Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 28, 2022
Sunday, December 25, 2022
Two photographs and Christmas greetings from Peggy Smith Photography in West Virginia
"And she will be the light your darkness has longed for…..”
This one is a throwback from a few winters ago. It’s always been one of my
favorite photos I’ve taken. Fayette County W. VA.
Merry Christmas with so much love from my heart to yours!
New River Gorge National Park
Tish Harrison Warren writing on Christmas in The New York Times: Having a Hard Christmas? Jesus Did Too
By Tish Harrison Warren
Opinion Writer
Among my most treasured memories is one Christmas Day when I was around 6 or 7 years old. Christmases in my childhood were fairly magical, with good food, lots of family, presents and fun. But that Christmas I was miserable. I lay in bed at my grandmother’s house, where we went for our Christmas feast, with a stomach bug, separated from the rest of the family so as not to spread my Yuletide germs. Alone and unable to eat, I listened sadly to the laughter and glee down the hall. Then my dad popped his head in the door. He brought me a ginger ale with a straw and sat at the end of the bed. He touched my forehead with the back of his hand to check my fever and joked with me gently and kindly.
My father was a complicated man who kept to himself at home and was often distant. We knew he loved us but he showed that more through mowing the lawn and filling up the gas tank rather than giving us hugs or telling us so. But that morning my father left the healthy people, the party and the food and came to spend time with me, just me. I don’t remember what gifts I got that year. I don’t remember what the decorations looked like or what food I missed out on, but I remember my father’s face, his voice, his hands, his smile.
This story comes back to me this time of year because the holidays are often a lonely time for many of us. And in some ways for all of us. No matter how many family members or friends we have, no matter how delicious the food on the table, in quiet moments, many of us still feel a lack, a pang in our hearts, the recurrent ache of longing. We long for peace that we cannot conjure on our own. We long for justice and truth to win out. We long for a joy that isn’t quite so elusive. We long for relationships that last. No matter one’s political affiliation, race, income or education level, we share a common human yearning for a wholeness and flourishing that we do not yet know on this convulsed and suffering planet.
It was my father’s presence that transformed that childhood Christmas, giving it meaning beyond just misery, making it burn bright in my memory. This little moment was a tiny, imperfect picture to me as a kid of what Christians celebrate this morning in nearly every language around the globe: God, like my father, entered our room. The radical claim that Christians make is that God has not remained aloof, transcendent, resplendent in majesty and glory, but became one of us, to be with us in the finitude, the bewilderment, the loneliness and longing of being human.
The analogy falls short. Christians believe that, unlike my father, Jesus was not simply a human messenger visiting us in our suffering. He was God-made flesh, “infinity dwindled to infancy,” as the 19th-century poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote. The Christmas story tells us that therefore Emmanuel — which means “God with us” in Hebrew — is in fact with us in the whole of our actual lives, in our celebration and merrymaking, in our mundane days, and in sickness, sorrows, doubts, failures and disappointments.
Christians believe that because God himself entered humanity, humanity is being transformed even as we speak. Because God took on a human body, all human bodies are holy and worthy of respect. Because God worked, sweating under our sun with difficulty and toil, all human labor can be hallowed. Because God had a human family and friends, our relationships too are eternal and sacred. If God became a human who spent most of his life in quotidian ways, then all of our lives, in all of their granularity, are transformed into the site of God’s surprising presence.
Yet what astounds me most about the Christmas story is not merely the notion that God became a baby or that God got calluses and cavities, had fingernails and friends, and enjoyed good naps and good parties. Christians proclaim today that God actually took on or assumed our sickness, loneliness and misery. God knows the depths of human pain, not in theory but because he has felt it himself. From his earliest moments, Jesus would have been considered a nobody, a loser, another overlooked child born into poverty, an ethnic minority in a vast, oppressive and seemingly all-powerful empire. We have tamed the Christmas story with over-familiarity and sentimentality — little lambs and shepherds, tinsel and stockings — so we fail to notice the depth of pain, chaos and danger into which Jesus was born.
God identifies himself most with the hungry and the vulnerable, with those in chronic pain, with victims of violence, with the outcasts and the despised. In “The Message,” a poetic paraphrase of the scriptures, the pastor and theologian Eugene Peterson translates John 1 by saying, “The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.” When Jesus, the Word, “moved into the neighborhood,” it was not into a posh home in a cozy Christmas movie but instead into a place of hardship and sorrow.
The hope of Christmas is that God did not — and therefore will not — leave us alone. In the midst of our doubts and suffering comes a baby. This child, Christians claim, is God’s embodied response to all of our human aching. In his book “Unapologetic,” Francis Spufford writes that Christians “don’t have an argument that solves the problem of the cruel world, but we have a story.” This story is one of God moving into the neighborhood.
Christianity hasn’t answered all my questions. It has not made me perfectly happy. It has not satisfied my sense of longing. If anything, my (often feeble) attempts to live as a Christian have heightened it. But the Christian story tells me that my deepest longings are not just farce, that they point to something true and therefore should be listened to. This Christmas I long not just for love, but for eternal love. I long for a deeper purity and righteousness than I can muster by good behavior. I long for a justice more profound than Congress can ever deliver. I long for “peace on earth and good will toward men” that is more complete and all-encompassing than we’ve ever known. I long for meaning that is more lasting than I can create. I believe that this baby born in Bethlehem is the mystery our hearts keep chasing, the end of our all quests and the longing we cannot shake.
So, friends, I hope you know longing this Christmas, and even more so, I hope you know hope.
Merry Christmas!
Opinion Writer
Among my most treasured memories is one Christmas Day when I was around 6 or 7 years old. Christmases in my childhood were fairly magical, with good food, lots of family, presents and fun. But that Christmas I was miserable. I lay in bed at my grandmother’s house, where we went for our Christmas feast, with a stomach bug, separated from the rest of the family so as not to spread my Yuletide germs. Alone and unable to eat, I listened sadly to the laughter and glee down the hall. Then my dad popped his head in the door. He brought me a ginger ale with a straw and sat at the end of the bed. He touched my forehead with the back of his hand to check my fever and joked with me gently and kindly.
My father was a complicated man who kept to himself at home and was often distant. We knew he loved us but he showed that more through mowing the lawn and filling up the gas tank rather than giving us hugs or telling us so. But that morning my father left the healthy people, the party and the food and came to spend time with me, just me. I don’t remember what gifts I got that year. I don’t remember what the decorations looked like or what food I missed out on, but I remember my father’s face, his voice, his hands, his smile.
This story comes back to me this time of year because the holidays are often a lonely time for many of us. And in some ways for all of us. No matter how many family members or friends we have, no matter how delicious the food on the table, in quiet moments, many of us still feel a lack, a pang in our hearts, the recurrent ache of longing. We long for peace that we cannot conjure on our own. We long for justice and truth to win out. We long for a joy that isn’t quite so elusive. We long for relationships that last. No matter one’s political affiliation, race, income or education level, we share a common human yearning for a wholeness and flourishing that we do not yet know on this convulsed and suffering planet.
It was my father’s presence that transformed that childhood Christmas, giving it meaning beyond just misery, making it burn bright in my memory. This little moment was a tiny, imperfect picture to me as a kid of what Christians celebrate this morning in nearly every language around the globe: God, like my father, entered our room. The radical claim that Christians make is that God has not remained aloof, transcendent, resplendent in majesty and glory, but became one of us, to be with us in the finitude, the bewilderment, the loneliness and longing of being human.
The analogy falls short. Christians believe that, unlike my father, Jesus was not simply a human messenger visiting us in our suffering. He was God-made flesh, “infinity dwindled to infancy,” as the 19th-century poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote. The Christmas story tells us that therefore Emmanuel — which means “God with us” in Hebrew — is in fact with us in the whole of our actual lives, in our celebration and merrymaking, in our mundane days, and in sickness, sorrows, doubts, failures and disappointments.
Christians believe that because God himself entered humanity, humanity is being transformed even as we speak. Because God took on a human body, all human bodies are holy and worthy of respect. Because God worked, sweating under our sun with difficulty and toil, all human labor can be hallowed. Because God had a human family and friends, our relationships too are eternal and sacred. If God became a human who spent most of his life in quotidian ways, then all of our lives, in all of their granularity, are transformed into the site of God’s surprising presence.
Yet what astounds me most about the Christmas story is not merely the notion that God became a baby or that God got calluses and cavities, had fingernails and friends, and enjoyed good naps and good parties. Christians proclaim today that God actually took on or assumed our sickness, loneliness and misery. God knows the depths of human pain, not in theory but because he has felt it himself. From his earliest moments, Jesus would have been considered a nobody, a loser, another overlooked child born into poverty, an ethnic minority in a vast, oppressive and seemingly all-powerful empire. We have tamed the Christmas story with over-familiarity and sentimentality — little lambs and shepherds, tinsel and stockings — so we fail to notice the depth of pain, chaos and danger into which Jesus was born.
God identifies himself most with the hungry and the vulnerable, with those in chronic pain, with victims of violence, with the outcasts and the despised. In “The Message,” a poetic paraphrase of the scriptures, the pastor and theologian Eugene Peterson translates John 1 by saying, “The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.” When Jesus, the Word, “moved into the neighborhood,” it was not into a posh home in a cozy Christmas movie but instead into a place of hardship and sorrow.
The hope of Christmas is that God did not — and therefore will not — leave us alone. In the midst of our doubts and suffering comes a baby. This child, Christians claim, is God’s embodied response to all of our human aching. In his book “Unapologetic,” Francis Spufford writes that Christians “don’t have an argument that solves the problem of the cruel world, but we have a story.” This story is one of God moving into the neighborhood.
Christianity hasn’t answered all my questions. It has not made me perfectly happy. It has not satisfied my sense of longing. If anything, my (often feeble) attempts to live as a Christian have heightened it. But the Christian story tells me that my deepest longings are not just farce, that they point to something true and therefore should be listened to. This Christmas I long not just for love, but for eternal love. I long for a deeper purity and righteousness than I can muster by good behavior. I long for a justice more profound than Congress can ever deliver. I long for “peace on earth and good will toward men” that is more complete and all-encompassing than we’ve ever known. I long for meaning that is more lasting than I can create. I believe that this baby born in Bethlehem is the mystery our hearts keep chasing, the end of our all quests and the longing we cannot shake.
So, friends, I hope you know longing this Christmas, and even more so, I hope you know hope.
Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 23, 2022
An old Christmas story
The following is one of those sentimental Christmas conversion stories popular in the rural and mountain regions where I come from. It will not appeal to everyone, and it may alienate a few people, but there are practical dimensions to this that I hope will touch someone reading this.
There was once a man who didn't believe in God, and he didn't hesitate to let others know how he felt about religion and religious holidays, like Christmas. His wife, however, did believe, and she raised their children to also have faith in God and the metaphysical meaning of Jesus The Christ, despite her husband's disparaging comments.
One snowy Christmas Eve, the wife was taking their children to a Christmas Eve service in the farm community in which they lived. She asked him to come, but he refused.
"That story is nonsense!" he said. "Why would God lower Himself to come to Earth through a man called Jesus who became the Christ? That's ridiculous!" So she and the children left, and he stayed home.
A while later, the winds grew stronger and the snow turned into a blizzard. As the man looked out the window, all he saw was a blinding snowstorm. He sat down to relax before the fire for the evening. Then he heard a loud thump.
Something had hit the window. Then another thump. He looked out, but couldn't see more than a few feet. When the snow let up a little, he ventured outside to see what could have been beating on his window. In the field near his house he saw a flock of wild geese.
Apparently they had been flying south for the winter when they got caught in the snowstorm and couldn't go on. They were lost and stranded on his farm, with no food or shelter. They just flapped their wings and flew around the field in low circles, blindly and aimlessly. A couple of them had flown into his window, it seemed.
The man felt sorry for the geese and wanted to help them. The barn would be a great place for them to stay, he thought. It's warm and safe; surely they could spend the night and wait out the storm. So he walked over to the barn and opened the doors wide, then watched and waited, hoping they would notice the open barn and go inside. But the geese just fluttered around aimlessly and didn't seem to notice the barn or realize what it could mean for them.
The man tried to get their attention, but that just seemed to scare them and they moved further away. He went into the house and came with some bread, broke it up, and made a bread crumb trail leading to the barn. They still didn't catch on.
Now he was getting frustrated. He got behind them and tried to shoo them toward the barn, but they only got more scared and scattered in every direction except toward the barn. Nothing he did could get them to go into the barn where they would be warm and safe.
"Why don't they follow me?!" he exclaimed. "Can't they see this is the only place where they can survive the storm?" He thought for a moment and realized that they just wouldn't follow a human.
"If only I were a goose, then I could save them," he said out loud.
Then he had an idea. He went into barn, got one of his own geese, and carried it in his arms as he circled around behind the flock of wild geese.
He then released it. His goose flew through the flock and straight into the barn and one by one the other geese followed it to safety.
He stood silently for a moment as the words he had spoken a few minutes earlier replayed in his mind: "If only I were a goose, then I could save them!"
Then he thought about what he had said to his wife earlier. "Why would God want to become like us? That's ridiculous!"
Suddenly it all made sense. That is what God had done. We were like the geese--blind, lost, perishing. God had His Son become like us so we could find enlightenment and the way to safety.
That was the meaning of Christmas, he realized. As the winds and blinding snow died down, his soul became quiet and he pondered this wonderful thought.
Suddenly he understood what Christmas was all about, why Jesus who became the Christ had come, so that we could become the sons and daughters of the Living Christ. God is our loving Parent who will not let us face our perils alone.
Years of doubt and disbelief vanished like the passing storm. He fell to his knees in the snow, and prayed his first prayer: "Thank You, God, for coming in human form to get me out of the storm!"
Don't tell God how big your storm is, tell your storm how big your God is!
There was once a man who didn't believe in God, and he didn't hesitate to let others know how he felt about religion and religious holidays, like Christmas. His wife, however, did believe, and she raised their children to also have faith in God and the metaphysical meaning of Jesus The Christ, despite her husband's disparaging comments.
One snowy Christmas Eve, the wife was taking their children to a Christmas Eve service in the farm community in which they lived. She asked him to come, but he refused.
"That story is nonsense!" he said. "Why would God lower Himself to come to Earth through a man called Jesus who became the Christ? That's ridiculous!" So she and the children left, and he stayed home.
A while later, the winds grew stronger and the snow turned into a blizzard. As the man looked out the window, all he saw was a blinding snowstorm. He sat down to relax before the fire for the evening. Then he heard a loud thump.
Something had hit the window. Then another thump. He looked out, but couldn't see more than a few feet. When the snow let up a little, he ventured outside to see what could have been beating on his window. In the field near his house he saw a flock of wild geese.
Apparently they had been flying south for the winter when they got caught in the snowstorm and couldn't go on. They were lost and stranded on his farm, with no food or shelter. They just flapped their wings and flew around the field in low circles, blindly and aimlessly. A couple of them had flown into his window, it seemed.
The man felt sorry for the geese and wanted to help them. The barn would be a great place for them to stay, he thought. It's warm and safe; surely they could spend the night and wait out the storm. So he walked over to the barn and opened the doors wide, then watched and waited, hoping they would notice the open barn and go inside. But the geese just fluttered around aimlessly and didn't seem to notice the barn or realize what it could mean for them.
The man tried to get their attention, but that just seemed to scare them and they moved further away. He went into the house and came with some bread, broke it up, and made a bread crumb trail leading to the barn. They still didn't catch on.
Now he was getting frustrated. He got behind them and tried to shoo them toward the barn, but they only got more scared and scattered in every direction except toward the barn. Nothing he did could get them to go into the barn where they would be warm and safe.
"Why don't they follow me?!" he exclaimed. "Can't they see this is the only place where they can survive the storm?" He thought for a moment and realized that they just wouldn't follow a human.
"If only I were a goose, then I could save them," he said out loud.
Then he had an idea. He went into barn, got one of his own geese, and carried it in his arms as he circled around behind the flock of wild geese.
He then released it. His goose flew through the flock and straight into the barn and one by one the other geese followed it to safety.
He stood silently for a moment as the words he had spoken a few minutes earlier replayed in his mind: "If only I were a goose, then I could save them!"
Then he thought about what he had said to his wife earlier. "Why would God want to become like us? That's ridiculous!"
Suddenly it all made sense. That is what God had done. We were like the geese--blind, lost, perishing. God had His Son become like us so we could find enlightenment and the way to safety.
That was the meaning of Christmas, he realized. As the winds and blinding snow died down, his soul became quiet and he pondered this wonderful thought.
Suddenly he understood what Christmas was all about, why Jesus who became the Christ had come, so that we could become the sons and daughters of the Living Christ. God is our loving Parent who will not let us face our perils alone.
Years of doubt and disbelief vanished like the passing storm. He fell to his knees in the snow, and prayed his first prayer: "Thank You, God, for coming in human form to get me out of the storm!"
Don't tell God how big your storm is, tell your storm how big your God is!
A hand-crocheted Christmas tree from Berea, Kentucky
"Merry Christmas from Berea, Kentucky. This is the hand crocheted tree on display,
made by several Artisans in Berea."
Pastor Jerrell Williams: We will know when God shows up
One of the nagging thoughts in so many people's minds who can take a minute to breathe and think during this time of year is how we can know when God is present, or if God is ever present. We are so doped by movies and other media that many of us think that if the sea isn't parting and if there isn't a loud authoritative voice speaking directly to us from above the sky then we're left to pray alone or in church on Sundays or that there is no God, or no God that cares for creation any longer. In searching for belief and faith and something to hold on to we can easily become despairing and give up.
Doubt and atheism are not "wrong" or invalid under modern conditions. These are understandable given the pressures of modern-day capitalism. And if you're not struggling with despair, whether you're a believer in God or an agnostic or an atheist, then you're not paying attention. If we're going to ask where the search for faith leads us under these circumstances, and if one valid answer is despair, than we also have to ask where agnosticism and atheism lead us, and for some people the answer will be belief and faith. Leonard Cohen's "You Want It Darker" and his "Hallelujah" answer one another because faith and belief and whatever their opposites are are not really so far apart from one another.
Pastor Jerrell Williams, the pastor of the Salem, Oregon Mennonite Church, has written a brief article that is fundamental to a discussion of these themes in the contexts of Advent and Christmas. He knows what he's talking about. He graduated from Bethel College in Kansas and from the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary with his Master of Divinity. He thinks a lot about these questions and you can trust his wisdom. Besides all of that, he's a parent, he's young, and he's Black and so he has a different stake in how these questions get answered than I do.
Pastor Williams' article opens with the following:
Christmas time is here! This is a day in which we gather with our families, friends and church communities to celebrate and remember when God entered our world to be with creation. While this is the central focus for Christians, here in the U.S, this time of year is not always the hope- and awe-inspiring season that we anticipate. Often, the Christmas season is riddled with capitalism and consumerism. There is the stress of constant gift buying. There is the mourning that takes place, because the Christmas dinner table may be missing a few members due to sickness or death. I myself am guilty of not being in the “Christmas spirit” this year. Maybe it is the cold, dark and rainy season that has me down. Maybe it is the constant busyness of work and personal life. Either way, I have noticed God’s absence more than I ever have recently.
As I have gone through the Advent texts from the lectionary with my congregation, I have been reminded that my feelings are not foreign to God’s people. They were carrying God’s promise with them for years, waiting for God to finally do something. Imagine the stories of this promise being passed down from generation to generation. It’s not often that I feel that I can identify with the Biblical narrative, but I do know what anticipation feels like. I also know what absence feels like: the constant asking of God to do something, trusting in the promise that God will not abandon you for good.
One question that I have been sitting with this Advent season is: “How will we know when God is here?”
How will we know that we are on the right track towards restoration? Recently, I was reminded that Jesus answered a similar question in Matthew’s Gospel. When John the Baptist was in prison, he had a message sent to Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (11:3 NRSVUE). This is not only a question an uncertainty, but it is a question of hopeful anticipation. John knew his role in this story. He knew that he was the forerunner, and that the Messiah was coming soon. What he did not anticipate was that the Messiah would look like Jesus. Jesus sent word back to John by pointing towards the evidence. “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” (11:4-6 NRSVUE).
Really, you do want to finish the article by going here. A good sermon only ends after you think about it, integrate what you can take from it into your life, and move on and keep growing.
Doubt and atheism are not "wrong" or invalid under modern conditions. These are understandable given the pressures of modern-day capitalism. And if you're not struggling with despair, whether you're a believer in God or an agnostic or an atheist, then you're not paying attention. If we're going to ask where the search for faith leads us under these circumstances, and if one valid answer is despair, than we also have to ask where agnosticism and atheism lead us, and for some people the answer will be belief and faith. Leonard Cohen's "You Want It Darker" and his "Hallelujah" answer one another because faith and belief and whatever their opposites are are not really so far apart from one another.
Pastor Jerrell Williams, the pastor of the Salem, Oregon Mennonite Church, has written a brief article that is fundamental to a discussion of these themes in the contexts of Advent and Christmas. He knows what he's talking about. He graduated from Bethel College in Kansas and from the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary with his Master of Divinity. He thinks a lot about these questions and you can trust his wisdom. Besides all of that, he's a parent, he's young, and he's Black and so he has a different stake in how these questions get answered than I do.
Pastor Williams' article opens with the following:
Christmas time is here! This is a day in which we gather with our families, friends and church communities to celebrate and remember when God entered our world to be with creation. While this is the central focus for Christians, here in the U.S, this time of year is not always the hope- and awe-inspiring season that we anticipate. Often, the Christmas season is riddled with capitalism and consumerism. There is the stress of constant gift buying. There is the mourning that takes place, because the Christmas dinner table may be missing a few members due to sickness or death. I myself am guilty of not being in the “Christmas spirit” this year. Maybe it is the cold, dark and rainy season that has me down. Maybe it is the constant busyness of work and personal life. Either way, I have noticed God’s absence more than I ever have recently.
As I have gone through the Advent texts from the lectionary with my congregation, I have been reminded that my feelings are not foreign to God’s people. They were carrying God’s promise with them for years, waiting for God to finally do something. Imagine the stories of this promise being passed down from generation to generation. It’s not often that I feel that I can identify with the Biblical narrative, but I do know what anticipation feels like. I also know what absence feels like: the constant asking of God to do something, trusting in the promise that God will not abandon you for good.
One question that I have been sitting with this Advent season is: “How will we know when God is here?”
How will we know that we are on the right track towards restoration? Recently, I was reminded that Jesus answered a similar question in Matthew’s Gospel. When John the Baptist was in prison, he had a message sent to Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (11:3 NRSVUE). This is not only a question an uncertainty, but it is a question of hopeful anticipation. John knew his role in this story. He knew that he was the forerunner, and that the Messiah was coming soon. What he did not anticipate was that the Messiah would look like Jesus. Jesus sent word back to John by pointing towards the evidence. “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” (11:4-6 NRSVUE). Really, you do want to finish the article by going here. A good sermon only ends after you think about it, integrate what you can take from it into your life, and move on and keep growing.
Thursday, December 22, 2022
Class struggle and the revolutionary hope of Christmas by Tim Yeager
This post offers a view of the Christmas story that will surprise many readers and, I hope, provoke some study and discussion. The author of this piece is Tim Yeager, who is described at the end of the article as " Long-time labor organizer, civil rights and peace activist in the U.S., Rev. Tim Yeager is now Associate Priest at St Albans Cathedral and Volunteer priest at Waltham Abbey Church, U.K." This article first appeared in the December 20, 2017 edition of the People's World. Please go here in order to read the entire article.
A mural imitating the religious painting "The Last Supper" covers a wall of a popular housing complex in Caracas, showing from left to right: Fidel Castro, Ernesto 'Che' Guevara, Mao Zedong, V.I. Lenin, Karl Marx, Jesus Christ, Simon Bolivar, Venezuelan rebel fighters Alexis Gonzalez and Fabricio Ojeda, and Venezuela's late President Hugo Chavez. | Fernando Llano / AP
Christmas time can be so depressing. It brings out some of the worst features of capitalism and rubs them in our faces. You can’t escape, whatever your philosophical or religious belief.
Advertisements spur on feelings of guilt if you don’t buy enough of the right kinds of consumer products for people you love. Creative financing is offered so that lenders can make even more profit. And it is an environmental disaster … more plastic, cardboard, and packaging is produced, carted about, and dumped into landfills, vacant lots, and incinerators at Christmas time than at any other time of the year.
And yet… Nearly smothered beneath piles of gift catalogs and sale circulars, nearly drowned in a sea of synthesized elevator-music Christmas carols, in a locked theological vault guarded down through the centuries by legions of preachers, priests and pontiffs, there burns a persistent secret flame. It is the flame of a revolutionary hope—hope for a better world, a more just society, where the social order is turned upside down so that the poor are fed and the rich are relieved of their ill-gotten gains. And it is something that working people of any culture, any religious or philosophical background can relate to.
What does Christmas have to do with the class struggle? In a word—everything. The story goes like this:
Once upon a time, in a land far away on the edge of a great empire, there was a people with an ancient culture, a storied past, and a great literature, who had been conquered by a technologically advanced imperial power. They were occupied by foreign soldiers and ruled by corrupt local despots who collaborated with the foreign oppressors. There were periodic revolts of local peasants and slaves that were put down mercilessly.
In the midst of all that, a young unmarried girl becomes pregnant out of wedlock. You might think she would regret this development, but on the contrary, she finds in the anticipated birth of a child a reason to rejoice and to hope for a better world. In her joy and determination, she sings an ancient song of liberation:
My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden. For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me: He has shown strength with his arm, he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts, he has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. (Luke 1:46-53)
She and her fiancé are then forced to make a difficult journey while she is in the last weeks of her pregnancy, ostensibly to comply with the demands of their imperial rulers to register for a census. They are denied lodging in local inns. Homeless, the young family takes shelter in a stable, where the mother goes into labor and gives birth to a baby boy among barnyard animals.
Hardly an auspicious beginning for a child in whom his mother had placed such hope. And then things get worse. The local ruler, a collaborator who is kept in power through an occupation army, decides on an act of terror. Convinced that a revolt is brewing in the village where the young couple has just had their baby, he sends in death squads to kill all the male children under a certain age.
Christmas time can be so depressing. It brings out some of the worst features of capitalism and rubs them in our faces. You can’t escape, whatever your philosophical or religious belief.
Advertisements spur on feelings of guilt if you don’t buy enough of the right kinds of consumer products for people you love. Creative financing is offered so that lenders can make even more profit. And it is an environmental disaster … more plastic, cardboard, and packaging is produced, carted about, and dumped into landfills, vacant lots, and incinerators at Christmas time than at any other time of the year.
And yet… Nearly smothered beneath piles of gift catalogs and sale circulars, nearly drowned in a sea of synthesized elevator-music Christmas carols, in a locked theological vault guarded down through the centuries by legions of preachers, priests and pontiffs, there burns a persistent secret flame. It is the flame of a revolutionary hope—hope for a better world, a more just society, where the social order is turned upside down so that the poor are fed and the rich are relieved of their ill-gotten gains. And it is something that working people of any culture, any religious or philosophical background can relate to.
What does Christmas have to do with the class struggle? In a word—everything. The story goes like this:
Once upon a time, in a land far away on the edge of a great empire, there was a people with an ancient culture, a storied past, and a great literature, who had been conquered by a technologically advanced imperial power. They were occupied by foreign soldiers and ruled by corrupt local despots who collaborated with the foreign oppressors. There were periodic revolts of local peasants and slaves that were put down mercilessly.
In the midst of all that, a young unmarried girl becomes pregnant out of wedlock. You might think she would regret this development, but on the contrary, she finds in the anticipated birth of a child a reason to rejoice and to hope for a better world. In her joy and determination, she sings an ancient song of liberation:
My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden. For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me: He has shown strength with his arm, he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts, he has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. (Luke 1:46-53)
She and her fiancé are then forced to make a difficult journey while she is in the last weeks of her pregnancy, ostensibly to comply with the demands of their imperial rulers to register for a census. They are denied lodging in local inns. Homeless, the young family takes shelter in a stable, where the mother goes into labor and gives birth to a baby boy among barnyard animals.
Hardly an auspicious beginning for a child in whom his mother had placed such hope. And then things get worse. The local ruler, a collaborator who is kept in power through an occupation army, decides on an act of terror. Convinced that a revolt is brewing in the village where the young couple has just had their baby, he sends in death squads to kill all the male children under a certain age.
Tuesday, December 20, 2022
Sunday, December 18, 2022
Season reminders from Shannon Nelson at the V. & V. Restaurant in Richlands, VA. Please read!
All I really know about Shannon Nelson is that she runs the great V. & V. Restaurant in Richlands, Virginia (374 Front St, Richlands, VA.) and that she's really busy and has a great heart and is pretty smart. If I ever disappear and you need to find me, check the V. & V. Restaurant first. It is the kind of place that would be a second home to me if I lived round Richlands. Shannon posted the following reminders for the season that need to get around. Please pass them on.
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Before you start bragging that you’ve done your Christmas shopping and post a picture of 175 wrapped gifts under the tree, or posting pics of your matching pajama family portraits, please remember :
Some parents have lost their jobs and don’t know how they’re going to feed their kids, never mind buying presents for them.
Some families are on 80% pay and only just managing to pay bills.
Some people have lost family members and Christmas won’t be the same now or ever again.
Some are missing family that acts like they don’t exist
Some people don’t go online and now have no idea when or how they’ll be able to shop.
Some people are completely isolated and alone, and won’t be receiving any gifts from anyone at all.
Some people have had their entire world turned upside down!
Some people are fighting for their lives!!! Christmas shopping is the last thing on their minds.
So remember, nobody likes a show off!!!
For me this year, more than ever before, it's more important who is around your tree rather than what’s under it.
It’s Christ’s Birthday!!!
Be humble. Be thoughtful. Be kind. That’s what the holiday season is really about.
#CopyAndPasteIfYouAgree ... I Do
We will be closed December 24, 25, and 26 so that we can give our extremely short and over worked staff some time to just enjoy their family's. We are thankful for the ones that we have that keep showing up and helping us every day and honestly wouldn't be able to do it without them. So if you see them out take a second to tell them what a great job they are doing. And if you come in and your order is messed up or you have to wait longer than you would like on your food, please keep in mind the person you are about to yell at showed up that day and probably countless days before and they are trying their best. I'm not just talking about at v&v no matter where you are or what your mad about take 2 seconds to think about what you are about to say to the tired overworked and stressed out worker that showed up that day to help you. Life is hard and sometimes a little patience and understanding go a long way. We love you all and hope everyone has the best Christmas.
.jpg)
Before you start bragging that you’ve done your Christmas shopping and post a picture of 175 wrapped gifts under the tree, or posting pics of your matching pajama family portraits, please remember :
Some parents have lost their jobs and don’t know how they’re going to feed their kids, never mind buying presents for them.
Some families are on 80% pay and only just managing to pay bills.
Some people have lost family members and Christmas won’t be the same now or ever again.
Some are missing family that acts like they don’t exist Some people don’t go online and now have no idea when or how they’ll be able to shop.
Some people are completely isolated and alone, and won’t be receiving any gifts from anyone at all.
Some people have had their entire world turned upside down!
Some people are fighting for their lives!!! Christmas shopping is the last thing on their minds.
So remember, nobody likes a show off!!!
For me this year, more than ever before, it's more important who is around your tree rather than what’s under it.
It’s Christ’s Birthday!!!
Be humble. Be thoughtful. Be kind. That’s what the holiday season is really about.
#CopyAndPasteIfYouAgree ... I Do
***
We will be closed December 24, 25, and 26 so that we can give our extremely short and over worked staff some time to just enjoy their family's. We are thankful for the ones that we have that keep showing up and helping us every day and honestly wouldn't be able to do it without them. So if you see them out take a second to tell them what a great job they are doing. And if you come in and your order is messed up or you have to wait longer than you would like on your food, please keep in mind the person you are about to yell at showed up that day and probably countless days before and they are trying their best. I'm not just talking about at v&v no matter where you are or what your mad about take 2 seconds to think about what you are about to say to the tired overworked and stressed out worker that showed up that day to help you. Life is hard and sometimes a little patience and understanding go a long way. We love you all and hope everyone has the best Christmas.
Friday, December 16, 2022
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