Holy Week

It would have been much clearer for us if God would have placed directional signs in our paths: This way-> education, this way-> start a family, this way-> take that job, this way-> retirement now, this way-> buy a house..... It would have been ever so plain as the noses on our faces. But He didn't. He buried all knowledge and wisdom about Himself in an old Book we scarcely understand most of the time, and in people's hearts and minds. But it's up to us to decipher the Book, and up to us to heed the words of wise people, and also to figure out just who is and isn't wise in this world. Why?

It sure leads to some dark doubts. Is God really there? How can I truly know He is guiding my life? Why, if He is there and guiding my life, didn't He guide the lives of those children who died in Haiti, crushed under their own houses right next to their parents who survived, or vice versa? Is He watching us and laughing or frowning at our puny efforts to see the way He so clearly knows?

What pitiful beings we can become when we give way to the darkness and wallow in our uncertainties! But it's easier sometimes, really. I mean, when you look at it as jobs we have because we're humans, then it gets simpler: Because we have brains, we have to make choices about what we're going to think. We use our senses to gather information to make these decisions. What we allow our senses to pay attention to is our choice, being humans. The animals don't have these choices. They are stuck in their instincts. What are our instincts? Pretty similar to the animals, except we've got blunted senses that don't convey instinctual directions to our motor memories the way theirs do, just a "fight or flight" quickened heartbeat and heightened adrenalin, which mainly makes us sweat.

So, to keep to the point, our choices are myriad daily. Not only that, but we're born or develop, whichever you choose, with this sense of guilt when we make the wrong choices, which triggers our one left-over instinct and makes us sweat, and so our decision-making is hampered from the get-go.

This morning I came upon one of those times when my lack of animal instincts and my human responsibility collided to created something I can only call a mini-episode of the dark night of the soul. Considering yet again what direction I should put my whole self into, as I've been putting only bits and pieces of myself into anything ever since the kids were born, I once again had to admit there is no clear path in this life. Others seem to find one, but down the road a ways they always find it wasn't such a clear path after all. So I shouted to God to put some road signs already!

All I ended up with was a prayer in a hymn, learned by many listenings to a cassette tape recording of a concert by our school choir about my freshman year of high school while I spent summers painting by number in my room by the open window filled with a box fan against the Southern California heat:

Spirit of God, descend upon my heart;
wean it from earth; through all its pulses move;
stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art,
and make me love thee as I ought to love.

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
no sudden rending of the veil of clay,
no angel visitant, no opening skies;
but take the darkness of my doubt away.

Hast thou not bid me love thee, God and King?
All, all thine own, soul, heart and strength and mind.
I see thy cross; there teach my heart to cling.
O let me seek thee, and O let me find.

Teach me to feel that thou art always nigh;
teach me the struggles of the soul to bear.
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh,
teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.

Teach me to love thee as thine angels love,
one holy passion filling all my frame;
the kindling of the heaven-descended Dove,
my heart an altar, and thy love the flame.

I never quite understood those words in high school days, except for the words of the second verse: I didn't want to see visions, no sir! I was petrified by my mother's constant discussions of Satan and his ways, of people's having seen him and others having seen spirits. I did not ever, ever want to see anything but the physical world, unless it were Jesus Himself. I didn't want to hear voices and I didn't want to speak in tongues. I never wanted anything but the things I could see with my normal, human eyes and things I could pick up and handle, and people I could hug or sing with. I wouldn't mind Jesus, because I knew no matter what form He took it would be filled with love and peace, not ghostly scariness.

I also didn't understand, then, the darkness people's souls got into sometimes. I had a simple, child-like faith I wish I'd never educated myself out of, and I knew with total certainty God was not only there, but holding me in His hand every minute of every day. That didn't keep me from falling into human, everyday fears, but I always had my faith to hold me up.

Then, as I said, I grew up and went out into the world, where things weren't answered anymore by the Book and my parents words, or the words of my pastor and church founding members. They were answered by men and women toiling through their days to the answer, with great difficulty. Sometimes the Book was consulted, but usually it wasn't. In fact, most often in the world outside my little ivory tower the answers in the Book were scoffed at and explained away, even when they provided a direction, a clear path, and thus a way to inner peace.

My search for knowledge and beauty led me so far astray from where I began, I didn't even remember who I was anymore. I continued attending services in churches, and truly believed the faith I had learned as a child, but more and more it became a choice of the will, not a fact of the heart.

I continue in this way daily. Each day I deliberately choose to follow the God whose ways I love. Each day I sift through facts and fictions of the faith I profess with all my heart. Each day I find myself praying along with John Donne:

BATTER my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason, your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe;
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

I was once privileged to sing these words with the Susquehanna Chorale. I have never forgotten them, because as my doubts multiplied through the years they have been the only words that do justice to my soul's prayer. They were where I began this morning in my journal. I don't want this responsibility, this job of choosing daily the right way, this labor of the mind I brought on by choosing to be a child of the enlightenment, someone who uses my own, God-given intellect to learn new, interesting things and make decisions about where I live and who I go through my days with. By sharpening my mind I opened a Pandora's box of unanswered questions that just won't meekly go back into the box and stay quiet when I tell them to.

This is my point, though long in my getting to it: I believe that this very difficulty proves the answer, that it is much easier both to blindly believe in God and to blindly not believe in God, but that to remain relevant and discern daily duty to Him is the most difficult task a human can attempt. And thereby He is proved. As Tolkien wrote in The Lord of the Rings (from the recent movie):

Merry: [to Frodo] How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?
Frodo: I think a servant of the Enemy would look fairer and feel fouler.

The prophet Isaiah says the same of The Suffering Servant, for-telling Jesus:

He had no form or comeliness that we should look at him,
and no beauty that we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;
and as one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
he was bruised for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that made us whole,
and with his stripes we are healed. (53:2-5)

The world wants an easy answer. It's human nature to want things to be simple. Life is hard as it is. If someone professes to bring peace he darned well better make it simple and easy, or no one's going to listen to him. But Jesus just plain and simply doesn't do that. He is not pretty. He is, in fact, ugly. We don't want to look at Him still hanging on the cross. We don't like it, it ain't a purty sight.

Jesus said, "Come unto me, all ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon me and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Have you ever been in the hospital or bedroom of someone dying of prostate cancer? It ain't a purty sight, and even worse when it's your beloved father. How is that burden easy??

Thanks be to God that Jesus came as an ugly outcast and died a hideous death on a cross meant for you and me!!

That takes the darkness of my doubt away. That makes Easter Sunday possible amidst the ruins of our lives. That makes us able to sing the great Alleluia! with the huge congregation crammed into the pews, as the trumpets blast for all they're worth and the kettle drums sound the announcement - "He is risen!"

Thanks be to God, He didn't make the answers easy for Jesus either. And because of Him we live through this life with difficulty, but oh joy in the morning! At the end of it is the great Alleluia with the angels, but better yet, with our loved ones gone before who suffered through to their reward.

Amen! Alleluia!!

Ramblings on a Fat Tuesday

Tuesday. Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Fastnacht. Shrove Tuesday. Ash Wednesday Eve.

No woman ever grows up planning to live all on her own with no one to share life with, unless she is messed up in the head. Not my dream, this. But who ever said God gives us our heart’s desire? Oh yeah, only King David, right….. And Solomon, the wisest king who ever lived.  But have I done what’s necessary first? How does the Psalm go?

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart,

And lean not unto thine own understanding;

In all thy ways acknowledge Him,

And He shall direct thy paths.

And again: 

Delight yourself in the Lord

And He will give you the desires of your heart

Commit your way to the Lord,

Trust also in Him

And He shall bring it to pass.

Yes, David and Solomon said it. So, I have been expecting me to receive the desires of my heart without me having delighted myself in the Lord – is it that? But I do so delight myself in the Lord! Or maybe they meant delight only in the Lord….? Is God that picky?

Do I trust in the Lord with all mine heart? Good question. I don’t think so. I think I trust in Him with just a tiny bit of my heart and none of my mind, leaning most often unto mine own understanding. 

Do I acknowledge Him in all my ways? Just what does it mean to acknowledge Him? And do we ever do anything in all our ways? Or what does that phrase mean? And what is it exactly that He shall bring to pass? My desires? My dreams? My plans? Just my stinking schedule for this day alone?! Please!

Commit your way to the Lord – commit is a scary word. I shy away from commit. I don’t like commit. Commit means forever you are going to have to do this, even when your heart calls you elsewhere. Commit is a word not found in the ADDers dictionary. Commit, if done at all by the ADDer, is only done at his or her own prompting. And when it is done it is called Focus, and it is done entirely, completely, whole-heartedly and unswervingly. Commit does not exist by that name for me. So let’s use the word Focus. I love Focus.

I Focus on sewing and quilting and crocheting and knitting very well. When I do beautiful things emerge eventually. But I can’t Focus and make beautiful things and be a good wife and mother at the same time. So I don’t Focus anymore. But right now I guess I am Focusing on this Scripture. So maybe I can do this thing.

But now that I’ve examined that tangent, I must admit that my Focus is not the same as David or Solomon’s Commit. My Focus is self centered, coming from my own mind, emanating from my own ideas, directed only by me. David wrote of committing all that to God. I think he was trying to say I have to give up that autonomy, which is why I run from the word commit so immediately and like lightening.

ADDers don’t give up their autonomy, ever, because we’ve found ourselves stuck in boring, creativity-crushing places all too frequently because of a mere commitment of our autonomy to somebody else. And we honor our commitments.

I don’t want to commit anything to You, Lord – let’s be honest here, because You know anyway. I don’t want to commit – give up to You – anything in my life. I have seen how You devalue people, how You toss away lives like chaff or dust. I have watched You throw away programs and beautiful things already in place that help people, nurture them, create a space for those who have none – and all after those who made these constructs committed them to You. I can’t trust anything to You. Not my ideas, not the desires of my heart, not my life’s dreams, certainly not my children!

Because You don’t really care about them like I do.

In my world I am god, not You.

I can trust myself.

Far better than You.

And that’s exactly why my dreams lie in ruins all about me; my children struggle daily with things I took completely for granted growing up in the playland I did; my family lives in chaos more often than not, not one of us feeling as valued as we really are; and I look back with regrets over a life that didn't turn out at all as I planned it.

So, Lord, thank You for listening to my little diatribe. I guess I don’t make a very good god for myself or my family. I guess I’ve done a completely rotten job of introducing them to the real God, the One who truly can carry their sorrows and light their way in the world. Please help me commit my way unto Thee. Help me acknowledge You in all my ways. Because I want You to bring “it” to pass, whatever “it” may be, as only You know what that is and whether “it” is good for me and mine. 

Thank You, Lord.

Simply thank You.

Sad News in my Inbox

Oh, it's not sad news about any of my family, or anyone extremely close to me, really. It's not sad in that someone died. It's just sad, and it's news, and it's about two very wonderful people who have already had more than seems their fair share of troubles. But it was in my Inbox, and it makes me sad.

To one I returned a prayerful message of support. To the other I did not yet, as the news came via a mass mailing generated by our church choir director. I will send this person a message when I have something better to say besides, "How sad!".

That's why I'm here right now. I've come here to process this news and this feeling, and hopefully come out of this time with peace and words of support for my friends. Already I have a starting point, a verse which came to me as I typed the message to one friend.

"The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song." Psalm 28:7

I love this verse. I am a singer from birth. When I'm happy, I sing. When my heart is hurting, I seek a song to express it. When I doubt, or strive in prayer for words, it's the words of songs that I think of first. I thought first of this hymn:

"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
"It is well, it is well with my soul."

From there words simply flowed, from the Spirit to the page, and I found myself typing a prayer just thought up on the spot that fit the circumstance perfectly. These were not my words, I am a bumbler when it comes to words, which is why I sing - somebody else can think them up much better than I! I guess Somebody did.


So just now, while attempting to remember why I thought I had to type this in here, on the Oprah show my son was watching in the next room there came a singer who performed the "Hallelujah" from Shrek that I've loved for years. How right for my mood, how perfect the words for my friend's situations! I once had a pastor who preached an entire sermon on this song. That was before I ever saw Shrek. I can't hear it now without crying at some point. I've learned what "it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah" really means.

Rufus Wainwright - Hallelujah lyrics

And I think I know why that pastor took the entire sermon slot to expound upon a pop song not many had yet even heard. His point, if I remember right (and that's debatable), was that the singer kept on singing "Hallelujah". He kept on singing it, over and over. He said that's the life of faith, that someone decides that his praise is broken, his life means nothing, his hope is dead - but he keeps on singing "Halleujah". Doesn't stop. Goes on and on, singing this one word: "Hallelujah".

This word is Hebrew הַלְּלוּיָהּ. In our favorite church Latin it's Alleluia. Means the same thing. From Wikipedia:

In the Hebrew Bible hallelujah is actually a two-word phrase, not one word. The first part, hallelu, is the second-person imperative masculine plural form of the Hebrew verb hallal. However, "hallelujah" means more than simply "praise Yah", as the word hallel in Hebrew means a joyous praise, to boast in God, or to act madly or foolishly.The second part, Yah, is a shortened form of the name of God YHWH, sometimes rendered in English as "Yahweh" or "Jehovah". in Hebrew means a joyous praise, to boast in God, or to act madly or foolishly.

So, praise God. Praise God when your daughter's upcoming marriage dissolves and simultaneously you're summoned to defend yourself in a court of law - you, a fine, upstanding citizen and humble Christian. Praise God when you've walked with a family member through their own personal hell, then buried one of your best friends, then your wife gets breast cancer. Praise God. Praise God when you receive your notice this time that your job is being cut, and you just put your daughter in an expensive college because it's the right thing to do for her. Praise God. Do this mad, this crazy thing, and do it in a joyous way!

Not because we're happy. Not because we think if we do God will remove the horrors and the heartache from us. Not because we're good mules and do what we're told. Not because we just always have so we always will because we're creatures of good habit. Not because we're afraid if we don't we'll go to hell when we die of this thing.

We praise God in horrible times because we praise God! We praise God in terribly sad times because we praise God! We praise Him alike in good and in bad, knowing exactly what's coming next and knowing nothing about tomorrow; anticipating good things and fearing the worst. Praise God!

We can't hold it together, folks. We try and we try so hard we break with trying to hold all the pieces in place long enough to take one crummy picture to remember the moment by. But we can't do it. We're a cold and broken people, and if we don't realize it and start foolishly singing a cold and broken Hallelujah, we're going to disappear entirely, because we're not strong enough to exist in and of our human selves. Nope. Sorry. Can't do it. We're not magical beings, and all our amazing brains are only piddly compared with the universe God created.

So we choose to praise, instead of curse. We choose to walk in faith alone, when there is nothing under our feet resembling solid earth, when the rug has been pulled, when the pit of our stomachs are turned to quivering water.... because He is God, and we are His people and the sheep of His pasture, and that's what God's people do.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

We praise Him because we're His sheep and He is the Good Shepherd, who knows the sheep and just what makes us tick. He knows what we need before our requests are even on our lips, He has already answered them, provided exactly the right thing, filled the order to perfection, better than we can ourselves because He knows so much better what we truly need. 

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Sing praises to the God of your life, who is still the God of your life whether you feel happy or sad, secure or scared to death. Praise Him with singing, and praise Him with dancing. No sitting in the pew praise, this! No mumbling behind a hanky! Stand up and hit that high C! Make a spectacle of yourself, already! Go ahead and break the family rules, draw attention to yourself, stick out like a sore thumb, I dare you! Just see what singing a resounding Hallelujah! can do for your outlook.

If you think I'm talking a lot of hot air, just know that I have tried this, and I cannot describe the balm that came over me in the midst of a heart-breaking Thanksgiving celebration while my father lay wasted away in his bed down the hall and the family joined in proclaiming Psalm 136 in chorus, whether they thought I was crazy or not. Dad died the next December 29, 2002. He is now singing forever:

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

  

Someday I'll join him in harmony, but I join him every time I sing down here while I live out this life I've been called to sing through.

Hallelujah!

Simply praising,

Patty 

Please visit my fundraising page at Mercy Corps

http://www.mercycorps.org/fundraising/patty

Dear Friends,

I know you have all been watching the news as I have, anguishing over the unfathomed losses in Haiti from the recent devestating earthquake. If you've been wondering what you can do, wonder no more! I have set up a fundraising page on the Mercy Corps site you can use to donate whatever amount you can. For now I've set a goal of $1000, but if I near that soon, I will raise the goal.

If anyone would like to match whatever amount I can raise, please let me know and I will publicize it here.

Simply aching for those families,
Patty

Now it can be Christmas

I just realized I had forgotten to post this here, so I'm sharing it late for those who haven't seen it on Facebook. As it happened, I never made those cookies. But I will simply make twice as many next year.

Patty

Thursday, December 24, 2009 at 4:15pm

 

We used to bake cookies with Mom at Christmas time, then take the plates to neighbor friends' families. It wasn't Christmas till we did that. Spritz or Press cookies, and Refrigerator Roll Dough Sugar Cookies, out of the old Betty Crocker cookbook that they re-released a few years back. (I bought one for my daughter, but she doesn't use it because it's old fashioned - oi!).

We helped Mom decorate them by lightly pressing colored sugars on them after she painted them with egg whites. Our fingers turned Christmas colors! We listened to Tennessee Ernie Ford and the Boston Pops and Perry Como, and the Robert Shaw Chorale, and a recording of carols called something like "Santa's Christmas Elves Sing Carols" that had songs like "Oh Come, Little Children" and "Up On the Housetop Reindeer Pause", which I did not hear for decades until recently.... I still turn on those records at least once in the Christmas season, usually Christmas Eve day while I bake (though I've lost the Santa's Elves one and have never seen it anywhere else). I will be baking later today (I hope!), and it will finally really be Christmas.

There are times during the season when I say, "Now it's Christmas!" Each one of these times is when something I used to do, hear, smell, taste comes back to me in reality. Baking cookies is one of the most sacred of these memories, maybe because it was passed down from our mother, and I even have her cookie cutters now because she doesn't do it anymore. The Christmas music is a given - without it there is no Christmas. I start in about October 1st, or even earlier, as I did this year because it hadn't rained in so long, when it did come back it was like Christmas in So. Cal. Christmas music is the backdrop for everything Christmas.

Then ought to come Christmas card writing, but we haven't been able to do that at the right time since the kids were born almost 19 years ago. I don't multi-task, which is evident to anyone entering our humble domicile. Stuff is strewn from one end to the other. To make a plan and follow it was the realm of youthful freedom, never to be experienced again until empty-nest time. Not that I'm looking forward to that..... How will there ever be Christmas without expectant voices and people bounding out of bed at 6:00 am on Christmas morning? Well, I'll leave that for a future time. This is about now.

Then present choosing.... oh boy. First I have to settle the bank account, then I have to settle the billed accounts, then I have to settle my conscience. Then I have to find a way to communicate with the absent and absent-minded professor of the family as to what he thinks we should give the kids this year. And plan and execute distance Christmas giving for relatives and beloved friends far away - if there is money for it. But that's all part of the game of Christmas time. Often about now I start making gifts because I can afford that and they mean so much more than store bought anyway, only to forget about a half-made afghan or set of place mats in the run up to the Big Day. Eventually I realize it was silly of me to imagine I could ever finish that handmade item in time to mail it anyway, and go out and buy something.

Then it's time to think of inviting people to our annual Musical New Year's Eve Party. Only it was really time about three months ago, because people seem to have made their New Year's Eve plans by October 1st already every year, so two people show up. But I can try, can't I? Sure!

Along about December 1st I realize I haven't got anything ordered online for anybody, and start stressing about it because I only remember what it is I want to order when I'm driving the car, which is no place to turn on the laptop and start choosing gifts I can afford from companies that can ship by Christmas. The police are taking a dim view of things like that these days, for some reason. So I remember around 1:00 am when I wake up to go to the bathroom, and can't get back to sleep till 5:00 am, which means I don't wake up till about 7:30 am, just in time to push my son into the car and recklessly drive him to the high school and shove him out the door on the corner because I refuse to sit in that long line of cars, which means he'll be late anyway. Yes, early December is a very interesting time of the Christmas season. But the choir is gearing up to it's big shebang, and that makes it more Christmas yet.

The choir does its big shebang. Sometimes I have the privilege of singing a solo, which makes it so much more special for me. I almost feel professional when I can do that. I don't do the solos I used to, that made it Christmas for my husband years ago. He used to say, "It's not Christmas until you sing that," but these old, neglected vocal chords just can't negotiate the high G in "Gesu Bambino" anymore, nor the building tessatura of "O Holy Night", especially at 11:45 pm with candles breathing all my oxygen. That used to make it Christmas. There's a lovely, young soprano who can do it quite easily now, so I let her. But it's not quite Christmas.

There used to be several other things that made it Christmas for me. One of them was caroling to the shut-ins. But in our enlightened stage of being as a Christian society (I'm talking about the Church here), Christmas caroling has been relegated to the trash heap along with Christmas parties, which used to follow the caroling, at least in my experience. It simply amazes me that a church with at least 1500 members cannot get up a caroling party to minister to our sick and aging members, and others, sometime in December. I think this will have to be a duty of mine in coming years, since others don't seem to be interested in creating that avenue of ministry. But I digress. Enough maybe to say it simply can't be Christmas completely without that activity somewhere in the calendar, preferably close to Christmas itself.

There's the tree, of course. Getting the tree was always a family activity. It was especially cherished because it was something Dad did too, and in fact we never did it without him because he was the guy strong enough to carry it, and knew just what kind of tree was healthy, etc. He drove us all around town, hitting every Scout or Lions' Club lot and the grocery and department stores' too. We sang carols all the way. We didn't have to get a tree the first time, or the second time, or even the third. We had to find the perfect tree, that all of us agreed on. Boy, that was hard! But it was good, because this time with my family, riding around town seeing the lights and city street decorations most cities don't use anymore, and singing carols was a precious heaven to me. I miss it. It's not thoroughly Christmas without it.

Often we combined tree hunting with our yearly trip to Hastings Ranch, without which Christmas simply could not come. If you don't know Hastings Ranch, you're not a Southern Californian. Ask one, they'll tell you how each street in the neighborhood was decked out in themes: Candy Cane Lane, Santa Claus Avenue, Christmas Tree Street, etc. You thought you'd been transported to the North Pole, except for the temperature! For us kids it was heaven, truly enchanting, completely escapist. When we entered the development, all arguings ceased, we broke out in song, and all joined in with one voice: "O come all ye faithful!" or "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, falalalala, la-la, la la!" or "We three kings of orient are, bearing gifts we've traversed afar..." And we pretended we were the Three Kings, traversing afar through Santa's winter wonderland. Our parents were never so happy with us. The enchantment included the lights of the valley below. Yes, it was a fairytale I've never seen anywhere else. Nothing can equal Hastings Ranch at Christmas!

Then there's wrapping and putting the presents under the tree, and baking the cookies with Mom, school presentations: with one voice each First Lutheran School class recited a portion of the Christmas Story from Luke 2, until by 8th grade we had learned the entire thing: "

1And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

2(And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

3And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

4And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)

5To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

6And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

7And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

8And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

9And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

10And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

11For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

12And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

13And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

14Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

15And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

16And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

17And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

18And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

19But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

20And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.

But I had learned the entire thing by the second year, I think, as we listened to each other rehearsing several times before we performed it on the last day of school (or was it in church the Sunday following?). Does anyone teach children this way anymore? It's very effective, and not thoroughly Christmas without it, which is why Charlie Brown Christmas is so beloved of people our age, I guess. Another of the things that make it truly Christmas is that little cartoon. Check it out.

These childhood memories make my Christmas. Our lives are founded on memories. That's why when you take a bull-dozer and flatten a piece of property - houses, trees, fences, driveways, ivy, trash heap full of rats, three-car garage packed full of an old woman's memories, and every blade of grass that ever was on that property - you murder a vital part of a human's soul. Yet, miraculously, that part of that soul is not dead, not gone, not forgotten. It's kept alive by memories of those trees, that house, those rats in the ivy-covered trash heap, that walnut tree we used to climb every day against our mother's fearful wishes for our safety. And the music inside that house lives in that soul, and the music of the voices of that family dances in that heart, and it's Christmas wherever she is at Christmas time, because she carries those memories wherever she goes.

But Christmas - Christ Mass - comes to me most certainly only on Christmas Eve, only when, all alone, I've put away the choir music or solos and my black folder into my slot in the choir room, I don my coat and singers' scarf against whatever weather is out there by 12:30 am on December 25th, I hold my keys in my right hand, put my left hand in my wool coat pocket, and walk across the frosty asphalt to my waiting car, under the starry host of heaven, and look up and breathe in the "ruach" of the One that hovered over the face of the waters at Creation.

Crisp and clear comes the angel song, "Gloria in excelsis deo, et in terra pax!" For me alone, Christ is born, in the middle of a frozen night, in a frozen time when people's hearts are hard against Him, and my life before is dead, and my hopes for the future doubtful.... for me all alone in a frosty night, Christ is born, free gift of a loving Father God; free with no attachments, not deserved, no payback expected - just free: Christ, the Messiah, Savior of the world - for me.

I drive home, in silence or listening to a previously recorded St. Olaf Choir on NPR, pondering in my heart as I negotiate stop lights and freeway and avoid possibly inebriated fellow revelers, still looking for or perhaps carrying home this very same Gift. I come in quietly, ready to play Santa to a sleeping household. I finish my final duty of Christmas, then sit for a few moments in front of the tree, pondering the One represented in that tiny, ceramic figure in the ceramic hay and manger in the little wooden, moss-covered stable under my tree.

Then it is Christmas indeed. Leave the cookies and the lights and the carols and the shopping and the greetings. Leave the work still to be done, the worries and the hopes. Leave the noise and bustle and the loneliness and longings: It is Christmas in my heart. It is Christmas for the world. Mine to give freely away as It was given to me.

And now it is Christmas for you as I give to you what I've received. Please accept my Gift to you, that comes with love from the Father. It's for you, just you alone, after all. You, in the midst of all others, receive the One come down for you.

Merry Christmas to you all, and may you experience today whatever makes it Christmas finally for you, in your heart.