Pain, Christmas and… Gratitude?

    The streets are quiet. From the lofty view on the eighth floor, the world seems especially still tonight, and the only sound on the balcony is the wind flapping an unhinged piece of plastic against one of the trees below me. It is after 3am, and Christmas morning is still a few hours away. Most of the city remains locked in their holiday slumber, as I should be, but the pain has returned and sleep is not an option.

    It's been a rough two weeks. An abscessed tooth on the left side of my mouth has rejected the recent spate of antibiotics, and so after only a day or so of relief, the pain has returned on the eve of this Christmas morning to push me from my sleep. The pain is intense and comes in waves, and often feels as though someone is sawing a knife into my gums. Before the dentist was able to assign me antibiotics nearly a week ago, I'd gone through nearly ten extra strength tylenol a day, to little effect. It was only hours before I'd hoped that the pain was finally gone, but it has returned in full force, and after another night of little or no sleep, I am awake. In many ways, I feel like I've lost two weeks, because it's hard to keep track of the days when you're not sleeping and you never know when another staggering wave of pain will thrash your existence and bring you, often literally, to your knees.    And yet this morning, despite the physical agony I find myself in, I can't help feeling just a little grateful. I know it sounds like ridiculous, like one of those pat answers we hand out to people who are suffering to make ourselves feel better because we feel all right and well, we don't know what else to say. And as much as I'd like to not feel as if the dentist forgot his needle in my mouth, it does remind me of the people in this world who are in much greater pain. More than infected tissue brushing against a nerve, we are surrounded by people who suffer from recurring emotional scars that are ripped open, again and again, especially during holidays like Christmas. And while we are not meant to give up our own happiness or fulfillment to continually ponder the fates of those who are struggling, a reminder about the nature of humanity can serve, I think, to help us deal with our own pain and the struggles we all endure.

    ***

    There was a time not so long ago when Christianity was the faith of the suffering, the wounded, and the broken hearted. It was the faith that called its God the 'Man of Sorrows'. A faith that believed the Incarnation had been revealed in a poor, itinerant Rabbi during a tempestuous and violent period in the world's history. And a faith that viewed life in the light of its hardship and promised only hope.

    That faith, that version of Christianity, is no longer popular in North America or in most Western cultures. Instead, we look for the shiny red package with a bow on top, the faith that promises more goodies if only you'll choose it. Jesus, who has become a Western icon, is hard to distinguish from the morass of proto-masculine figures of the sports and entertainment world. In this world he isn't Swedish, as some would say, but more like the former gridiron star turned politician who has a good feel for people and a kind word for the women and children. He is marketable and likable and eminently successful. Massive churches and entire denominations design their advertising campaigns around him. Books promote his willingness to make you successful. Movies and music promise peace and joy if you'll just surrender to him… and donate twenty dollars to their ministry. Jesus is the Everyman, the star who fills the role that everyone can identify with, and he commands a huge market and a massive commission. With such a Saviour, we don't have much time for pain, just a quick, easy smile for the cameras before we flash forward to our next promotional visit. The underlying basis for humanity, the tragedy that enjoins us, is not important, not so long as we can get people into our building to recite our mantras and buy our stuff. The New Jesus wants to make You Better! The New Jesus doesn't want you to even think about the Negative. Focus on the Goodness! Focus on the Love! Okay, turn here, now smile… Good. Got it.

    In the world where entertainment is news and news is entertainment, the New Jesus strides across the room with a smile and a quip and presents for everyone.

    I don't like the New Jesus very much. He may earn twenty million for a movie and write best selling books that are sold in huge churches, and he might have a TV show that is shown to millions around the world and a rich following dressed in three piece suits and earnest faces, but I don't trust him. I know that I'm supposed to, know that I'm supposed to have more faith and just 'believe', but no matter how relevant or counter cultural or easy it all seems to believe in him, it just doesn't feel right. I admit that I don't know what God is supposed to feel like or look like, but when I see the New Jesus, the Jesus you see on your TV sets and the Jesus you find advertised in and by so many churches, it only makes me want to change the channel.

    ****

    Some of my friends don't like Christmas very much. In fact, there are quite a few people who don't like our current holiday creation, for a variety of reasons. For some, it is simply a matter of being too commercial, a created holiday for stores that has nothing to do with God or anything else. For others however, Christmas is a painful time because of what it recalls. Painful childhood memories of dysfunctional and abusive homes. Loved ones we've lost and lost loves. Suicide rates hit their peak during the Christmas season, and as every youth worker knows, it is often hardest on the young, who are forced to watch glamorized tales of perfect families and holiday rancor before heading home to a world filled with pain. For them, and many others, Christmas is far worse than even the worst sort of physical pain, because there is no operation and no painkiller that can take away the deep ache inside, an ache that Christmas seems only to highlight. For them, December 25^th is the yearly reminder that God doesn't love them or doesn't exist. The New Jesus does not make them want to change the channel so much as it does break the television. Of course, there's another Jesus, but we don't talk about him much these days…

    ****

    On a wind swept Judean hillside, the night is cold, and a young couple huddles together over a fire. Stars blanket the night sky like glittering diamonds, but the woman doesn't notice. Her legs and arms ache from the ride and she runs a trembling hand over her stomach. The time is soon. Her husband looks on anxiously and tries to wrap her in his blanket to keep her warm. The fire has little effect. Her hands feel numb with cold, though her forehead is covered in sweat. He tries to get her to eat, but she isn't hungry. They need a place to stay. It's soon, she tells him. He nods and puts out the fire. He has his own worries. Normally, the inns would have plenty of room, but with the Census, the roads are packed with travelers, and the young couple does not have enough money to buy someone out of their room. He is a simple man, and he worries about his young wife. He feels guilty that he cannot do better for her.

    He moves them back onto the road, which even now sees a fair share of travelers. No one speaks to them, however. No one offers them help, though the woman is clearly pregnant and struggling to stay on their donkey. Everyone is headed somewhere else. Everyone except for us, the man thinks. Alone in his thoughts, he reaches up to hold his wife's hand. Her fingers feel cold in his callused palm. They go as fast as they dare, but it is still slow going and the night is cold. He prays under his breath for Yahweh to help, but God seems absent this night. For years he was content in his work, until he met her, when suddenly things changed. He never could have anticipated this, however.

    She grasps her husband's hand and holds tight. She remembers the strange vision, and the visit from her cousin, but all she can think about is the pain. Everything hurts. She wonders why no one offers them help. But these are not people she grew up with. They are strangers, culled from the countryside at the beckons of their King, all anxious to be home. She sighs. The thought of a home, like the thought of no pain, is too much to hold onto. There is only the next minute. The next hour. The child must come, but she wonders why God has made this so difficult. Why he has chosen her? If he has chosen her. Doubts come and the pain is relentless, but she holds onto her husband's hand and tries to hide her face from the cold.

    The stable is dirty and stinks of cows and manure. Does it have to be here, she asks? Her husband nods, the misery and worry etched onto his face. She smiles at him, though her heart is filled with fear. She will not have any help. Not her mother or aunt or anyone else. She will have to do it alone. They will have to do it alone.

    He watches the way his wife accepts their fate, accepts his poverty, and smiles at him. Momentarily he hates himself for it and curses God for putting him in such a position. He sighs and asks forgiveness, grateful that his wife has a place to lie down. There is so much to be angry about, but the stable is better than the road. He thinks about his family and wishes his parents were still alive. He puts the thought out of his head. There is no one else now. Just him and his wife and the baby.

    Oh Yahweh, where are you?

    ****

    The gurgling sound seems to rise above the cacophony of the animals and he stares in wonder at the little boy. His wife is soaked in sweat but she is smiling. God be praised, he thinks, they've done it. What he doesn't understand is why they've had to do it alone. Or have they? He worries about where they will live and the rumors of war. He worries about the little boy being healthy and his wife getting sick.

    His wife holds up the boy and hands it to him. He takes it, cradling it in his arms, surprised by how light the baby is, how warm he feels. He asks his wife if its normal, but she just smiles as if he's said something in Greek. His worries vanish for the moment as he runs a finger over the boy's dark, wrinkled skin. He rocks him gently while his wife dozes. He wants to plan for the future, plan for his family, figure out a way to ensure they can survive the cold winters and blazing summers, but for the moment he is lost as he stares into his little one's eyes, and all he can do is whisper a quiet thanks.

    Merry Christmas, everyone.

 

-Steve

 

Halloween, Christmas and Other Atrocities

 

    The knock took me by surprise. I looked over at Bethany and checked the clock. 9pm? Who'd be coming by at this hour? She answered the door and I heard a familiar chorus.

    "Trick or treat!"

    "Hold on a minute, guys." She said. I caught a glimpse of their costumes from the living room. Two little kids, who couldn't have been more than five or six, dressed as executives. (They clearly hadn't been following the news.) She gave them some candy, and I heard their thank-you's as the door closed. Since we live on the 8^th floor of an apartment building, they were our only visitors. I thought about telling them that Halloween was the Devil's night, that Jesus would be very unhappy with them, and asking them where the tradition of Halloween had come from, but as they were only kids, they probably wouldn't understand what I was saying. Of course, age rarely comes into play when it comes to understanding, just as ignorance wears a variety of masks…

    

    When I was a kid, we dressed up every year to go out for Halloween. We didn't have a lot of money, but my mom worked hard on our costumes -- I still remember my sisters going out as Raggedy Ann and Andy -- and we always had a lot of fun, especially afterwards when my sisters and I would sit on our beds and 'trade'. (Any trade that brought you a chocolate bar was a winner. 'Best player in the trade' mentality.) Our home was traditional Catholic, but it never occurred to anyone in my family that somehow by putting on costumes and going door to door we were dishonouring God. That changed when I went into ministry. The Pentecostal church where I was working thought Halloween was the devil's night and had videos to prove it. Not only that, as we were taught in excruciating detail, the roots of Halloween went back to a dangerous and ignorant time, when the masks and costumes were worn to scare evil spirits, and trick or treat involved a sacrifice to these spirits. Sometimes, they said, those sacrifices included human sacrifices. I was horrified. I did some research, and wouldn't you know it, it was true. Halloween had indeed been a pagan holiday. They had indeed used masks in an attempt to scare the evil spirits. The idea that Christians celebrated such an evil holiday was an atrocity. I immediately crossed Halloween off my holiday list.

In my second year of ministry, my senior pastor informed me that they were going to offer an alternative costume party for the kids. I thought it was a great idea. This way, he said, the kids would get their candy and not be left out, and the church could reaffirm the glory of God instead of partaking in some old pagan/satanic ritual. It would be years before I would reconsider this idea of Halloween as the devil's night. Halloween was evil. It was right there in the history books. Or was it?

When my sister first told the family a number of years ago that she wasn't celebrating Christmas anymore and that it was a pagan holiday, I thought she was nuts. It was the birth of Jesus! For crying out loud, I thought, you couldn't get any more 'Christian' than that! She was vey calm.

"Christmas is a pagan holiday. The Romans changed it when the church came into power. December 25^th was traditionally the celebration of Winter Solstice. And historians have long confirmed that Jesus was born sometime in February. Also, Christmas trees were a form of pagan worship, particularly popular in Germany, but also known throughout Ireland and Scotland."

"That's not true," I said, unwilling to stay quiet. "The trees are evergreens, they represent Jesus' limbs and how they reach out all year round… or something like that."

My sister just looked at me and I shuffled uneasily under her gaze.

"Okay, fine. But how about St. Nick? He was a real saint who helped orphans and-"

"-now he's a fat man with a red coat and talking reindeer who lives at the North Pole. Christmas is nothing more than a big bloated business opportunity!"

I looked at my sister's serious expression and waved my hands.

"Bah humbug!"

It was all I had left. The sad thing of it all was that my sister was right. Her church, at least when it came to celebrations, was very consistent. They didn't celebrate anything except birthdays, which is to say, they didn't celebrate anything. (Loads of fun for the kids, but hey, they're consistent, and isn't that what's really important?)

I guess it was after that I started thinking about Halloween. The truth, conveniently ignored by those of us in the church, including me, was that all of our customs and rituals had ties to the past. Except that for most evangelicals, Christmas made the cut and Halloween didn't. I could only wonder at the discrepancy. Of the two holidays, Christmas seemed far less "Christian". It encouraged consumerism and gluttony and materialism. Jesus was as much a footnote to our cultural practice of Christianity as Satan was to our cultural practice of Halloween. And I certainly didn't see people offering sacrifices to evil spirits on Halloween. Oh, I had no doubt there were people who tried to re-enact the pagan rituals on October 31st. These so-called occultists. So what? I didn't see why it mattered so much. If a group of people decided to worship suitcases every July 4^th, would Christians declare that to be a no-travel day as a form of protest? In essence, what the church was doing was giving Satan equal billing with an omnipotent God.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why they persisted in producing so much anti-Halloween material. It had become so ridiculous to me, especially when I saw the medieval images of Satan wearing horns and a tail and usually in red tights. How was this seen as biblical? I brought it up with some of my Christian friends as a joke, but they never laughed. Mostly I got disapproving frowns. It was spiritual, they told me, and there was nothing 'trivial' about it. Well, I agreed with them about that. It certainly wasn't trivial. And as I'd found out this past year, the anti-Halloween movement hadn't slowed at all. It was all kind of sad and rheumy, like finding your grandfather's favourite old rocker in the garage covered with dust and being sold as something new and fresh.

But I guess we're taking a stand, aren't we? I just wonder when we're going to wake up and see that in all of our rhetoric, we're committing a much greater atrocity.

 

***

 

 

For me, the saddest part of all this is that my sister hasn't celebrated Christmas with my family in fifteen years. Her church has taken a stand, and God Bless Them, they're consistent. There will be no pagan celebrations in their family. And for many of my evangelical and charismatic friends, there will be no Halloween celebrations in their family either.

I guess that's okay. I don't like consumerism very much, and most people don't want to honour evil, but what if we're wrong about these traditions. What if the meaning of a tradition is simply the meaning you ascribe to it?

When I think about Christmas growing up, I don't think about the fact it was a pagan holiday or that Jesus was born in February. Instead, I remember family gatherings, getting together at the Croatian Hall with my cousins and waiting for Santa to appear, or our tradition of opening presents one at a time on Christmas morning. When I think about Halloween, I don't think about the occultist ties or ignorance of scaring spirits, I think about the costumes my mom made for us, trading candy with my sisters, engaging with our neighbours, and later, with my neighbours' children.

It's easy, I think, to take a perpetual stance of condemning culture. It's easy to automatically label customs as wrong or sinful and even easier to find reasons not to participate. Maybe that happens because it gives us a sense of both self-importance and self-sacrifice and doesn't really cost us anything. Except that it does. It reinforces the idea that Christians are proud and elitist. It reinforces the idea that Christians think that they are better. It tells the world that Christianity is as exclusive as a yacht club, and forces some of us who love Jesus to explain to our friends why these other Christians are such cultural snobs. Perhaps the worst thing about it though, is that while we're celebrating our differences from the world on these holidays, there will be people at work and on our streets who have no one with whom they can share anything. It goes without saying, I think, that the real atrocities of life are never concerned with issues, just people. The same people the church insists that it loves.

I miss our family Christmas. I miss the fact we can't gather together as a family because a portion of the church insists on teaching anti-culturalism. My hope this year is that we will remember to celebrate the holidays (yes, all of them) as seasons of hope and giving. That we will look at the world as not a place to condemn, but as a family to join. And that we will hold close not the doctrines that divide us, but the relationships that make this whole thing matter.

-Steve

 

    

Resolution, Baby! Why New Year's Matters

I flipped my book down on the desk and sighed. Another cancellation. December was a hard month for trainers, and as we lived under the adage "they that don't work don't get paid", it'd been frustrating trying to get my clients into the gym. It wasn't as if I didn't understand the busy nature of the Christmas season. I did. None of that paid the bills however. I glanced over at one of the other trainers taking a break in our small room that served as our workroom or hideout, depending on the day.

"Another one?" He asked.

"Yup. Can't wait until January when the 'resolution babies' come in."

He nodded and smiled.

"It'll be all you can handle, bro."

I knew that he was right. January was the time when most people who hadn't thought about being fit decided to try it. It was the busiest month of the year for most gyms and any business that promised a renewal of some sort, anything that could tap into the "resolution fervor" of the New Year.

I always liked New Year's, and I was always a bit surprised by the people who didn't. ("The calendar turns. Big deal. What difference does it make?") I had family and friends who didn't celebrate holidays for that very reason. Some of them were religious ("There are no special days, every day is holy") and others were non-religious. ("It's just a holiday to get people to buy stuff, besides, I'm not religious") For a long time I often felt almost guilty about the way I enjoyed holidays, both the religious (Christmas) and non-religious (New Year's) ones. It felt as though I was caving into the commercialization of our culture and the capitalization of the commoditizing nature of our comfort zones... or something like that. Intellectually stupid perhaps. Or spiritually bankrupt. Or any one of a number of cold ideas.

The point is that I thought enjoying the holidays was okay but only if I didn't attach too great a significance to them. These days, thankfully, I don't feel that way. Holidays are an important part of the way we grow as people, and those who reject them do so at their own peril...


I looked at the phone in the trainer's room and with a shrug, grabbed my gear from my locker and headed into the back room to change. To be honest, I wasn't that upset about the cancellations. January would be busy, and for now, it would nice to have a break, even if I wasn't being paid. When I'd changed and packed up, I headed to the office to wish my co-workers a Happy New Year. After a round of handshakes, I pulled on my toque and headed into the winter night.

Flurries drifted from the sky, and I tucked my hands in my pocket as I headed north towards the subway. The sidewalks were busy, and I watched the people hustle through the cold, their breath fogging the air as snippets of their conversation flowed around me. Up ahead, the Eglinton Centre loomed like a distant castle. The three flags outside the Centre snapped in the breeze overhead. It'd be nice to have some time off, nice to have some time to think about where my life was going and what the new year would bring. As much as I'd heard people downplay holidays, it seemed to me that the ones who did so were always a bit sad.

Holidays -- which are derived from the idea of Holy Days -- are a difficult time for people who have lost family members or who have had bad experiences during certain seasons. It is no secret that the Christmas season annually gives us more suicides than any other time of year. But the idea of a holiday, an annual ritual that repeats the same customs to lend stability to the human condition, is to enhance emotion and help us recall our lives. In short, holidays are about looking behind us and looking ahead. And sometimes that can be very painful) In my experience, the people who dislike holidays -- whatever the reason they give you -- tend to want to avoid one or the other. Unfortunately, this tendency is psychologically and emotionally unhealthy. Because wherever holidays come from, depending on your tradition, they replicate the rhythm of life, the waking and sleeping and waking and sleeping of human existence.

It is hard to tell now, in this industrialized world that creates its own light, but throughout history most civilizations have been agrarian, not only respondent to the seasons, but dependent and woven around them as well. In an industrialized society, the dependence is abstract at best. Unfortunately, even religious people have copied this enlightenment ideal of "progressive civilization."

For example, I find it both sad and fascinating that certain Christians will not celebrate Christmas because "it's pagan."

"Jesus was not born on December 25th," They'll tell me with a triumphant look.

My response is always the same.

"No. According to what we know, Jesus was probably born in late February. The day is symbolic."

That's when I get one of those looks from certain personality types, the same people who equate symbolism with lying. You know who I'm talking about. (These people will give you 37 Bible verses or quote The Handbook of Modern Science to prove a point. Sigh)

Of course, Jesus wasn't born on Christmas Day! December 24th, since 45 BCE, was celebrated on the Julian calendar as Winter Solstice. (Pope Gregory changed it to December 21 in 1582, which we now mark as the beginning of winter) On winter solstice, the sun ceases to decline in the sky and the length of daylight reaches its minimum for three days, during which the sun does not move on the horizon. When the three days have ended, the sun begins its ascent into the northern sky and days grow longer. Thus the interpretation by many cultures of a sun reborn and a return to light. We can see why Christians began celebrating this association as the day to mark the birth of Jesus.

This idea of what's 'pagan' and what isn't, fascinates me, if only for the ardour with which it is pursued. In many religious traditions, the date often becomes more important than the event; the event in this case is the birth of Jesus. Instead of spending our efforts reflecting upon the meaning and praxis of God coming to earth, we spend it arguing over the triivialities of things such as dates and times and locations. Some argue that to offer proof in this regard, or coincidentally disprove it, affect the legtimacy of the claim and therefore the holiday itself.

Nonsense.

The reach towards "proof" is nothing more than an egocentric response towards divinity and away from the real meaning of the Incarnation. The significance of the birth of Jesus can't be found in its proof. The significance of Christmas is in its memory, that God loved us so much he became one of us, that the Creator of the world joined our messy, broken lives to walk with us for a time, and in so doing, show us the way to freedom. That's the significance.

Religious or not, holidays are both a great opportunity and a necessary one. The first holiday in Christian tradition is the Sabbath. The purpose: a day of rest and reflection. In fact, we can find many examples in the Old Testament of God showing us the way to dance to the rhythm of humanity, how to live in concert with the cycles of our world, and how to listen for the resonance of both heaven and earth and apply it to our lives. Without these breaks, be they the Sabbath or Passover or the Year of Jubilee or Christmas or yes, even New Year's Day, our lives often become a steady treadmill to disengagement.

I've often felt that without sleep our lives would be meaningless. Without that second chance to do tomorrow each day, what would our lives look like? Instead of merely fixing our binary connections, God has instead given us the rise and fall of breath and life that somehow exhales at the end of each day, with a chance for something new, something great, the next day.

New Year's is not a religious holiday, per se, but for me it is just as important. Once a year I look back and look forward. Once a year I take stock of my life and see where I'm headed, both emotionally and practically. And once a year I am reminded of how lucky I am, that with all my faults and mistakes, the blessings in my life are numerous beyond belief.

Humanity was created to live in cycles, in the fluttering rhythm of a broken world. The purpose of holidays is to help us see the opportunities for renewal that await us each day, each month, and each year. And to remind us that it is engagement -- with ourselves and those around us -- that points us both to freedom and blessing.

My prayer this New Year's is that you will take some time to think about where you've been and where you're headed. That you would push forward again with a new set of resolutions. And most importantly, that you wouldn't let past failures dictate your future ambitions.

Happy New Year, everyone.

-Steve