Thursday, December 3, 2009

Waiting for Christmas

I am finding it hard to get into the Christmas spirit this year. To all intents and purposes, I should have been singing carols since September – at least that's when Costco and Wal-Mart got into the groove.

No, there are a few reasons why I'm not there yet. One, I haven't bought my tree. There is little else that suggests Christmas to me more than a tree. I like the real thing, even if I end up paying a little more money for it. I go to the same place every year, bundle it home in or on my van, and enjoy every moment of its presence in our home. No, there is nothing that welcomes Christmas like a Scotch pine from Cranbrook.

Two, my Aunt Bob. Okay, her real name isn't Bob, but she is my aunt. She always has the first Christmas newsletter of the season, and it hasn't come yet. How can I get into giving (and returning), gobbling turkey (that once gobbled itself – figure that one out, Horace), and crying over spilled apple cider, when Aunt Bob hasn't written me yet?

It's not that I am unkind, but I actually don't look forward to the newsletter; it's just that it signifies the start of the season. Quite frankly, most Christmas newsletters can actually be quite boring. I read about a trip here and a fall there, who visited and who will no longer be visiting, and all about the latest, greatest grand-baby of them all.

Even a genuine lie might spice the thing up.

Three, lots of snow. Now as I look out the window of my brave office, basking in the solitude of the farm to the north and the ranch to the south, I actually do see snow. And with the present freezing weather, and bound to get colder by the time you read this, I think what little snow we have is here to stay. While I don't want too much snow at one time, it would make it seem a little more like Christmas (or would that be 'Christmasy'?) if we had more snow. The ideal, and I have likely said it here before, is lots of snow on the fields and no snow on the roads.

And four, the word 'Christmas' itself. If you have the time and the motivation, please go back and count the number of times I used the "C-word" - the word, Christmas. In some parts of our "advanced" society, the so-called C-word has been subverted. It has been changed to a whole host of acceptable, pleasant, and all-inclusive terms – words that actually aren't that bad. I could stomach them, if there wasn't such a questionable agenda lurking behind them.

So when I say "Merry Christmas" to you, please rest assured that I am not trying to convert you to some rabble religion, nor am I condemning you to a life of damnation because you don't see things my way. For myself, to be honest with you, I am not clear exactly when the Christ-child was born, but I do believe He came. Nor am I clear, from Scriptures, that there were three wisemen at the manger (there were actually scores in their entourage, and they likely came two years after His birth). Either way, I do believe the Middle East was all astir with this great advent. There must have been a reason for the excitement.

I find it frightening – no other word will do – that cultural, historical, and religious revisionism can sweep across our nation and simply re-work, at best (delete, at worst), an event that has been a cherished yet factual tradition for a long time. It is not a mere sentimental argument; it goes much, much deeper than this, but I refrain, owing to the nature of this column.

There needs to be a balance for sure: On the one hand, the truth of the origin and significance of the coming of the Christ-child is slowly being wiped out; and on the other hand, there are many religious people who will have nothing to do with anything that smacks of the season – be it a tree, lights, gift-giving, and such. For me, it is a great time of tradition, recollection, celebration, and deep spiritual meaning. If you don't see it that way, fine. At least let me and mine try to answer the age-old question: "Shepherds, why this jubilee?"

Now if only Aunt Bob would hurry up write and tell me about her trip to the park with her grand-kids, I could get on with the season.

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