the anticipation is over. the waiting. the searching. advent is over. it's Christmas morning! and it's a beautiful morning. we woke early to the children's excited greetings of 'merry Christmas!'. we turned on the tree lights, the music of robert shaw's 'many moods of Christmas' that i grew up listening to, made coffee and hot chocolate and the kids began sorting through the presents. after the opening of gifts and cards, we headed down for church, because it's Christmas and it's sunday. the church we went to is the university church, and so with the exception of maybe 10 other people, everyone was ugandan.
the service seemed really long, and it was over 2 hours, but felt especially long because it was Christmas morning, and the kids were dying to get back and play with their gifts, but it was really good. we sang many Christmas hymns, heard the sermon, and had communion. there was also a teen choir that sang Christmas songs with an african flavor. and as i listened, i thought about this place were we live now, these people who we live with, and this day that we are celebrating.
the reverend had asked us what Christmas means to us. i thought about the birth of Jesus, and the images that come to mind of mary and joseph and the donkey and the night sky and the glowing manger and the animals and about how my entire life i've been told that story. i thought about all the Christmas eve services i've been to, where the preacher emphasizes what a big deal it is that there was no room in the inn, that Jesus was born in a manger. for so many years people have recounted the images trying to break into the wealthy western mind what that would be like- old straw, smelly animals, cool air coming through the cracks in the walls, no lights, no water. then i watched as the teen choir sang a version of 'away in a manger'. i watched their faces, and their joy and their look of awe and appreciation. and it occurred to me that they must get it in a way that i can't. i began to wonder if it might mean more to people who have experienced poverty, who know what it's like when you can't afford the inn, when any roof is better than nothing, people who live closely with animals, that their God entered not just the world but their world.
sometimes Jesus seems really old, far away and hard to relate to. a guy with a beard and sorrowful but loving eyes, wearing a white tunic or robe and sandals, walking around healing leprosy and confusing people with his stories.
sometimes i forget that 2011 years ago, God put on skin and traveled through a birth canal and landed in some straw to be raised and live among the ordinary and hang out with the poor, the sick- not the wealthy, not the royalty.
sometimes when i've traveled to poor communities in the developing world, i've been amazed that people can have such faith when they live with so little. i've been humbled by people who will worship and praise a God who allows them to remain poor and experience a lack of basic needs. but maybe their Jesus is more real to them, more tangible.
one of our advent readings this year began with a poem by oscar romero, an el salvadorian bishop who was martyred.
No one can celebrate
a genuine Christmas
without being truly poor.
The self-sufficient, the proud,
those who, because they have
everything, look down on others,
those who have no need
even of God- for them there
will be no Christmas.
Only the poor, the hungry,
those who need someone
to come on their behalf,
will have that someone.
That someone is God.
Emmanuel. God-with-us.
Without poverty of spirit
there can be no abundance of God.
it makes sense to me because the times i've experienced the abundance of God, have been those times when my spirit was poor and suffering.
so this Christmas, in east africa, does feel different. not just on the outside- where life is in full bloom and warm and sunny- but on the inside as well. i'm realizing, maybe for the first time, that while our advent season ends, our longing for God, our searching to find him, to see him, to experience his abundance, doesn't end. that is what lifetimes are for.
the service seemed really long, and it was over 2 hours, but felt especially long because it was Christmas morning, and the kids were dying to get back and play with their gifts, but it was really good. we sang many Christmas hymns, heard the sermon, and had communion. there was also a teen choir that sang Christmas songs with an african flavor. and as i listened, i thought about this place were we live now, these people who we live with, and this day that we are celebrating.
the reverend had asked us what Christmas means to us. i thought about the birth of Jesus, and the images that come to mind of mary and joseph and the donkey and the night sky and the glowing manger and the animals and about how my entire life i've been told that story. i thought about all the Christmas eve services i've been to, where the preacher emphasizes what a big deal it is that there was no room in the inn, that Jesus was born in a manger. for so many years people have recounted the images trying to break into the wealthy western mind what that would be like- old straw, smelly animals, cool air coming through the cracks in the walls, no lights, no water. then i watched as the teen choir sang a version of 'away in a manger'. i watched their faces, and their joy and their look of awe and appreciation. and it occurred to me that they must get it in a way that i can't. i began to wonder if it might mean more to people who have experienced poverty, who know what it's like when you can't afford the inn, when any roof is better than nothing, people who live closely with animals, that their God entered not just the world but their world.
sometimes Jesus seems really old, far away and hard to relate to. a guy with a beard and sorrowful but loving eyes, wearing a white tunic or robe and sandals, walking around healing leprosy and confusing people with his stories.
sometimes i forget that 2011 years ago, God put on skin and traveled through a birth canal and landed in some straw to be raised and live among the ordinary and hang out with the poor, the sick- not the wealthy, not the royalty.
sometimes when i've traveled to poor communities in the developing world, i've been amazed that people can have such faith when they live with so little. i've been humbled by people who will worship and praise a God who allows them to remain poor and experience a lack of basic needs. but maybe their Jesus is more real to them, more tangible.
one of our advent readings this year began with a poem by oscar romero, an el salvadorian bishop who was martyred.
No one can celebrate
a genuine Christmas
without being truly poor.
The self-sufficient, the proud,
those who, because they have
everything, look down on others,
those who have no need
even of God- for them there
will be no Christmas.
Only the poor, the hungry,
those who need someone
to come on their behalf,
will have that someone.
That someone is God.
Emmanuel. God-with-us.
Without poverty of spirit
there can be no abundance of God.
it makes sense to me because the times i've experienced the abundance of God, have been those times when my spirit was poor and suffering.
so this Christmas, in east africa, does feel different. not just on the outside- where life is in full bloom and warm and sunny- but on the inside as well. i'm realizing, maybe for the first time, that while our advent season ends, our longing for God, our searching to find him, to see him, to experience his abundance, doesn't end. that is what lifetimes are for.
3 comments:
Merry Christmas! We watched it's a wonderful life...thought of u!!
Xo
Erin
"i'm realizing, maybe for the first time, that while our advent season ends, our longing for God, our searching to find him, to see him, to experience his abundance, doesn't end. that is what lifetimes are for."
Wow... I'm going to keep these sentences with me. So well said. Thank you.
miss you!
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