And I just happen to know, this Santa has a lot of time. So, if it's okay, let me buy you both a Jamba Juice."
So today, take a deep breath. And have a peace-filled, everlasting light-filled Christmas.
A little girl played the role of the innkeeper. Mary and Joseph (Joseph resplendent in his dad's bathrobe) knocked on the inn door and asked, "Is there any room in your inn?" The innkeeper looked at Mary and Joseph, and then looked out at the pastor. She looked again at Mary and Joseph, and then looked out at the pew where her parents sat. She looked again at Mary and Joseph, and said, "Oh well, come on in for a drink."
Now that's the spirit.
When Kierkegaard wrote, "laughter is a type of prayer", I think he meant that with laughter, we give up our need to control or manage or manipulate. We allow ourselves the permission to receive -- this day, this moment, as a gift. It's easy to forget. When we are compelled to do things "by number". Or are constrained to "feel" a certain way. When we run headlong into the yoke of Madison Avenue, "Buy me. Do me. Watch me. Try me. Drink me. It is as if we have inadvertently stumbled into some horrific wonderland." (Wayne Muller)
Yesterday, in the late afternoon, I overheard this exchange at the mall. A little girl (maybe six or seven years old) waits in line for Santa. She is, understandably, tired and a bit cranky. Her mother is close to the end of her own rope. The little girl is slumped on the floor. The mother is squatting down near her daughter, and I hear her say, "Come on, get ready to smile for Santa. He doesn't have a lot of time you know."
In the end, despite our goodheartedness or good intentions, there is little lightness or grace or healing. Or evidence of any "everlasting light".
I wish I had leaned down to talk with the mother and daughter. I'd have said, "It's okay. I have a hard time smiling in a mall too. And I just happen to know, this Santa has a lot of time. So, if it's okay, let me buy you both a Jamba Juice."
So today, take a deep breath. And have a peace-filled, everlasting light-filled Christmas.
Poems / Prayers
Poem
"O Little Town of Bethlehem"
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
Phillips Brooks (music by Lewis Redner) -- 1868
Prayer
Dear God.
Help us to fill our gift list this year.
To our enemies, help us give forgiveness.
To our opponents, tolerance.
To our friends, our heart.
To those who are hurting, hope.
To our customers, service.
To those around us, charity.
To every child, a good example.
To ourselves, laughter and respect.
And to you, our worship.
Amen.
"O Little Town of Bethlehem"
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
Phillips Brooks (music by Lewis Redner) -- 1868
Prayer
Dear God.
Help us to fill our gift list this year.
To our enemies, help us give forgiveness.
To our opponents, tolerance.
To our friends, our heart.
To those who are hurting, hope.
To our customers, service.
To those around us, charity.
To every child, a good example.
To ourselves, laughter and respect.
And to you, our worship.
Amen.
Peace,
Terry Hershey
