Hey everyone,
I just wanted to let you know that I've started a new blog, Toronto Pro Sports, for all of you sports fans out there. As much as I love to write about faith and life and culture, there remains the little boy in me who remembers growing up and watching his heroes. I remember going to the games with my dad. Shooting hoops until I couldn't see the net. Running wind sprints in full pads on a cool autumn afternoon.
As a kid, sports were not only my escape, but in many ways they taught me about who I was and what I could be. The temporal boundaries were, and remain, a welcome relief from a life of gray and nuance. Of things I didn't understand. Now, as then, much of my counseling and teaching filters through my exposure to sports, and what I learned in the communities we created both as kids and adults. Mostly, however, the purpose of the blog is to simply enjoy the recreation and relaxing nature of the games. (With good debate, of course!)
I'd love for you to stop by, the peanut gallery is open...
-Steve
Friday, April 24, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Necessity of Insecurity
October 2007
"That's stupid. Totally wrong. The Bible is either completely true or it isn't." Jack said.
"What do you mean by 'completely true'?" I said. "That's an impossible statement to either attack or defend."
"C'mon, Steve, you know exactly what I mean."
I nodded. I did know what he meant. I just didn't agree with him.
A few of us had broken off and were lingering in the hallway just to the left of our classroom. We'd just finished the first half of our Biblical Interpretation course and most of us had grabbed a coffee to help us get through the second half. Coming to Toronto to work on my Masters in Divinity had offered a few surprises, not the least of which was the absolute certainty of so many of my fellow students. Partly due to age -- when I was twenty-five I actually did know everything -- and partly by indoctrination, it was difficult for many of them when our professors challenged our convictions. From my perspective, sitting and standing in the small circles outside the classrooms and in the cafeteria and library, regurgitation and rejection seemed the order of the day. Get the grade, reject the idea, and get out. This wasn't true of all my classmates, of course, but in my mind, too many of them thought the professors were out of line for even questioning the traditional belief patterns.
"I mean, c'mon, how are we supposed to convince people that Jesus matters if we can't agree on the basics?" Jack said, continuing his rant.
I shook my head and slid back into the classroom. I still remembered when I'd first come into the church and my time in the ministry as an enthusiastic zealot at twenty-one, when the world had seemed so easy. So... black and white. After fifteen years of brokenness and disappointments and successes, watching my worldview change seemingly every year, there was little to say to my classmate. He'd have to live it to understand it. I had.
One of the important things I'd learned through the years however, something that had really surprised me, was that my attitude had little to do with religion. This pattern of absoluteness carried into every area of my life, from my idea of who should be playing right field for the Blue Jays to the proper way to worship to the best way to prepare roast beef. In many ways, life was simpler then. I didn't need to worry about nuance or insecurity. Just believe, right? It wasn't that my mind couldn't be swayed by good argument, because it was possible to convince me of something else. What I couldn't do, however, was hold two ideas about the same issue in different hands.
And that had nothing to do with my belief in God, and everything to do with what I believed about being human.
****
April, 2009
I stood on the stoop outside my house, listening to the birds chatter and sing across the street. Spring was here. Another year, and more changes would soon follow. In two short months, I would be leaving my home for the past two years to be married. I thought about all the times on the stoop with my housemates, how we had laughed and cried together, sharing our lives in ways I would never have thought possible when I had arrived. Of all my housemates the past two years, only one had been born in Canada, and yet the bonds of friendship formed in that time could only be described as familial. We shared different beliefs about God, about life, and the "right way" to do things. We never talked about what it meant to be human, but it was the basis of our discussions, because in discussing the "other" things, we were really talking about our humanity.
Most people of faith don't like to hear the idea that understanding your humanity is more important than understanding God. But without the acknowledgement of our own limitations, how can we point to God without assuming a portion of divinity? How can we love and empathize with people around us if we do not understand that we all start at the same point? The only way to share and love and reflect the love the Bible talks about is through our willingness to expose our own insecurities, our own weaknesses, our own unsurety. Humanity is conjoined in her weakness, not in her strength, and in a society that promotes a (misunderstood) Darwinian ideal of the survival of the fittest, it is no wonder that we find community so hard. That we are so lonely and discouraged. Our beliefs about what makes us human are rarely questioned, and yet they are the bedrock from which our lives spring.
A black squirrel hopped onto my neighbour's porch, staring at me with a twitching face as if deciding whether he should run. I smiled and remained still, waiting as he slowly worked his way down the steps and into my neighbour's yard. We all love strong opinions, don't we? I enjoy listening to Simon on American Idol because of the forcefulness of his opinion. Conversely, listening to Paula's barely comprehensible pap ("I love you all!"), is boring. However, there is a great difference between the exchange of ideas and the interpretation of humanity, which is the biggest danger of any form of punditry. It seems as if we're constantly in search of the "perfect" idea, and that there is only one ultimate idea for everything. This is impossible, of course, unless we are God. To me, the greatest sign of a maturing human is their ability to hold different views on the same topic by remembering who they are, and to do so by remembering that they are human too.
I have long decried the idea of strict evangelicalism. I don't like it, because for me, the idea of a strict community is suffocating. There are those, however, who have grown up without boundaries, who see the very same things I see and regard them as a sign of love and concern. It would be unfair -- inhuman -- for me to castigate them for their experience, wouldn't it? To say that there is only one way to "do church."
It is this idea of nuance that so attracts me to Jesus. Not the Jesus most of us grew up with, the one with black and white ideas about tattoos and earrings and wine, but the one who consistently challenged people by their own ideas about humanity. Who is your neighbour? Why do you ignore that race? Who of you has sinned? This is what Jesus addressed, and they reveal so much more than the doctrines we spend too much time debating. Are not these the basics that truly matter? Without unsurety, however, we would never look for answers. Without weakness, we would have no need to share our lives. Without vulnerability, we would have no idea how to be compassionate.
It is because of our weakened humanity that we search for anything at all, and in so doing, it is only then can we find the One who has always loved us, and who asks us to share that love.
Not because we're right.
But because we're human.
-Steve
"That's stupid. Totally wrong. The Bible is either completely true or it isn't." Jack said.
"What do you mean by 'completely true'?" I said. "That's an impossible statement to either attack or defend."
"C'mon, Steve, you know exactly what I mean."
I nodded. I did know what he meant. I just didn't agree with him.
A few of us had broken off and were lingering in the hallway just to the left of our classroom. We'd just finished the first half of our Biblical Interpretation course and most of us had grabbed a coffee to help us get through the second half. Coming to Toronto to work on my Masters in Divinity had offered a few surprises, not the least of which was the absolute certainty of so many of my fellow students. Partly due to age -- when I was twenty-five I actually did know everything -- and partly by indoctrination, it was difficult for many of them when our professors challenged our convictions. From my perspective, sitting and standing in the small circles outside the classrooms and in the cafeteria and library, regurgitation and rejection seemed the order of the day. Get the grade, reject the idea, and get out. This wasn't true of all my classmates, of course, but in my mind, too many of them thought the professors were out of line for even questioning the traditional belief patterns.
"I mean, c'mon, how are we supposed to convince people that Jesus matters if we can't agree on the basics?" Jack said, continuing his rant.
I shook my head and slid back into the classroom. I still remembered when I'd first come into the church and my time in the ministry as an enthusiastic zealot at twenty-one, when the world had seemed so easy. So... black and white. After fifteen years of brokenness and disappointments and successes, watching my worldview change seemingly every year, there was little to say to my classmate. He'd have to live it to understand it. I had.
One of the important things I'd learned through the years however, something that had really surprised me, was that my attitude had little to do with religion. This pattern of absoluteness carried into every area of my life, from my idea of who should be playing right field for the Blue Jays to the proper way to worship to the best way to prepare roast beef. In many ways, life was simpler then. I didn't need to worry about nuance or insecurity. Just believe, right? It wasn't that my mind couldn't be swayed by good argument, because it was possible to convince me of something else. What I couldn't do, however, was hold two ideas about the same issue in different hands.
And that had nothing to do with my belief in God, and everything to do with what I believed about being human.
****
April, 2009
I stood on the stoop outside my house, listening to the birds chatter and sing across the street. Spring was here. Another year, and more changes would soon follow. In two short months, I would be leaving my home for the past two years to be married. I thought about all the times on the stoop with my housemates, how we had laughed and cried together, sharing our lives in ways I would never have thought possible when I had arrived. Of all my housemates the past two years, only one had been born in Canada, and yet the bonds of friendship formed in that time could only be described as familial. We shared different beliefs about God, about life, and the "right way" to do things. We never talked about what it meant to be human, but it was the basis of our discussions, because in discussing the "other" things, we were really talking about our humanity.
Most people of faith don't like to hear the idea that understanding your humanity is more important than understanding God. But without the acknowledgement of our own limitations, how can we point to God without assuming a portion of divinity? How can we love and empathize with people around us if we do not understand that we all start at the same point? The only way to share and love and reflect the love the Bible talks about is through our willingness to expose our own insecurities, our own weaknesses, our own unsurety. Humanity is conjoined in her weakness, not in her strength, and in a society that promotes a (misunderstood) Darwinian ideal of the survival of the fittest, it is no wonder that we find community so hard. That we are so lonely and discouraged. Our beliefs about what makes us human are rarely questioned, and yet they are the bedrock from which our lives spring.
A black squirrel hopped onto my neighbour's porch, staring at me with a twitching face as if deciding whether he should run. I smiled and remained still, waiting as he slowly worked his way down the steps and into my neighbour's yard. We all love strong opinions, don't we? I enjoy listening to Simon on American Idol because of the forcefulness of his opinion. Conversely, listening to Paula's barely comprehensible pap ("I love you all!"), is boring. However, there is a great difference between the exchange of ideas and the interpretation of humanity, which is the biggest danger of any form of punditry. It seems as if we're constantly in search of the "perfect" idea, and that there is only one ultimate idea for everything. This is impossible, of course, unless we are God. To me, the greatest sign of a maturing human is their ability to hold different views on the same topic by remembering who they are, and to do so by remembering that they are human too.
I have long decried the idea of strict evangelicalism. I don't like it, because for me, the idea of a strict community is suffocating. There are those, however, who have grown up without boundaries, who see the very same things I see and regard them as a sign of love and concern. It would be unfair -- inhuman -- for me to castigate them for their experience, wouldn't it? To say that there is only one way to "do church."
It is this idea of nuance that so attracts me to Jesus. Not the Jesus most of us grew up with, the one with black and white ideas about tattoos and earrings and wine, but the one who consistently challenged people by their own ideas about humanity. Who is your neighbour? Why do you ignore that race? Who of you has sinned? This is what Jesus addressed, and they reveal so much more than the doctrines we spend too much time debating. Are not these the basics that truly matter? Without unsurety, however, we would never look for answers. Without weakness, we would have no need to share our lives. Without vulnerability, we would have no idea how to be compassionate.
It is because of our weakened humanity that we search for anything at all, and in so doing, it is only then can we find the One who has always loved us, and who asks us to share that love.
Not because we're right.
But because we're human.
-Steve
Thursday, March 26, 2009
So Like the Economy is, um, Bad?
It feels like a long time since I've written anything here, and I have to say I miss it. I miss your feedback, and I miss the stream of conscious writing I could always do for this site. ("First draft, Mark... First draft!") Things have slowed down a bit for my book, but I have an article under consideration at one magazine, just finished an article for a newspaper in Southern Ontario, and am working on my next magazine piece. I'll be getting married in July, and we've started planning for what all needs to be done. I have to say, I can't wait!! There are a few nuggets floating around the news lately, however, that I find frustrating.
Thought I'd rant a bit. Mind?
Okay, we get that the economy is in a recession. Without getting into the who's or what's, can we please stop making every article we read and every commentary we hear as further commentary on the economic 'plight' of our country. Please? Listen, we've known for years that the manufacturing sector was going to eventually get hammered. How can we compete with China or India, when their labour costs are a fraction of ours? I understand that losing our job is a terrible and frightening thing, it's happened to me before. And I am especially empathetic with those trying to support a family.
Here's my problem. The Canadian banks are stable, still raking in billions. I'm still waiting in line at Starbucks. (A five dollar latte, in the greatest recession since the thirties? Anyone else see the hyperbole here?) People are still paying $75 /hour for people to show them how to workout properly, and 100$/hr to have their muscles massaged.
I'm not saying that the economy isn't down, because it is, though it seems like it happens every ten years or so. All I'm saying is that I'd like to open up the newspaper and not read about the "dire" circumstances that proclaim the end of the world. Pretty soon we'll actually believe Chicken Little.
My second point is that maybe this is a good reminder to remember what's really important. I've never made more than thirty two thousand dollars a year. I live in a small room with 8 housemates. I work at a job that offers no sick days and very little security.
I've never been happier.
In Ottawa, I had a secure job with the school board. I spent $120/month on television, which I watched seven hours per day. I loved my kids, but the daily drudgery and job circumstances were killing me. I was miserable. Contrast that to now. The other day I went to do my laundry and noticed I'd put my detergent in front of my television. Except for the occasional movie or game, I don't even turn the TV on any more.
All I'm saying is that sometimes having less, is having more, and that maybe it'd do us all a bit of good to rethink why we're here in the first place.
And if you know any publishers, please tell them to stop with the Apocalypse Now crap. Let's leave that to John Hagee. The rest of should go outside and play, I hear spring is coming...
Steve
Thought I'd rant a bit. Mind?
Okay, we get that the economy is in a recession. Without getting into the who's or what's, can we please stop making every article we read and every commentary we hear as further commentary on the economic 'plight' of our country. Please? Listen, we've known for years that the manufacturing sector was going to eventually get hammered. How can we compete with China or India, when their labour costs are a fraction of ours? I understand that losing our job is a terrible and frightening thing, it's happened to me before. And I am especially empathetic with those trying to support a family.
Here's my problem. The Canadian banks are stable, still raking in billions. I'm still waiting in line at Starbucks. (A five dollar latte, in the greatest recession since the thirties? Anyone else see the hyperbole here?) People are still paying $75 /hour for people to show them how to workout properly, and 100$/hr to have their muscles massaged.
I'm not saying that the economy isn't down, because it is, though it seems like it happens every ten years or so. All I'm saying is that I'd like to open up the newspaper and not read about the "dire" circumstances that proclaim the end of the world. Pretty soon we'll actually believe Chicken Little.
My second point is that maybe this is a good reminder to remember what's really important. I've never made more than thirty two thousand dollars a year. I live in a small room with 8 housemates. I work at a job that offers no sick days and very little security.
I've never been happier.
In Ottawa, I had a secure job with the school board. I spent $120/month on television, which I watched seven hours per day. I loved my kids, but the daily drudgery and job circumstances were killing me. I was miserable. Contrast that to now. The other day I went to do my laundry and noticed I'd put my detergent in front of my television. Except for the occasional movie or game, I don't even turn the TV on any more.
All I'm saying is that sometimes having less, is having more, and that maybe it'd do us all a bit of good to rethink why we're here in the first place.
And if you know any publishers, please tell them to stop with the Apocalypse Now crap. Let's leave that to John Hagee. The rest of should go outside and play, I hear spring is coming...
Steve
Friday, January 02, 2009
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
"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
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