The Real Christmas Tree (2013)

And you shall call his name Emmanuel 

“Well, that’s different.” I thought to myself as I drove by the large cross stuck in the front lawn.  “Wait!  Is that blood?”  By the time I asked the question we had passed the house.  “That was strange,” I said to no one in particular.  Everyone in the car ignored me and the conversation turned to Christmas lights and holiday travel.   “Can we drive by that again?  Go around the block.” Straining my neck to see through the back window, I tapped my friend on the shoulder, “please?”  My friend sighed, “No Karen, let’s leave it, I don’t want to turn around.”  She looked at me apologetically.  “It was weird; you can see it next time.  It’s not hard to miss!”

My friend had a point.  It wasn’t often you saw a bloody cross posted on a main road.  I had never seen anything like it.  It was 1989 and I was spending my first December away from home.  Victoria was a beautiful city and I was enjoying watching it dress up for Christmas.  Lights, banners and ornaments were bursting from shop windows and sidewalk spaces.  Tinsel, ribbons and lights were everywhere; why did I care about one strange cross on someone’s lawn?  “Fine,” I sighed.  “But let’s go home that way if we can.”

 I made it back to the same spot a week later to ensure I had seen what I remembered.  I was right; it was a Christmas display unlike any I had seen.  To call it ugly might be unfair: solemn, stark and disturbing, but not ugly.   The cross was large and the wood aged by the island’s constant winter rain.  I remember the cross being draped in a white banner and red paint smudges where Jesus hands and feet would have been.  There was a white flood light at its base which caught the words, “And still He came.”  It was barren, simple and disconcerting.

I lived in Victoria for ten years and every Christmas I went out of my way to view that display.  It appeared at the end of November.  I wondered if the owner of the house on Shelbourne was tempted to scrap that cross and put up a Christmas tree instead.  “Leave the cross for Easter and decorate a tree buddy,” I thought. But every year, the cross would faithfully appear and to be honest, it brought a secret thrill to my soul.  I was unable to articulate it at the time, but I knew I was witnessing a form of rebellion.  This hideous cross was cramping Christmas’ style.  Something was screaming and I could not hear it clearly.

At this point in my story you need to know I love Christmas trees.  I do not love plastic trees.  If you have an artificial tree I can still love you, but while you are not looking I will lay hands on your tree and pray that next year your tree will live.  I am not put off by you telling me you hate pine needles in your carpet.  It means nothing to me that the plastic tree is the best thing that happened to your Christmas.  I don’t care if it was $3000 and you got it for $18 at a garage sale.  I am not fazed by the fact that you are allergic to trees and they make you sneeze.  I will still sit by your tree and agree with it in prayer, “Dear Jesus, next year make this tree a real boy.”

I tell you this darling friend, so that you are able to understand what I am going to say next. Would you walk with me a moment dear heart?  Could we use the language of pictures, memory and experience to allow the Lord to prepare our hearts for Christmas?

I have many precious Christmas memories.  I was given the gift of a childhood by my parents and I enjoy Christmas. But as I get older, I notice a battle brewing between the Christmas tree and the Cross.  I noticed the battle 24 years ago, when my friend on Shelbourne placed that unattractive cross on his front lawn.  He defiantly decorated it with red smudges and the words, “And still He came.”

Christmas can be difficult.   When the year draws to a close, the world of media starts it full on assault on our sanity.  The airwaves scream the message that a perfect Christmas is available for a price.  Satellites bombard the planet with messages of sales and sequins, trinkets and tinsel that will usher in great happiness and joy.  Decorate your Christmas tree, put presents under it, adorn your house with lights and the sickening loneliness of the season will disappear.  Worship at the altar of perfection and strive to belong to a class of happy folk.  Make the most perfectly, perfect Christmas tree and all will be well. 

The problem is the perfect Christmas tree doesn’t have room for me and many of the people I know.  My friends, who love Jesus daily with their weaknesses, don’t have lives that make perfect Christmas possible.  One has a mother who is a raging alcoholic, while the other struggles daily with a mentally ill brother.  One of my teachers is grieving the loss of her husband while another is in a season of such tempest, she fights hourly to hold on to faith.  Many of them are working hard to restore shattered relationships and set a good example for their children.  Grace, addiction, despair, unanswered prayer, hope, intercession, these are the words that decorate my community.  Thank heaven, thank Jesus, there is a tree for the likes of us to gather around and worship at this Christmas season.

Our Christmas tree is the cross.   Those who love Jesus and are suffering during this Christmas season are welcome underneath this tree.  Fear not, your brokenness will not diminish its glow.  Your shameful relative has a place in the very heart of Him who bled and died here.  The God of this tree is big enough to deal with your anxiety and pain.  We worship here because Jesus decided to leave the glory of heaven and to condescend to become Emmanuel, God with us.  He came knowing we would fail.  He came knowing that you would despair.  He came because He loves you.  He came knowing that He would be betrayed.  He came knowing that He would die a gruesome death.  He came knowing….and still He came……

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2:8-14

I pray you have a blessed Christmas.
xoxKaren
PS. pixabay photo
https://pixabay.com/en/cross-wooden-cross-christianity-2303388/
   

Lack and Longing (Repost 2015)

Dear Friend!

I am posting mid week because my friends make me happy.  This post is originally from 2015.  I do pray you will get to a service this weekend.  Thinking of you this weekend.  Drive safely.  Be kind.  Share your cookies.

xoxK

Delivery!

“I have to drop my son off first, I’ll bring her by around six.  Maybe I can pull it together and bring dessert.”  
“No worry.  We have more than enough food.  See what your time allows.”  With that, I hung up the phone, feeling pleased with myself.  Some people find life easy to organize.  I don’t.  Any plan that I manage to pull together feels like a major victory.  I had just created an impromptu hang out time for three teenagers on a Friday evening without needing to drive.  I was impressed with myself.  I set myself to food preparation and scanned the living room.  “Girls, time to tidy up!”

I turned on the Christmas music as the girls started cleaning.  There was a knock on the door half an hour later and my girlfriend flounced into the  living room.  “Hello! We’re here,” she announced needlessly.  “You are,” I agreed.  Her arms were full and she started to place plastic cups on my table.  “Ta da,” she sang merrily.   “I made you all dessert.  Well, I tried to make you dessert.  I thought I had two pudding mixes, but it turns out I only had one.  So the girls can each have a taste, unless you have pudding.  If you have pudding, you can add more!  I’m sorry, I should have checked my pantry before I started!”  I giggled.  If anyone in my life was going to show up with an unfinished dessert, it was her.  “And the empty cups?” I inquired, knowing exactly what the answer would be.  “I was making dessert for everyone!” She repeated herself slowly, as though I were daft.  “Those are for you and your husband.  Do you have anything that can go in there?”

Moments like these, provided by friends and family make me insanely happy. This friend in particular, has a knack for doing the unexpected.  God alone knows how we have maintained our friendship over the past decade.  We communicate differently.  I could tell you that I am an auditory learner and she is visual, but the truth of the matter is I am sensible and she is a lunatic.  Misunderstanding stalks us.  We are constantly skirting disaster.  She once called me to request I pick up her daughter and then looked at me quizzically an hour later when I arrived to get her.    

The fact that she presented me with an unfinished dessert wasn’t offensive in the least.  It was a delightful gesture filled with good intent and insanity, exactly what I expect from her.   Friends aren’t bothered by lack of perfection, they are able to see the heart behind the finished product regardless of the outcome.  I find such grace a wonderful part of the Christmas season.  

Perfection is defined as the condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.   Christmas is the time when the standard of perfection is raised over friends, family and finances.  For one month, any imperfection is viewed as damaging a holiday which needs to be free from all forms of stress and strife.  Real life could not be farther from the truth.

Christmas outstrips the resources of many.  The ability to buy fabulous gifts, interact without strife and maintain a positive outlook is possessed by few, especially during the holiday season.  Real life has a way of upending good intentions.  When delusions of Christmas grandeur threaten to upset your peace of mind, it is worth taking a stroll through the story of the nativity.

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be registered, each to his own town. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.  And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth.  And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

The Shepherds and the Angels

 And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”  And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,

   “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger.  And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them.  But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

And at the end of eight days, when he was circumcised, he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb. Luke2:1-21

Suspend if you can, the perfect Christmas and reflect on scripture for a moment.  A young woman, pregnant outside of marriage.  A young couple, with no family members willing to share accommodations.  A baby born in the presence of animal dung.  A new mother with no one to tell her that her baby is beautiful.  No soft cotton outfit to put on the newborn.  A shady bunch of farm hands showing up out of nowhere and no cheese plate to share.   Nothing about this picture meets the criteria for social etiquette. Not a lot about the setting says celebration.  

Heaven however, finds the event glorious.  

Perhaps dear friend, you find yourself outstripped by Christmas this year.  If you are feeling the lack, the longing and the lacerations inflicted by life, could I invite you to take a look into the stable where our Savior was born?  I want to remind you of a simple truth: Jesus did not condescend to come to earth so that you might have a merry Christmas.  He didn’t come for the tree, the lights or the gifts.  He came to bring you hope.

Jesus came, so that you might experience forgiveness when you are rightly accused.  When you are unable to bear one more minute, He came so that He could help you endure.  If you are faced with the inability to cope, he came so that He could get you to the other side of your circumstance.  He came, so that when this world wraps up like a gift, He can right the wrongs and bring the perfect peace and justice you long for.

So dear friend, I wish you peace in the darkness this advent season.  That you might have the eyes to see heavens’ joy.  The heart to hold on to the hope He offers and the grace to sing no matter where this season finds you.

I am thinking of you this week,

xoxKaren

The Center Peace

Thank you for my flowers friend!

The Christmas bouquet caught my eye as I rounded the corner, distracted I almost ran my cart into a group of shoppers awaiting samples.  Dodging a grandma with three littles munching goat cheese on crackers, I parked my cart and wandered closer to give them a second look.  They were pretty.  Roses, greenery and a delightfully hideous gold pine cone accent.  I loved them!  A store bought center piece hadn’t graced my table since 2008 when I was given one for helping at a Christmas party.  A square vase provided the base for a flurry of pinks and reds.   Hidden in the blooms were plastic Christmas candies, realistic enough to catch the eye of anyone under 4 feet tall.  I loved that center piece; it kept me happy right into the New Year, when life took a turn toward difficulty and a season of suffering. 

Frugality, once learned, is force capable of silencing many a heart’s desire.   I checked the price tag and immediately dismissed the idea of buying them.  The budget allowed for some new things this Christmas, but splashing out on flowers wasn’t one of them.  Turning my attention to admiration and appreciation lessened the desire of ownership.  I spent a few moments looking at the velvety petals and walked on.  Flowers are amazing. If I could spend 5 minutes as another creature, I would turn into a honey bee and hang out in a rose bush (a rose bush that had been checked and had no spiders).  What a glorious thought.  The image of fuzzy bees foraging in flowers kept me preoccupied until I made it out of the store.  I returned home, unpacked the groceries and made myself some tea.   

I browsed news headlines as I sat and it didn’t take long for a sense of disbelief to settle over me.  Like many people, I find the amount of incivility in the news headlines astonishing.  The rudeness and vitriol seems unprecedented. Attack by twitter has become the norm and public anger is so fast paced I’m not sure any of us are coming out of this unscathed.  How does one conduct oneself in a culture of rage?  Is it possible to make a difference?   I sighed.  It was time to get off the computer.  Sitting at the table, I pulled out a pen and paper.  I needed to make a to-do list.  For the first time in over a year, I was having dinner guests and I was more than a little nervous. 

It wasn’t the cooking, I had my menu planned and didn’t give it a second thought.  One of the joys of being over 45 is that you know if dinner fails ordering takeout isn’t shameful.  My uneasiness came from my choice to have company in my home again.  My hiatus from entertaining was deliberate.  It was my response to unkindness targeted at my family at one of the most joyful times afforded by the Christian calendar.  To have people over for dinner was a big deal, it felt vulnerable and I didn’t want things to go sideways.  I wanted to provide a peaceful meal in celebration of the holdiay.  

I fussed and putzed the afternoon away, getting things ready and cooking.  When the house was clean, the candles lit and everything presentable I called my family together for a quick prayer.  “Lord, help.  I really don’t want this to go badly.  Please have mercy. I’m not sure why I’m doing this, it could be a really bad idea.”  To which everyone rolled their eyes and said “Amen.”  Sometimes I pray quickly, don’t know what to tell you.  As my guests rolled up, I had a momentary panic, wondering if being social again was a wise idea. 

Was the table big enough? Would I say the right things? Would I give my guest food poisoning?  Would they be put off by the fact we drink from Mason jars? Should I have bought the centerpiece to make the table look better? A million stupid things flew through my mind before my friend walked up the walkway.  “Hi!  We made it.”  She smiled and handed me a gift as her crew bustled through the door.  I barked directions to my girls, grabbed coats and kicked shoes until I realized I was holding the same flower centerpiece I didn’t buy from the store.  It had made it to my table after all. 

I Heard the Bells On Christmas Day

I heard the bells on Christmas day

Their old familiar carols play;

In music sweet the tones repeat,

“There’s peace on earth, good will to men.”

And in despair I bowed my head:

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong, and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead, nor does He sleep,

For Christ is here; His Spirit near

Brings peace on earth, good will to men.”

When men repent and turn from sin

The Prince of Peace then enters in,

And grace imparts within their hearts

His peace on earth, good will to men.

O souls amid earth’s busy strife,

The Word of God is light and life;

Oh, hear His voice, make Him your choice,

Hail peace on earth, good will to men.

Then happy, singing on your way,

Your world will change from night to day;

Your heart will feel the message real,

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~

I’m thinking of you my friend, as rage battles around us.  Praying you will find the peace you seek this Christmas.  Asking God would give you good will towards others, as this seems to be in short supply.  I pray you might have the courage to do something new, like share a coffee or bring a neighbor a plate of cookies.  Maybe get radical and sing a carol on the bus. I'm hoping that in the presence of injustice you would know that God is not dead, nor sleeping.  He sees malice and we are speeding toward a time when we will need to give an account of our deeds.  He cares about the small things and will give you the strength to endure.

Enjoy the Christmas lights.

xoxK