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Forward to the 2006 Edition HAVE A DEFIANT CHRISTMAS! In those long ago days of Christmas innocence when it always snowed gently in a starry and windless night, my parents would hustle my sisters and me into the back seat of the car and we would drive slowly, snow crunching under the frozen tires, into the neighborhoods of the rich to see the “lights.” The “lights” were the decorations that people put up on the outside of their houses and on their winter lawns. Multicolored lights would be strung over an entire house, etching door frames and windows, wrapped round into wreaths and bows. In the frozen front yard there were statues as large as small children. They were usually a mix of The Night Before Christmas and the Crib—reindeer and wise men, sleighs and shepherds, elves and Mary, angels and carolers, Santa Claus and Baby Jesus. Occasionally, the stiff, on-guard soldiers from the Nutcracker Suite would make an appearance. All were lit up so that night passengers in slow moving cars could gawk through frosted windows and say, “Look at that one!” But it was not these elaborate scenes that first brought the truth of Christmas home to me. It was my own home, seen in a new way, that welcomed me to Christmas. Light in the Midst of Darkness One Christmas when we returned from our trip to see the “lights,” I pushed out of the back seat, straightened up, and saw our house, as if for the first time. We lived in a two flat. My grandparents lived on the first floor and since they usually went to bed around nine (a custom I have only recently begun to envy), their flat was dark. Our flat on the second floor was also dark —except for the Christmas tree. The tree was strung with lights, and their soft glow could be seen through the upper window. The outer darkness was all around, yet the tree shone in the darkness. There was no razzle-dazzle, no blinking on and off, no glitz. Just a steady shining, a simple juxtaposition of light and darkness. Its beauty drew me. I ran up the stairs. My parents had already unlocked the door and turned on the house lights. I sat in a chair and stayed with the tree. The attraction of the tree continued for a while and then began to recede. Soon the practical took over. I noticed some tinsel that needed to be smoothed and re-hung. As I tinkered with it, whatever was left of the tree’s radiance dimmed. Then, abruptly, the revelation ceased. It became merely a pine tree shedding needles on the rug. It was only when I was older that I knew in a murky mental way what my child’s heart had intuited. Christmas tries to point to an inner light, a tree of lights inside the house of our being, and invites people to come close and ponder its beauty. We notice this light because it is contrasted with an outer darkness. And it defies the darkness, refusing to allow the outer world to dictate the terms of existence. In more theological language, people have an inner reality that transcends the outer world and is capable of shining forth even in the darkest of situations. “What has come into being inhim was life and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:4-5). Of course, our awareness of this truth is fleeting. We return to ordinary consciousness. We smooth the tinsel and vacuum the needles. Greenness in the Midst of Barrenness The Cherokees have a short creation story that encourages the same Christmas insight. The story is called, “Why Some Trees Are Evergreen.” When the plants and the trees were first made the Great Mystery gave a gift to each species. But first he set up a contest to determine which gift would be most useful to whom. “I want you to stay awake and keep watch over the earth for seven nights,” the Great Mystery told them. The young trees and plants were so excited to be trusted with such an important job that the first night they would have found it difficult not to stay awake. However, the second night was not so easy, and just before dawn a few fell asleep. On the third night the trees and the plants whispered among themselves in the wind trying to keep from dropping off, but it was too much work for some of them. Even more fell asleep on the fourth night. By the time the seventh night came the only trees and plants still awake were the cedar, the pine, the spruce, the fir, the holly and the laurel. “What wonderful endurance you have!” exclaimed the Great Mystery. “You shall be given the gift of remaining green forever. You will be the guardians of the forest. Even in the seeming dead of winter your brother and sister creatures will find life protected in your branches.” Ever since then all the other trees and plants lose their leaves and sleep all winter, while the evergreens stay awake. This tale does not use the symbols of light and darkness. It talks about greenness in the midst of barrenness and associates this greenness with the ability to stay awake. “Staying awake” is standard code in spiritual literature. It means remaining aware of our life giving connection to divine reality even when inner and outer forces militate against it. Just as the light in the darkness reminds us of this truth, so does the green-leafed tree in the leafless forest. Love in the Midst of Rejection The major Christian symbols of Christmas also use contrast to emphasize the invulnerability of our inner transcendent relationship to God. “She gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them at the inn” (Luke 2:7). In one densely symbolic sentence, Luke brings out the contrast of love in the midst of rejection. Jesus is wrapped in swaddling clothes, a symbol that he is a loved child. He is laid in a manger, a feeding trough, a symbol that he is meant to be food for the world. These two symbols combine to point to the reality of self-giving love, the essence of God and the identity and mission of all those connected to God. Yet this love is surrounded by rejection. There is no room for him at the inn. This exclusion at his birth is a harbinger of his exclusion by the religious and political elite of his time. Jesus will not be accepted. He will meet with violent opposition and eventually be put to death. Yet, as the whole gospel testifies, this rejection will not undercut the truth of who he is. He is the beloved Son of God on a mission of communicating divine life to people. This truth is seen most clearly in the premier moment of violent rejection—his death on the cross. These future events, this “life ahead of him,” are hinted at in the interconnected symbols of swaddling clothes, manger, and no room in the inn. These symbols capture the truth of a loved child who continues to extend love in a world of rejection. A Defiant Christmas The truth of Christmas emerges in imaginative contrasts. Perhaps the best way to view these contrasts is in terms of inner and outer realities. No matter how severe the outer world is—darkness, barrenness, rejection—it cannot snuff out the light, wither the greenness, or destroy the love. Although we do not always reflect on it, there is an edge to Christmas, an in-your-face attitude. Chesterton put it simply and well: “A religion that defies the world should have a feast that defies the weather.” If I ever return to the custom of sending Christmas cards, the cover will be a picture of a light shining in the darkness or an evergreen in the midst of a barren forest or a laughing child in a ramshackle stable. Inside, the greeting will be straightforward: “Have a defiant Christmas!” Of course, I really do not want people to have a defiant Christmas. I want them to have a harmonious Christmas. I want the inner and outer world to be in sync. Light inside and out, greenness inside and out, love inside and out. In other words, I wish people the full peace of Christmas—good enough health, good enough finances, good enough relationships, and a good enough, stable, non-violent society and world. As the lapel button from the sixties put it, “Parousia Now!” Idealistic as it is, that’s what I want. But that is not what we always get. Christmas arrives to find our health precarious; our careers, jobs, or vocations under stress; our finances dipping badly; our relationships in need of repair; our society and world slightly insane. How can we celebrate Christmas in situations like these? Isn’t the only realistic response anxiety and gloom? But when the outer world is darkness, barrenness and rejection, Christmas is a lesson in bringing forth and responding to the inner world of light, greenness, and love. Since this inner world is rooted in a transcendent love, it is more powerful than all the attacks that emerge out of both our finitude and sinfulness. “I have said this that you might have peace in me. In the world you have tribulations, but cheer up, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Christmas cheer, when it is modeled on this passage from the Gospel of John, engenders in us a gentle defiance toward the tribulations of the world. Gentle defiance is not on the standard list of Christian virtues, but it is the Christmas gift that we all need to unwrap during one December or another. The Christmas card for a defiant Christmas has already been written. Fra Giovanni penned it in 1513: I salute you!
There is nothing I can give you that you have not; but there is much that, while I cannot give, you can take.
No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take Heaven.
No peace lies in the future that is not hidden in this present instant. Take Peace,
The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. Take Joy.
And so at this Christmas time, I greet you, with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.
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