CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS UNAWARES

It would be easy to wax eloquent about how our society had made Christmas a Civil holiday rather than a Christian holyday. Many of my clergy colleagues have done so year after year. It would be even easier to moan and groan about the commercialization of this season. But if the truth be told, it would be a waste of breath and an even greater waste of words to do so.

I will grant that many of my neighbors probably, probably, because I have no way of knowing unless I ask them personally -- which I will not do -- do not even think about Jesus on Christmas. Jesus may be the last thought on their minds when they purchase and/or exchange presents. They may even have a crèche somewhere among all the decorations, but that is still no reason to believe that Jesus has any real meaning in whatever it is they do at this time of year.

           

Oh, they are certainly aware, or at least I hope they are, that Jesus is the real reason for the season, but he is not the reason why they are personally celebrating, giving and receiving presents or gathering family around the dinner table or decorating the house with a Christmas tree and lights and all the rest. You should see how hey decorate the outside of their homes! Their reasoning, I suspect, why they do all that and even more is that it is Christmas the Holiday.

           

Yet, the holiday and the holyday are so intertwined that one cannot celebrate the one without celebrating the other. I love holydays. Holydays are always holidays, always, days when we pause to remember and celebrate the holy, the good, the Godly. They are a pause within the ordinary. They are the extra added to the ordinary, the extraordinary, even the out of the ordinary. That is why they are special.

           

And holidays are holydays, but not always. If we do on holidays what we always do every other day, then there is nothing special about the day, at least for us. But when we take the holiday and celebrate it, even if our celebration is not in keeping with the real spirit of the holiday, it is still a holyday. How one keeps holy the holiday of Christmas --   for Christmas is both: it is, again, a civil holiday and a Christian holyday -- is almost beside the point. The point is that when we keep the holiday, we make it holy.

           

Many, many people are celebrating Christmas the Holyday unawares. The temptation may be to blame them for their failure to be aware of what they are doing. But we would be wrong if we did. If there is any failure, it is the failure of those of us who know what is holy in the holiday for not making the unaware aware of the holiness of this day.

           

We who have failed to convey the true and holy meaning of Christmas to those who celebrate the holiday can begin to redress our failure by inviting our neighbors to keep the holyday with us, to make the holiday truly holy. It doesn't take much. But it can mean the beginning of a new awareness, an understanding of what this season is all about.

           

Have a blessed holy/holiday.

WHO IS(ARE) YOUR ICON(S)?

Tom Hanks the actor was in Pittsburgh recently to film segments for his new film in which he portrays Pittsburgh’s great national and international icon, Fred Rogers. This past Wednesday our country, if only for a passing moment in time, stood still and, hopefully, together, to mourn the passing and celebrate the life of another national and international icon: President George H. W. Bush.

Our children grew up with Mr. Rogers as their teacher and adult role model. I would like to think that their parents were. But the truth is parents really don’t become role models until their children are about twenty-five or so. Hopefully we have at least been favorably compared to Mr. Rogers.

As I watched the service For President Bush on my tablet after returning from mother/mother-in-law duty, I wondered if the gentlemen in the first row on both side of the aisle were comparing themselves to the man they had come to remember and if it was a favorable comparison. (I’ll keep my opinion to myself.)

To paraphrase and old folk-protest song of my younger days, where have all the icons gone? Mr. Rogers is dead and my children are grown adults, some with children of their own. Who are my grandchildren’s icons? Who are our leaders’ icons? Who do we have to teach us the lessons of caring about everyone, service of others, kindness and generosity with no expectance of anything in return, for doing the right thing simply because it is the right thing to do?

Fred Rogers taught us that. President Bush taught us that. As a dyed-in-the wool Democrat I did not always agree with his policies but I never ever doubted he did what he believed was best for his country and our world. Mr. Rogers would agree. What I find refreshing is that both men lived and taught because their faith was deeply imbedded in their very being: Fred Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian pastor. George Bush was a lifelong committed Episcopalian.

Are not our icons those who have a deep-seated faith in God and who live out that faith in their daily lives and never, ever wearing that faith on their shirt sleeves? I didn’t have Mr. Rogers as my icon. I had Anne Pugliese, my Mom. In her own quiet and unassuming manner she taught me and my siblings the lessons Fred Rogers and, I trust and hope, my wife and I taught our children.

We all have those icons in our lives who call us to be better than we are simply because we can be better. They may not be with us in body but they are always with us in spirit. They taught us by their actions even as their words spoke volumes. More importantly, however, they are reminders that we are to be icons to others. We are whether we realize it or not. The question remains: what kind of icon am I?

BUNNY

I have a friend whom everyone calls “Bunny”. It’s not because he looks like a lost little rabbit (although sometimes there are resemblances), not because he is light on his feet (although in his long-past prime he was), and not because he is so cute and cuddly (although certain women I know think he is). No Bunny is called Bunny, I think, simply because the name doesn’t fit.

Let’s face it, can you see an All-State linebacker called “Bunny”? Can you imagine a hardnosed miner or steelworker called “Bunny”? Can you even believe a grown man called by that name? It just doesn’t fit, does it? And yet “Bunny” fits Bunny perfectly.

“Why?” you ask. “Bunny” fits Bunny perfectly because “Bunny” doesn’t fit: you never know when he is serious or when he is pulling your leg, when he is telling the truth or feeding you carrots.

Now this behavior might be disconcerting to some of us who just don’t like our legs being pulled. Some of us want a spade to be called a spade and not a shovel, if you know what I mean. Some of us just hate to be played the fool even in jest.

But people like Bunny are there to remind us that life, serious as it is, isn’t all that serious. Life is to be lived, loved and thoroughly enjoyed. One cannot be so straight-laced that any deviation is looked upon as out of the ordinary. The ordinary in life is often to expect the unexpected and not to always expect the expected.

That is why Bunny is so refreshing. I have learned, as the women I mentioned above have not, to expect the unexpected from Bunny. That includes a tear in his eye when he is telling me about how his Beloved lit a cigarette for him while he was flat on his back – and you know how she hates him to smoke. The unexpected also includes his total devotion to his children and all children, something that is rare these days when “Me First” often seems the pervading philosophy of life. The unexpected is being there when anyone needs him. Another rarity.

I write this not to give Bunny and the Bunnys of this world swelled heads. I write it to remind me, to remind all of us, that part of what makes Bunny Bunny is also part of us: the ready smile, the unpredictability, the joy of living, even when life seems unfair.

Sometimes we forget that life, our life, was given to us to be enjoyed, not just endured; to be lived out, not just languished through; to be celebrated, not just completed. Bunny enjoys, lives, celebrates life, every day of it. So should we.

Into every life a Bunny needs to come: to pick us up when we are down; to make us smile amid our tears; to hold our hand when we are weak; to ease our pain when we hurt so badly. We need to find our Bunny and we need to be a Bunny one to another.

THE PROBLEM

“If I only knew then what I know now….” That’s the lament of any one of us who has gotten in over our heads and didn’t know how to swim. Somehow we survived the situation, attested to by the fact that we can now make that lament.

There really isn’t anything wrong with “not knowing then” and making a mistake. I mean, we just did not know. If we did not know but should have, okay, then we are truly at fault. But simply not knowing imputes no guilt. The child of some friends jumped into a swimming pool when his parents’ backs were turned. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know how to swim. Thankfully his dad saved him, although it took a headlong dive, clothes and all, to do so.

No, simply not knowing is not the problem. The problem is not doing: not doing what we know we should be doing. For that we have no excuse. “I should have known better” doesn’t absolve the guilt. Certainly I should have. Then why didn’t I? I didn’t because I did not want to. Why did I eat that strawberry shortcake when on a diet? I knew better. I ate it because I wanted to, that’s why.

That’s crass, isn’t it? I did it because I wanted to. No one made me do it. I did it all by myself. And I loved every minute of it down to the last forkful. Then afterwards, why did I feel so guilty? I did it. I wanted to. No one forced me. And no one stopped me. And herein lays the problem. I didn’t stop me and neither did anyone else. Didn’t they acre? Didn’t they know that it really was their business to interfere with my business because what hurts me hurts them?

Yes, they knew as I knew. But, you see, we’re all programmed to butt out. No, not with our children: we don’t let them do what we know they should not and we tell them so. We butt in all the time, much to their annoyance, especially when they are teenagers and let us know they know more than we do. But as adults with other adults we butt out all the time. We nose around a lot, but we butt out. We should know better, shouldn’t we?

Really! It’s right there in the Gospels. Jesus was always butting into other people’s lives. He never just nosed around. He never let bad-enough alone. He wanted to make it well. And he did so by butting in, by calling a sin a sin. He never allowed someone else’s deliberate mistake to be none of his business.

The problem most of us have is not doing what the gospel commands us to do: being about being other Jesus Christ’s, doing what he would have us do: butting in out of love to help others do what they know they should do and not do what they know they should not do and do so not just because we are nosey. There is a fine line between the two as we know from experience. We’ve all been on both ends of this what sometimes seems like a conundrum. Love of the other knows the difference even as the problem remains.

BEING NICE

The other day our youngest grandson, four-year-old Carter, came home from school and told his mom that they had a new girl in class. Her name was Talia. “She doesn’t speak English,” he said, “she only speaks Arabic. I don’t speak Arabic so we just have to be nice to each other.”

The wisdom of little children: we just have to be nice to each other! Somehow, somewhere along the line these past few years we adults seemed to have lost the notion that to live in this world we do need to be nice to each other. What I have heard over and over and over again, ad nauseam, from our elected leaders on down, is just the opposite – and they take pride in their language to boot.

My guess is that Jesus would be appalled were he to walk our highways and byways. No, no guess involved: Jesus would be appalled, IS appalled. There are no exceptions, ands, ifs or buts about it. If four-year-olds know that they need to be nice to one another to live in this world, why have we adults forgotten that basic truth of basic civility? And why do we allow our elected leaders to get away with such conduct especially when they are supposed to be our shining examples of civility in public discourse?

The more basic question, of course, is on the very personal level: our own public and even private discourse. Have we become less civil? Have we lost the ability to be nice to those with whom we honestly disagree, with whom we do not understand? Being nice does not mean that we agree with the other’s point of view. But it does mean that we do not degenerate into calling the other names that belittle that person.

When we put the shoe on our own foot and reflect on how we would feel if someone belittled us because of our politics or race or skin color or sexual orientation, we soon realize the depth of hurt those words inflict. The old adage that “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is a lie. Words hurt deeply and sometimes forever, long after the bones have been healed.

What is worse, we can’t take those words back. They are indelibly marked on the soul of the one we hurt and are just as indelibly marked on our soul when others verbally abuse us. We all learned that back when we were Carter’s age, when someone called us names that hurt us. Our response, if you are like me, was to start to cry if those words hurt so deeply and, sadly, to retaliate with our own name-calling. We may have thought that we had gotten even, but we only made the situation worse.

We know all that. We’ve know all that since we were Carter’s age. We are reminded of it when we hear others verbally abuse another and, even more, when we are verbally abused ourselves. I’m proud of my grandson for reminding me of something I have known all along, reminding me to always be nice to everyone. It’s the only way to live.

JUST SAY “YES”.... “NO”?

It all sounds so easy, so simple, maybe even so right. The temptation to that not-ever-needed donut: just say "no." The need to get up at 6:00 for the always-needed exercise: just say "yes”. As we have all discovered, however, it is never that easy. That is why we are in the shape we are in spiritually and, perhaps, physically. That is to say, out of shape. There have been too many yeses when there should have been nos and vice versa. And so often when we did make the right response, the effort to respond was half-hearted at best.

Is that to say that we are really just lukewarm Christians, tepid people who hardly ever give it our very best when the best is what is demanded? I can only speak for myself, and I know the answer. My physical appearance often has a direct correlation to what my spiritual beings looks like. Self-discipline pervades our whole being, physical as well as spiritual. Appearances, of course, can always be deceiving, but not always.

Knowing what to do and doing it is not always the way it works out in life. Most of the time we know what we should or should not do. The problem is that we do not always do what we know should be done. One of the main reasons why this is true is that we try to do it -- whatever the "it" is -- alone. But we are not created either to be alone (see Genesis) or to live out our lives alone, all by ourselves, with no support (see the New Testament, most anywhere).

In order for us to really live, really practice a Christian life, we need two ingredients. First, we need our own intention to live that life: to say "yes" when we should say "yes" and to say "no" when we should say "no." Second, we need help, help in the form of a supportive community of faith. We can say "no" to a temptation for a while, but probably not for long and certainly not forever if we do not have the love and support of others.

Self-discipline is important and it is vital. We can have a whole community of people who love and support us, cheering us on; but if we do not do our part, their love and support will go for naught. Yet once we decide to get in shape, we know that it will not come easy. We've all fought those same battles before and lost.

Living out the practicing of our faith is a process, a year-round processes. We don't do it just in Lent or just in Advent. Advent and Lent may be training camps; but as with athletes who have to be in shape when they come into the camp, so do we. Advent and Lent are times to hone our skills not develop them. We develop them by using them all year long.

Athletes find that during their "off season -- something which we do not have as Christians -- they stay in shape by working out together. They support and encourage one another. As a church community we do the same. We stay in shape, get into shape, together. Again, without that support and encouragement, that love we have one for another, it will be difficult if not impossible for us to say "yes" when we should say "yes" and to say "no" when we should say "no." To extend the analogy, living out our life of faith involves teamwork. We do it, live it together, or else not at all.

WALKING THROUGH CEMETERIES

Have you ever taken a walk through a cemetery just to take a walk? Some people do on a regular basis. Most people avoid cemeteries like the plaque: it's too close of a reminder of one's own mortality, I suspect. And so when we go to a cemetery, if we have no other choice, we go and get done whatever we have to do there as quickly as we can and leave, as quickly as we can. What we do not do is linger, walk around, look at the stone markers and monuments, read them slowly and thoughtfully, even reverently. Perhaps we should.

           

I can't say that I have a favorite cemetery. But if I had my choice about which one I'd prefer to walk through, it would be Union Cemetery back home. That's where my Mom and Dad, my Mom's parents (Grandma Lucia and Grandpa Francesco), and my Mom's two brothers (Uncle Dan and Uncle Dom) are buried. Many cousins are also buried there.

           

The grave markers in Union Cemetery are, in many instances, quite artistic pieces. There are large mausoleums that each hold several members of one family. There are huge granite edifices that speak of the wealth of the deceased. There are the little stone markers of the poor. The markers on my family's graves all note the name and the birth and death dates.  There is even a photograph on the grave marker.

           

When I was younger, I used to go to the cemetery with my parents to tend my grandparents' grave sites. I would walk around, the better to get out of work, and look at the photos on the other graves. Grandma, whom I never knew, was dressed in a period piece - she died in the late 1930s. Grandpa looked like he did when he came over from the old country, only sixty years older. Uncle Dan's picture was of him in the tux he wore at my parent's wedding.

           

Every grave marker tells a story. As a youngster I used to be fascinated about what stories lay behind all those names and all those pictures. I knew very little of those stories, even those of my own family. But I am who I am because of those people whose bodies are buried under all those markers at Union Cemetery in New Kensington, Pennsylvania -- all of them, not just my own family.

           

We are who we are because of all those who came before us. Others will be who they are and who they will become because we have passed through their lives in one way or another. The poet reminds us that no one of us is an island, alone unto ourselves. Cemeteries remind us that because we have never been alone and will never be alone, no matter how short or how long our lives, we will have an effect on others.

           

Our faith reminds us that we are called to live our lives as best we can so that we can not only live the life God calls and created us to live, but also because we leave a legacy to those who come after us. Jesus gave his life so that our life might be better. We are to live our lives so that the lives of others, all others, might be better. Cemeteries are reminders of life, of the lives of those who have died and who now live on in us, and that we live on, even today, in the lives of others.