It’s an odd year for my family. My parents, 88 and 89, have lived rich and full lives, and my husband, children and I have shared holidays large and small with them.
But this year they are confined to rooms in a nursing home.
Several
years ago I received from a parishioner a "Jesus Is the Reason for the Season"
cookie tin. Every time I reached for a piece of Doris's divinity, I had to read
that cheery-angry motto of Christian moralism.
As the second Sunday
in advent approaches, I find the prophets of the season compelling. To my ears,
their message sounds pretty consistent: "Change the ways of this world."
I decided our family's
Christmas would be simple and spirit-centered. Green to parenting, I
defined spiritual as anything that allowed me a minute to reflect on what, beyond the laundry, mattered.
The disconnect between church and secular calendars may never be greater than on the first Sunday in Advent. The irony is that both ostensibly share the same goal: preparing the world for Christmas.
Christmas is coming. I know this not because of the weather, which is still balmy, nor the date. I know it because yesterday I saw the county prisoners putting up Christmas decorations in the town square.
The pressure to keep up a relentless facade of merriment is not a Christian pressure. We may not be able to completely escape this, but perhaps we can lessen it by not confusing it with discipleship.
