I don’t know why, but Christmas makes me think of Walgreens. I don’t buy Christmas presents at Walgreens, but if you want to observe Christmas clutter at its best (and worst), go into a Walgreens this time of year.
Even our homey manger scenes are cluttered with shepherds, sheep, three wise men, camels, an ox, and a donkey. It’s like people dropping in unexpectedly with their pets during Christmas, and it’s impolite to tell them to go away. Christmas and clutter go together, even in the manger.
But what’s up with the ox and the donkey? The deeper question is about our need to embellish what is a very sparse story about Jesus’ birth. We’ve cluttered the Christmas story with so many novelistic details that it looks like a fireplace mantel crammed with too many trinkets.
Read Matthew and Luke: no ox or donkey in the manger. How did they get there? Who thought up the barnyard scene? One of my favorite Christmas carols is “What Child is This?” That song says, “Why lies he in such mean estate, where ox and ass are feeding?” I like the picture. It offers a very sweet, childlike image. It brings out my sentimental side, yet it points to a potential clutter issue in the manger.
It might be kind of a shock to know that the ox and donkey were placed in the manger by a Gnostic Gospel from the 8th century called “The Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew.” This thing is long and dull and silly. But in Chapter 14 of Pseudo-Matthew we read, “The very animals, therefore, the ox and the ass, having Him in their midst, incessantly adored Him.” Okay, so the ox and donkey incessantly adore the baby Jesus. Why?
Well, it’s because Isaiah supposedly prophesied this when he wrote, “The ox knows its owner, and the donkey its master’s crib; but Israel does not know, my people do not understand” (Isa 1:3). This is about the manger? Yes, according to the romantic version of the manger based on Pseudo-Matthew. I think we would agree that this is stretching scripture a tad!
Enough. Back to Christmas clutter. Walgreens is cluttered. Our houses are probably cluttered. We’ve even cluttered the manger with animals that weren’t really there in the first place. And perhaps we’ve cluttered the story of Jesus himself with non-essentials.
The key to a Christ-filled Christmas? Get rid of the clutter and “incessantly adore” Jesus. Cut through the novelties and embellishments and receive Christ himself by faith.
December 23, 2009
December 12, 2009
Advent: Expanding the Horizon of Hope
For Christians, Advent is the season of expectation and hope. We are all busy doing stuff to get ready for Christmas. We are hanging Christmas decorations, setting up the tree, baking cookies, buying presents, fighting traffic, and shoveling a lot of snow!
What are we hoping for this Advent? When it’s all over, when Christmas is done, what was it all about? What are we expecting this year? Perhaps we need to go deeper into Advent hope and expand our horizon of hope . . . and get in touch with the big picture.
The Bible is a history of expectation. Because God is in charge of history, human history is heading somewhere. History is more than fate, contingency, and disjointed events. The Bible is “salvation history.” It is history interpreted from the perspective of God’s overall plan. Jews and Christians are rooted in this history, rooted in the biblical view of history. It is the acute awareness of God within history that characterizes Judaism and Christianity. This history is a history of expectation: God’s future is always on the way!
The biblical vision gradually broadens from the particular to the universal, from Israel to “the nations,” and from the mundane and temporal to the cosmic and eternal. We move from the original creation to “the new creation.” We move from a literal Jewish messiah to a cosmic Christ, a universal redeemer. In the Bible we can find narrow-minded Jewish nationalism and narrow-minded Christian sectarianism. But the thrust of the Bible as a whole is toward the cosmic, the eternal, and the universal. God wants to save the world and all creation, not only Jews and Christians!
In other words, hope keeps expanding as the horizon of salvation keeps expanding. Expectation increases, since no historical moment can contain or exhaust the fullness of God. History itself is moving toward that fullness: the kingdom of God.
Advent hope is broad, expansive, and inclusive. It goes beyond “my family” or “my church” or “my kind of people.” Advent hope goes beyond partisanship and sectarianism; it goes beyond “group think” or “us versus them.”
When it’s all over and Christmas is done, will our hope be larger? Will our vision of salvation be broader? Will we have expanded our compassion beyond our own kind to those who differ most from us? The Savior that was born in Bethlehem has a lot more on his mind than my presents, my house, my church, my country, or my kind of people.
What are we hoping for this Advent? When it’s all over, when Christmas is done, what was it all about? What are we expecting this year? Perhaps we need to go deeper into Advent hope and expand our horizon of hope . . . and get in touch with the big picture.
The Bible is a history of expectation. Because God is in charge of history, human history is heading somewhere. History is more than fate, contingency, and disjointed events. The Bible is “salvation history.” It is history interpreted from the perspective of God’s overall plan. Jews and Christians are rooted in this history, rooted in the biblical view of history. It is the acute awareness of God within history that characterizes Judaism and Christianity. This history is a history of expectation: God’s future is always on the way!
The biblical vision gradually broadens from the particular to the universal, from Israel to “the nations,” and from the mundane and temporal to the cosmic and eternal. We move from the original creation to “the new creation.” We move from a literal Jewish messiah to a cosmic Christ, a universal redeemer. In the Bible we can find narrow-minded Jewish nationalism and narrow-minded Christian sectarianism. But the thrust of the Bible as a whole is toward the cosmic, the eternal, and the universal. God wants to save the world and all creation, not only Jews and Christians!
In other words, hope keeps expanding as the horizon of salvation keeps expanding. Expectation increases, since no historical moment can contain or exhaust the fullness of God. History itself is moving toward that fullness: the kingdom of God.
Advent hope is broad, expansive, and inclusive. It goes beyond “my family” or “my church” or “my kind of people.” Advent hope goes beyond partisanship and sectarianism; it goes beyond “group think” or “us versus them.”
When it’s all over and Christmas is done, will our hope be larger? Will our vision of salvation be broader? Will we have expanded our compassion beyond our own kind to those who differ most from us? The Savior that was born in Bethlehem has a lot more on his mind than my presents, my house, my church, my country, or my kind of people.
December 1, 2009
December: the month of anticipation
When I was a kid, the coming of Santa Claus blended vaguely in my mind with the coming of Christ. December was a mixture of Santa and the baby Jesus, just like the weather was a mix of snow and slop. I was filled with anticipation!
Think of the animals involved, too. Reindeer from the North Pole, Mary riding to Bethlehem on a donkey, shepherds arriving with their sheep . . . Baaaah! All creation seemed to be getting into the spirit. Even the smiling animals were crammed into my December expectations.
Our family Christmas tree stood near our little manger scene without any sense of cognitive dissonance whatsoever. It all seemed so logical and natural. I embraced two forms of hope: secular and sacred. Why not? It was all about me anyway! Santa was coming to please me. Jesus was born to save me. December was about me, me, me.
In high school I had a girlfriend. Then December became all about us. Buying presents for her; her buying presents for me. Us, us, us.
At that time I could not imagine 2009 and being 57 years old. I could not imagine the death of my parents, going to bed at 9pm, aching muscles in the morning, or being a hospice chaplain and serving people who would not live through December—who would not live to see another Christmas.
I could not imagine 10% unemployment in America, 36 million Americans without health insurance, and 25% of American children living on food stamps. Half the kids in New Orleans and St. Louis are on food stamps.
Santa and Jesus have a huge month ahead of them. While millions of people will shop at malls, millions more will be visiting food pantries and thrift shops, and sleeping on sofas at someone else’s house. Some kids will get lots of presents, like I did. Others will get only one or two, if any.
Yet good people will step up and collect food baskets and wrap presents for the less fortunate. Millions of caring people will go the extra mile for others. They will sacrifice time, energy, and money to do good for those who are struggling to make ends meet.
In secular terms, we are Santa’s helpers. In Christian terms, we are the hands and feet of Christ. In human terms, we are humans in solidarity with other humans who are suffering.
December is not about me anymore. That ended years ago. December is about bringing hope to the hopeless. December is the month of anticipation: anticipating the needs of others and doing something about it. This is what God did when he sent Jesus into our world. Like mercy, Jesus always runs toward the screaming.
--Brad
Think of the animals involved, too. Reindeer from the North Pole, Mary riding to Bethlehem on a donkey, shepherds arriving with their sheep . . . Baaaah! All creation seemed to be getting into the spirit. Even the smiling animals were crammed into my December expectations.
Our family Christmas tree stood near our little manger scene without any sense of cognitive dissonance whatsoever. It all seemed so logical and natural. I embraced two forms of hope: secular and sacred. Why not? It was all about me anyway! Santa was coming to please me. Jesus was born to save me. December was about me, me, me.
In high school I had a girlfriend. Then December became all about us. Buying presents for her; her buying presents for me. Us, us, us.
At that time I could not imagine 2009 and being 57 years old. I could not imagine the death of my parents, going to bed at 9pm, aching muscles in the morning, or being a hospice chaplain and serving people who would not live through December—who would not live to see another Christmas.
I could not imagine 10% unemployment in America, 36 million Americans without health insurance, and 25% of American children living on food stamps. Half the kids in New Orleans and St. Louis are on food stamps.
Santa and Jesus have a huge month ahead of them. While millions of people will shop at malls, millions more will be visiting food pantries and thrift shops, and sleeping on sofas at someone else’s house. Some kids will get lots of presents, like I did. Others will get only one or two, if any.
Yet good people will step up and collect food baskets and wrap presents for the less fortunate. Millions of caring people will go the extra mile for others. They will sacrifice time, energy, and money to do good for those who are struggling to make ends meet.
In secular terms, we are Santa’s helpers. In Christian terms, we are the hands and feet of Christ. In human terms, we are humans in solidarity with other humans who are suffering.
December is not about me anymore. That ended years ago. December is about bringing hope to the hopeless. December is the month of anticipation: anticipating the needs of others and doing something about it. This is what God did when he sent Jesus into our world. Like mercy, Jesus always runs toward the screaming.
--Brad
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