Real spirit of Christmas comes
from the little things
Here we are nudging up against another Christmas,
and some of us are wondering if we are capable of doing the holiday
dance with a smile on our face. It gets tougher every year to ring in the
good news about Jesus with dignity and style. This year in the
Northland, the big trend is to have those little deer on your
lawn, the ones made of wire with thousands of little white lights
illuminating the entire outdoors. I would love a herd of those deer nestled
among my evergreen trees. But when I look at the expense and the
work of stringing about 60 yards of electrical cord to my outdoor
socket, it drives me toward despair. I would like to bake some holiday cookies.
Ive got the cookbooks, the cutters and all the ingredients,
but when I see how complicated cookies have become, I give up
the spirit. I could frost them, but all that sprinkly stuff might
slide off and onto the floor, and think of the housecleaning. It has come to me that Christmas is not
about all these things the planning and the execution of
decorating and baking. Rather, it is about surprises, accidents
of joy and serendipitous moments. Those are the secrets of a great
Christmas, and all the rest is just window dressing on plastic. I know there are people who are passionate
about Christmas, and they plan for December all through the year.
I give my blessing to those dear people because I believe they
make someone happy with all that work and fuss. I sincerely want
them to continue, because they make Christmas a brighter holiday.
But I cant join the frenzy. Here is a small story to illustrate my point.
I remember a Christmas when I gave my younger brother a Bible.
It was probably a cheap Bible, because I didnt have much
money, and I was sure he wouldnt appreciate it. He was in
one of those vulnerable times of life with a multitude of questions
and a girlfriend whose first name was misery. I thought he was
acting like a hotshot punk who had no desire for the good life.
But I also suspected he was a pretty good kid, and I figured the
Bible was worth a try. When he opened it, the book stopped him
in his tracks. He lifted it as if he were weighing something valuable
in his hand. Then he placed it on the floor, but every once in
a while, he would look at it out of the corner of his eye. Later that evening, Larry and I walked to
a footbridge that spanned a small stream near my parents
home. I swear it was like a picture on an old-fashioned calendar:
snow falling in large flakes gently to earth, church bells ringing,
a full moon lighting the outdoors, people strolling by as worship
ended and two young lads leaning against a railing with tears
in their eyes. We stood there like men, saying nice things
for a change. We snuffled a little, but there was no weeping as
one would in grief. We were not saying goodbye; we were embarking
on a new journey. We stayed there for about half an hour until
our tears dried, and then went home to more complicated lives. Today, neither of us is a Bible expert,
but that brief encounter enlivened us and set us on a straighter
course. That is the magic of Christmas. Here is the secret for a great Christmas:
We must empty ourselves of all expectation and desire. For instance,
why do we always expect that Uncle Bluto will tell bad jokes and
get a little tipsy on the Christmas punch? Why cant we let
Uncle Bluto open his bag of memories and tell great stories? Why do we always desire delicious pie? We
expect that people will devour every morsel as if they were gluttons
on a binge. Will it matter if the mincemeat pie is not very good
or that the turkey is a little dry? Does it matter to people living
in an affluent land where too much food is left over? Of course
not. What matters is that Christmas brought someone joy. I remember a Christmas morning when not
many people were in church. One couple sitting off to the side
was worshiping with heads bowed. I tried to preach joy, but I
wasnt connecting with this elderly couple. After worship, the man came to my office,
his face stained with tears. He told me about his son living on
the streets in a nearby city. A month earlier he had found him
ill-fed, dirty, confused and lost to an ordinary life. There
had always been trouble between us, he said. He always
disagreed with me, we always fought. But this time we talked,
and I told him I loved him. His mom, too. Then he pushed the last words out: This
morning he died. A few days later we buried him, and it struck
me that Christmas was happening before our eyes. An old mans
words of love coming before a sons death and giving the
entire event a shine from God. It was a moment when a lost son
and an angry father could see beyond their hurt. This world is host to many people who feel
lost and many who have been found by pure accident. Thats
what we have to face anew each year that much of our good
fortune is serendipity a discovery of fortune and grace
that comes to us purely by accident. And each year we have to
face it anew. We have to learn that it is the accidents, the surprises,
that bring us joy. Serendipity cant be planned. It can
only be enjoyed. As you wait during the next weeks for Christmas,
may you find a surprise just for you.
Clark D. Morphew
Posted For December 3, 2000