Saturday, December 21, 2013

This and That

We put our Christmas tree up yesterday. Well, in the interest of honesty, we decorated it yesterday. My parents put the tree itself up last weekend. They were saving the decorating until I came home, a decision I was very much in favor of. Christmas in the Reid family has always been a bit of a homemade affair—another word I might use is “ramshackle.”

When my brother and I were growing up, a yearly tradition was to make a new Christmas tree ornament every year. Looking at our tree tonight, I see sheep, angels, snowmen, gingerbread people, and stars all in various states of artistic genius and carefully marked: “Elizabeth, ’96,” etc. This, mixed in with the usual lights and tinsel and store-bought gifted ornaments, makes for, as I said, a bit of a ramshackle effect. Our tree looks best as I’m looking at it now—lights off, illuminated by the tree itself and a candle or two on the window sill.

It’s a strange way to celebrate, I’ll admit. What does the mystery and awe of the Incarnation have to do with this tree and these craft projects and this rush to buy and wrap and bake and give? Why do we celebrate that like this?

It ought to be a familiar thought for us as Christians: Why do we celebrate that like this? Why do we eat this bread and this wine and call it the body and blood of Jesus? Why do we let ourselves be pushed underwater and call it our death, burial, and resurrection? Why do we look at this infant and say, “Behold, the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”? (Do we really mean it?)

This could change our lives if we let it. Take it out of the nativity scene. Lift it out of “Away in a Manger.” Forget about baby Jesus with a halo floating over his head. This is important—bigger than your nativity scenes, your Christmas carols, and your spiritualized understanding of what it means to celebrate Christmas. This is the culmination of a cosmic battle being waged for your soul since the dawn of time. I AM has waited long enough. The days are accomplished. The Ancient of Days is acting, moving into human history to undo every wrong which has been done since the dawn of time. God is about to turn the entire world upside down. Are you ready? Can you feel the anticipation? The whole world has been holding its breath for this.

It’s also so much smaller. The Ancient of Days moves into our world as a baby, only a few hours old. A baby, utterly dependent on its mother for everything it needs. Whose idea was this, anyway? How could I AM rest all hope and expectation on this tiny, hapless infant? How can this baby be that? He can’t even hold his head up yet.

Application lies in several directions. I could remind you that, as God acts, we also ought to act—the cosmic battle is fought and won in our own lives with our incarnational actions. I could urge you to make Christmas tree ornaments with your children in the hopes that one day they’ll think big thoughts while looking at their childhood hanging from a branch. I could ask you to consider: why do you celebrate this with that? And do you need to eliminate part of your celebrations in favor of a more genuine “that?”


But I won’t—can’t, really. The newly born Ancient of Days is beyond my attempts to speak. And for this I am glad.




These thoughts were fleshed out in a conversation I had with Andrew Cox tonight. I am deeply indebted to his influence.

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