‘Tis the season. My Christmas tree is still up – it is, after all, still Christmas time. This is not a diatribe about people who tear down Christmas before the turkey or ham is cold; I understand that for many people, this holiday season was terrible, a time when loss was rubbed into their face. For them, simply going through the motions of the holiday was an act of profound and sustained moral courage.
No, I am reflecting on the reminders of Christmas that will be up in my home all year. This is not new, and not unique. It reflects the profound Incarnation, and the love and hope that flow from that. The little clay Holy Family we bought in San Antonio sits on a shelf beside the front door: it is more than a souvenir and more than the gratification of seeing Jesus, Mary and Joseph with skin closer to Semitic tan than impossibly pale, northwestern European. It is, most of all, a reminder that the Eternal Word who “When He fixed the foundations of the earth, I was beside Him as artisan; I was His delight day by day, playing before Him all the while, playing over the whole of His earth, and having delight with human beings,” (Proverbs 8:29-31) came among us in, reminding of us the dignity of life even in that humility and weakness.
And as the year rolls on, and the oppressiveness of world events bears down on us, we need a star. Without remembering, deliberately and meditatively, the implications of the inexplicable event we celebrate at Christmas, the darkness can seem to be winning, and yet, “The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John, 1:5). Looking at the news, it seems unlikely that things are apt to improve out there anytime soon. And so, as always, I am prepared for the annual summer revival, stirring afresh the wonder of the Incarnation. Sometime in July, when the heat of summer seems to have made the world even angrier, a hidden bag of peppermint bark will emerge, and Christmas music will be played, loudly, in defiance of what seems to be ever-growing darkness.
It is particular Christmas music: starting, necessarily, with Mannheim Steamroller’s “Deck the Halls.” If you know the performance, you understand. If not, it bears some explanation. This is no “ho, ho, ho” or “jingle those bells” type of “Deck the Halls.” It is the tune as it is meant to be played: the triumphant preparation for the arrival of the King, a blast of victorious celebration. It could be the sound of the creatures of Narnia preparing for Aslan’s conquering return. It is a song that, when Steamroller opens with it, has the crowd standing and cheering – to the apparent amazement of the musicians.
If it sounds as if it could be helpful, this summer, when the city streets are on fire and the news cycle is bleak, have a bit of Incarnational reawakening. Leave a reminder of Christmas out all year. Play some music to stir your soul, and remember that, “The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” (John 1:14).
drloriputerbaugh 