When embraced and appreciated fully we will experience the internal and eternal presence of authentic joy.
Christmas Days of Yore
Christmas, for me, is among other things a time of fond remembering. Some of my most vivid memories are of the late 1950s and early 1960s celebrations at the country home of the Trenchards, my uncle and aunt, in Deland, Illinois. In the middle of the endless Central Illinois farmland sat Bondurant Place. Named for Uncle Wendell's grandfather, it was nestled among hundreds of trees with a winding driveway. Truly a festive gathering place for my granddad, his nine children and their families.
I remember waking up early to see what Santa brought to our house at 18 West Winter in Danville. Mom and Dad were in their robes and we opened presents and hugged and laughed. It was hard to get me away without taking a favorite something to go on the road to Deland. But by the time we got to Champaign on two lane, snow packed roads, I was anticipating the event at Bondurant Place!
Uncle Wendell would be HO! HO! HOing at a door wrapped with an image of Santa! Aunt Helen would gleefully shriek at our arrival almost as if she didn’t know we were coming. "They're Here! They're Here!" they would exclaim. We were always the first to arrive...except that cousin Joan, her husband Taylor and the boys had spent the night...and had Christmas Eve together. The oldest son, Bon, would be down at the trains in the basement. I was so excited I could burst. People would start coming almost in order! Granddad and his companion Mavie were next, then Aunt Beulah, and then everyone else almost at once and then.....Aunt Nellie, Uncle Lester, Irene and Sarah! Always last...always anticipated with joy! Everyone received the happy "They're Here!" greeting. The smells of turkey and goodies filled the house. The cousins played mostly downstairs. There was no need for lots of toys...but there were plenty of them. We just delighted in each other. We shot each other with Ack-Ack Guns, played with the best model train set in the world, looked for spooks in the coal bin, explored the unknown....Every now and then one of the parents or uncles or aunts ventured down for a minute. They knew that we were OK but just wanted to share in the fun! My older cousins could only resist for awhile. We usually got them involved without much struggle!
Then came the call! Dinner was ready. All of the adults sat at the big table and the younger members at the children’s table. As people moved or died you graduated to the adult table. I never made it. The littlest kids sat in the adjacent sun room next to the kitchen and the older kids sat at the table in the hallway. Everyone hushed and Uncle Wendell called for order. Aunt Nellie said the blessing. Then we got in to the feast. What a feast it always was! Turkey, dressing (traditional and oyster), cranberries, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, fancy butter....place cards at every seat made by Aunt Cil....Oh Boy! When the main course was done we got to have special frozen Santa ice cream made just for us and Hickory Nut Cake (We all LOVE Hickory Nut Cake).
There was short a play time while we waited for the next tradition. In a few minutes we would all line up according to age and put our hands on the right shoulder in front of us. Sarah was always in front of me. Granddad Jones was first and held the long strand of Jingle Bells. Uncle Wendell would fire up his lights and movie camera. Then we marched through the house singing "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All The Way". Opening presents took forever! Someone would play Santa and bring a present one at a time. The relative would open it and we would all go "Oooh and Ahhh". Then the next one.
FINALLY...we could go and play again! It was back to the basement. Uncle Lester would fall asleep on the couch. The Moms would clean up and the other Dads would play gin rummy. This would be story time in by the fireplace in the basement. I would start with the most horrible ghost story that I had learned that year. Usually Strawn, Penn, Danny, or Debbie would sit on my lap. The room would hush. Terror would fill the room!
Now the call would come again! Aunt Helen would have made a special bag of goodies and leftovers for each family. It was time to go home. Sometimes I wanted to cry...but usually I was eager to get home to tell my buddies about "what I got". I could never relate to them that what I got at Bondurant Place was more important and more fun than anything that came in a beautifully wrapped box. It was dark and there was snow hanging on every branch. I fell asleep in the back seat of our Chrysler. Happy Family....Happy Christmas to all.
Making Peace
Ho! Ho! Ho! Just when all of our seasonal organizing seems to be in order, concerns and roadblocks appear en masse. Will Uncle Henry like the socks and matching sweater? Is anyone else getting tired of our annual ham and green bean casserole? Did the airlines really just cancel that flight? It's hard to find peace with all of the goings-on. Divisive politics sure don't make it any easier. But now is exactly the right time to seek it and to make it. There are more people who will lead us in that direction than those that tend to lead us away. Police Chaplains who come through the fog of tragedy to listen and hold the hands of those stricken with grief are a perfect example. And there are others.
My hometown in Illinois was richly blessed by the life of Rev Charles Bourke Motsett who could truly be called Danville's pastor. He was one of those people who made peace. A Roman Catholic priest, there was nobody of any denomination or religious persuasion who felt left out of his ministry. Hardly a civic function, school sporting event, or service club meeting took place without him being there. We lived across the street and Father Motsett was ever-present. I can easily envision him with a stopwatch at Schlarman High School athletic events shouting encouragement to runners. He occasionally came over to our house at Happy Hour to have a drink and lively conversation with my Dad. They were both avid sports fans and Dad had been a University of Illinois track star which delighted Motsett who was student manager of Notre Dame’s football squad under Knute Rockne. He provided sometimes strict but always loving guidance to me both before I became a Catholic and after. His greeting of; "May peace be with each and every one of you good people" still brings a smile to my face. Once when I was struggling with some significant inner darkness, he shared the deathbed letter of Chicago’s Joseph Cardinal Bernardin. It was a prayer that brought me peace and helped me find my way.
What I would like to leave behind is a simple prayer that each of you may find what I have found—God’s special gift to us all: the gift of peace. When we are at peace, we find the freedom to be most fully who we are, even in the worst of times. We let go of what is nonessential and embrace what is essential. We empty ourselves so that God may more fully work within us. And we become instruments in the hands of the Lord ~ Joseph Cardinal Bernardin
Monsignor Charles Motsett died at age 98. He never demonstrated against wars fought by armies but waged an ongoing battle with forces that destroy inner harmony. For he knew full well that external strife is fueled by internal chaos. Resentment, fear, anger, greed, envy, and sadness are the culprits. When we discover where peace dwells in our own hearts and dispel the violence within, we will be able to become makers of peace in our relationships and in every step we take. Helpers, teachers, and guides are available. What better time than Christmas and the seasons of light for such a transformation. Lord make me an instrument of your peace.
God With Us; Pure as the Driven Snow
Once upon a time in our nation's capital, a young man slept on the third story of an old home in the heart of Adams Morgan. It wasn't easy to fall into dreamland with all of the disturbing noise from Columbia Rd. below. He had grown up in a small midwestern town and now lived in a remote cabin nestled among the laurels of Western North Carolina. Gunshots and sirens had taken the place of a mountain stream's lullabies. Restless sleep was punctuated by noisy violence in this place where he was attending classes. What woke him were not sounds of increased disorder and turmoil that night. It was a sudden silence. He rubbed his eyes and listened.
The strange hush made him wonder what was happening. He looked out the window only to see bricks of the building next door inches away. Rising from his bed, the man wandered down the hallway to a window on the street. Big flakes of snow were falling heavily, covering cars, sidewalks, and the entire District. A thick blanket had quieted the night and sent almost everyone inside. Shining lights of monuments and the twinkling of Christmas decorations were more brilliant than ever as Washington lived up to its' moniker of The Great White City. All of that which seemed evil had been made just as pure as the driven snow. Peace reigned. If only for an hour.
My snow experience in DC so many years ago will stay with me always.
Though there are many winter weather stories knocking around in my aging memory, this is the one that resonates. As Christmas comes along again with Advent messages of Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love, I recall the clear message of that night as an epiphany of Emmanuel. God With Us. It's not hard to slip into despair even during the seasons of light. One in seven people is going hungry while over one-third of the world's food is wasted. We angrily divide ourselves along political party lines as we turn a blind eye to children trafficked for sex. We spend fortunes on nuclear arsenals while homeless veterans seek shelter and basic healthcare. What an ugly mess we make. But even so, God is with us.
When we wake up to that reality, the most amazing things happen. I think of Linda who was a woman victimized throughout her childhood. Dually diagnosed with multiple personality disorder and chronic addiction, her family and friends had given up hope that she would ever be well. It was shocking to those of us who were treating her illnesses that a few words of wisdom one day would somehow cut through her tortured past, leading to a kind of rebirth. This is what she heard;
“You are my child. The beloved. You were lost and now you are found. You were dead and now you are alive. You are with me always. Everything I have is yours.”
The words were a compilation of scriptural text given as a Christmas talk by a visiting treatment center alum. The next day, Linda brought me a beautiful hand-drawn calligraphy she created with those words. She said; “Now that I know this I can get better.” And, somehow, the miracle of miracles came to pass. She finished inpatient treatment and with hard work, help and time, became a mentor for others who were discarded as incurable. God was with her through the darkness. She was no longer alone.
Healing mercy is always at hand. The blanket of redemption is not an exclusive property of the pious. Emmanuel knows no boundaries and plays no favorites. God does not sit on a towering and remote throne judging those who are naughty and nice. I think that is the domain of Santa and his elves.
When everything is covered in snow and silence overcomes the hubbub we are transformed and restored to our real selves. God is revealed as a fragile human being and the rest of us are made whole. Thus, with this revelation, we are empowered to make things right. Hand in hand there is nothing we cannot fix.
O Come, O Come Emmanuel. Ransom us to become instruments of your love...that we might join with you to co-create a world as pure as the driven snow.
Refractions of Light; It's All About The Joy
Hope is Made of Memories
The sights, sounds, and smells of this holiday season evoke memories of days-gone-by. We should be keenly aware that for some, those reminders are not necessarily pleasant.
While the fragrance of cookies baking or lighted decorations and traditional music may warm our hearts, the same things might also call to mind old wounds. What is wonderful for one causes depression for another. It is always a good idea as we cheerfully celebrate the light, to walk gently and with open hearts for those who struggle silently during this season. What we can bring along with us as we travel together is hope. For it carries the universal message that love will overcome all adversity.
I borrowed the title of my column today from the visionary activist and spiritual leader, Joan Chittister. She goes on to say;
“Hope reminds us that there is nothing in life we have not faced that we did not, through God’s gifts and graces...however unrecognized at the time...survive. Hope is the recall of good in the past, on which we base our expectation of good in the future however bad the present. ”
And so, indeed, hope is made of memories. Even when those recollections are painful. We are still standing despite, or even because of adversity. We have overcome it all and have the potential to serve as a beacon for others. This is why sharing our memories is so important. If we remain silent in denial of our valuable experiences, nobody will have the opportunity to know us, connect with us, or learn from us. Hope is a gift both given and received when we are brave enough to share our stories.
Here is an example of what I'm trying to get across.
The most amazing things happen around the tables at a meeting of AA (and other Anonymous groups). Though the foundations and principles of recovery are contained in their 12 Steps, much of the healing that goes on happens as people openly tell their life stories. It is initially unsettling for an outsider to hear men and women laughing as a speaker discloses what seem to be horrific losses and tales of damaging misadventures.
But without fail, some other participant will approach the teller later and make the remark that they felt as if they were hearing their very own story and how much it meant to know they are not alone. Hope flows around those rooms more freely than anywhere I have ever visited.
I think one reason their unfettered sharing is so powerful is that their revelations roughly follow a formula described as 'what it used to be like...what happened...and what it's like now'. In other words, there is no room for war stories if they cannot point toward hope for tomorrow. Wouldn't it be great if each of us could be so courageous as to offer our own memories.
Since hope is made of memories, make time to reconstruct some of your favorite and most meaningful ones this season.
Tell them to those with whom you gather over the holidays. Write them down or record them for loved ones to treasure in the future. Some hearts will be gladdened. Someone will be touched. Someone will see a flicker of light where darkness seemed overwhelming. There is no gift presented which will have more impact or be more fondly treasured than this.
Here is one of mine which I call The Christmas Boxes.
One of the warm Christmas memories that I have comes from 1992. I had been living in the mountains of North Carolina near Brevard for almost two years and had just moved into an A-Frame home near Lake Toxaway. My good friend, Michael Sessom, had been staying with me. The move took place in November and it was obvious that the house would lend itself nicely to holiday decorations. Michael called it a Christmas House. The steep two-story ceiling would accommodate a huge tree but buying one that tall would be impossible. Friends of mine came to the rescue. They chopped down a gigantic pine and hauled it down to the house for Thanksgiving. A wood frame had to be constructed just to hold it. Hours of planning, building, pulling and yanking finally resulted in success. The living room was filled with a magnificent tree. Michael spent days putting balls and ornaments on it. He made dozens of “God Eyes” and other things to hang. It took lots and lots of lights as well. The finished Christmas tree was impressive to say the least but the few little presents underneath looked lonely. This led Michael to make a decision that would change the way that I would look at presents.
We were admiring the tree after work at Bridgeway Treatment Center one chilly December night. Michael was disappointed in the emptiness underneath and made a suggestion. “Let’s wrap up the moving boxes like Christmas presents.” He said. “You take half of the boxes and I will take the other half. Then we will write a Christmas memory and put it in the box. On Christmas Eve we can open them and share our memories.” I agreed with some hesitation. It sounded like a silly idea to me. But, we went about the job for the next several days. The big wrapped boxes looked stunning around the tree. It was perfect. Our Christmas Eve opening was moved to the day before because I was headed up to Illinois to be with my daughters. There was never a more emotional or deeply moving present exchange. Each box contained such joy and happiness. The old memories reflected the great love that we both had experienced in our lives. The meaning of Christmas went far beyond the material things that year and has traveled with me ever since.
The Grace of Unknowing
As the season of light presents itself again this year, it is important to remember that for some, a poverty of spirit obscures it.
Grief, loneliness, fear, and the darkness of depression block access to any kind of joy or celebration.
While we wait in eager anticipation, they wait for the other shoe to drop. It is at this festive time of the year that those of us who celebrate are more urgently needed than at any other. Setting aside our busy schedules in deference to being present for those who suffer is an act of compassion that can carry lifesaving comfort. But the gift we receive from so doing might be even greater than the one we give. When allowing ourselves to be transported from wellbeing, certainty, and control into the gloom of another person’s shadows, it becomes possible to experience the grace of unknowing.
We don't like to think about unknowing or unlearning. It takes us away from being in control. The certainty of our belief systems, the rhythm of routines, and adherence to the status quo makes us feel secure.
I remember asking my mother why we 'went visiting' every Sunday. Her response was; "It's what our family has always done." That was an unacceptable answer to me because it didn't really tell me anything. Nobody seemed particularly thrilled with staying dressed up after church to drop in on folks who might have had other plans (or for those of us who would rather be outside playing basketball). But we did it because it was what we did.
My objections didn't change anything. We still 'went visiting'. What might happen if we didn't follow our custom was never discussed. And I have to admit that the Sunday regimen was comforting despite its discomfort. Departure from our ingrained, embedded practices feels pretty risky. We want to find an escape hatch to that 'old-time religion' or 'those thrilling days of yesteryear' where the Lone Ranger rides again. Everything was knowable and everyone was safe. Approaching any treasured belief with an open-minded posture of unknowing (I don't know) shakes the foundations of our personal self-concept and identity. It requires the painful process of unlearning and relearning
The best, most divine knowledge of God is that which is known by not-knowing ~ St. Dionysius
The grace of unknowing is the source of wisdom, growth, and transformation. It releases the glee of Ebenezer Scrooge who once was the master of his destiny. He awakens from his visitation by Three Spirits with the full understanding that he never was the one in control. He began to dance a jig singing "I don't know anything. I never did know anything. And now I know that I don't know on this Christmas morning."
He was not the same person. By letting go of knowing and embracing unknowing, he gained all the wisdom he would ever need. Dickens relates that henceforth it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May we all be blessed with such grace…the Grace of Unknowing.
Gifts of The Wonderful
“The main trouble is there are too many people who don't know where they're going and they want to get there too fast!”
Sylvester (The Bishop’s Wife, 1947)
I’m waiting for The Wonderful.
It’s coming as sure as there will be white Christmases, holiday decorations, familiar old songs, eggnog, stuffed stockings and presents under the tree. Many of us have the luxury of fond memories, enticing smells of things cooking and a landscape that twinkles with a thousand lights to remind us. Some have not been as fortunate.
But we must remember that there is more to Christmas than the things we might receive and give. I have come to call it The Wonderful. It has to do with a marvelous transformation that seems to happen to people this time of the year. Waiting for The Wonderful creates an atmosphere of childlike joy. The possibility of a miracle reigns supreme. Something extraordinary is coming as our waiting takes on a joy of its’ own.
Christmas movies always put me ‘in the mood’ for the coming festivities. Among my favorites are old black and whites from post-World War II. The men and women who had been engaged in devastating struggles of battle were back home and in the process of creating a bold new world. They rolled up their sleeves, went to work, built houses, attended schools, and dreamed dreams of prosperity.
By 1947, the simple times and ways of a Norman Rockwell agri-rural America were forever altered. Along with the many changes came a more bountiful and materialistic focus on Christmas. Presents were stacked under lighted trees instead of hung on branches. More became better…and that notion was reflected in the movies.
Two very different films were presented that year. One was ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ which portrayed the Macys parade and an abundance of shopping. The other was ‘The Bishop’s Wife’ which reminded a hurried nation to slow it down and to think about what our Christmas observance was all about. This picture sums up the essence of The Wonderful. It ended with a Bishop’s sermon written by an angel. This is what he said;
“Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking. Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child's cry. A blazing star hung over a stable and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries; we celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, the sound of bells and with gifts. But especially with gifts.
You give me a book; I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry could do with a new pipe. We forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled...all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up.
The stocking for the child born in a manger. It's his birthday we are celebrating. Don't ever let us forget that. Let us ask ourselves what he would wish for most... and then let each put in his share. Loving-kindness, warm hearts and the stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shining gifts that make peace on earth.”
Today, amid all the hustle and bustle, I will remember to fill a stocking in my heart with the most important gift of all. I will eagerly welcome The Wonderful.
Embracing Faith; The Mystical, Magical Flight of Christmas
“I love the recklessness of faith. First you leap, and then you grow wings.” ~ William Sloane Coffin
One of the magical messages of Christmas which we are asked to explore during Advent is that faith, like love, is here regardless of our willingness to recognize it. We don’t have to trust this...and we don’t even have to believe it. In fact, we don’t have to do anything. Faith is just there regardless of our acceptance.
Words of the poet Rilke sweep over me and fill me with wonder when he says that in faith “there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.”
The mystical wisdom of Jesus who compares faith to a mustard seed boggles my mind. The tiniest little seed was planted in each of us. And it has the capacity to move mountains. How could it be that our faith which seems so fleeting and fragile is so ever-present and strong? Perhaps because it never really leaves us.
Our always-possessed faith whispers the truth to us that darkness can never endure. It proves over and over that good will overcome evil. It brings love forward and casts hatred aside. It dispels worry and asks us to simply do the-next-right-thing. We are not meant to understand faith. This isn't necessary and perhaps not even possible. Just take the leap. Your wings will appear and provide a magnificent flight. Everything will be okay.
Have Some Faith; A Message of the Christmas Season
I know you want to question everything, but sometimes it pays to just have a little faith.”
Lauren Kate
Our senses are bombarded with stories of conversions and restoration of faith during Advent and Christmastime.
The tales have been woven into the fabric of our culture beginning on Thanksgiving with “The Miracle on 34th Street” and continue to infuse us for the next days and weeks until The Wonderful finally arrives on Christmas Day. Most all of us have seen these movies dozens of times.
Yet, the hard-hearted becoming soft and compassionate, the miser becoming generous, and the troubled being saved, always seem to find a way of evoking sentimental feelings. The reason is, of course, that this is the heart of our Christmas experience. We are all hoping that we will be better people and that the world will become a kinder place.
The 2nd Sunday of Advent symbolizes Faith. One of the stories that always moves me is that of Saint Therese of France who had an incredible awakening in 1886 at age 14. A simple thing had happened. She had reached an age when the Christmas tradition of leaving her shoes by the fireplace in anticipation of presents was at an end.
She completed the ritual with her parents after which she heard her father exclaim that he was thankful they would never have to do it again. She began weeping, but the sadness was replaced by an incredible ‘white-light’ experience in which she was given a message of conversion by God. The rest of her life became a testimony of Christmas which brought major changes to the Catholic Church.
Christmas conversion and resilience of faithresonates deeply because, as Saint Therese shows us, the grace of God is alwaysat work. It is the lesson at the heartof The Wonderful. In the ordinary, warmearthiness of a stable God is born and new life comes to the earth.
Advent and the Gift of Waiting
“At this Christmas when Christ comes, will He find a warm heart? Mark the season of Advent by loving and serving the others with God's own love and concern.” ~ Mother Teresa
Advent begins next Sunday. The Hallmark Channel is providing continuous Christmas movies, people are hanging up calendars to mark the days until Christmas, while decorations abound in stores, homes and on lighted streets. Holiday music is playing on the radio. But Advent is about waiting for Christmas. This is a different kind of waiting than the annoying kind we experience so frequently like hours sitting in doctors offices, and long lines for at airports. Advent is about joyful anticipation.
The kind of waiting that we are called to experience during Advent is both focused and alert. It is being present in the moment and deliberate in our actions. We are asked to participate during this holy time by being more attentive to the people in our lives, actively listening to our families, taking extra measures to be kind and considerate, and by being unselfish as we touch the lives of strangers. This is challenging and can only be done if we slow down and take our steps thoughtfully. For hidden in these days of Advent,amid planning, rushing and overdoing, is the gentle spirit of peace.