North Park – South Park – Golden Hill

knowing Jesus and making Him known in the neighborhood

Friday, December 15, 2017

Embrace the holy mess of Christmas


Embrace the holy mess of Christmas
Families aren't perfect--but neither is Christmas.

My father hates Christmas. We have a picture of him lying on my parents' couch, wrapped up in a blanket, wearing both a Santa hat and a look of utter mournfulness.

For most of my childhood and young adulthood, this was something to tease him about. How could you hate Christmas? What part of gift giving and receiving, good food, and family is not to like? How could anyone not like the music, the celebration, the candles, and the hushed holiness of the Midnight Mass?

Last year, though, I started to understand where my dad was coming from.

I'm not sure what the tipping point was. Perhaps it was how the dog that my husband and I had just adopted the week before took an instant dislike to my father and tried to nip at his toes whenever she got the chance. Or perhaps it was how Amazon cancelled--without notification--the order containing the vast majority of my parents' Christmas gifts to us kids. Or maybe it was that a couple days later at our celebration with my mom's extended family, we spent two days in a house with four dogs and more than 30 people (including 10 kids), which resulted in the assorted hurt feelings and spats that can only happen among a group of people who love each other and know exactly what buttons to push to hurt each other. Or maybe it was just the exhaustion of celebrating five different Christmases with five different family configurations within 10 days.

I'm reassured when I remember that this chaos is nothing unique to my own family. My husband and I may bemoan the thought of a 12-hour car ride with two animals, but then I think of Mary, nine months pregnant and forced to travel for hours for census registration, the equivalent of renewing your license at the DMV. Or later when she and Joseph fled to Egypt, a journey not much different in length from my yearly pilgrimage from Chicago to New York, but via foot and with a newborn baby. 

When Joseph announced the news of Mary's pregnancy to his parents, I suspect they weren't exactly thrilled that he was going to marry her anyway. "But an angel told me it's OK!" was perhaps not the most reassuring thing to hear your son say in that situation. 


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