I was recently reading James Woods’ marvelous story about his late mother. It’s a Personal History column in the New Yorker, titled “The Teacher.”
He is describing her death, which was what people sometimes call a good death, and his peace with it (and her, despite her imperfections and the challenges her nature gave him as a son — as all parents give their children; parenthood is a job no one does perfectly, but many people do well, and many more people try, with sincerity and love, to do well — and so, as we age, we too become more and more able to love, forgive, and understand them and their gifts to us and others).
This is akin to my feelings of tenderness, respect, and gladness for my Christian friends around this time of year.
It must be said that almost all of my friends who happen to be Christians are much more practice-what-they-believe and stay-in-inner-dialogue-with-God-as-they-understand-Him than go-to-church-and-follow-the-rules-and-decry-anyone-who-doesn’t. Many are social justice activists, in the feed-the-hungry line, the “whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of Mine, you did for Me.’ That kind of Christian (I know similar Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists — it seems to me it is not the religion as such, but the way individuals practice it, which part of the scripture most resounds in their hearts… All sacred literature, it seems to me, has transcendent, soaring portions, and some portions that are just downright lunatic; how could it be otherwise, since fallible human beings put whatever was divine into words? But I digress).
So. This time of year, I’m especially glad for my Christian friends: glad that they believe as they do, that they are this kind of Christian; glad that they celebrate the birth of Jesus on a deep and thoughtful level.
Look, over the years I’ve grinched plenty, and justifiably, about Christmas. I’m absolutely not a Christian, and it takes everything I have not to roll my eyes or start screaming when I get proselytized or told “the good news” for the thousandth time (because how could it be “news” to me when I have lived for over sixty years in a country where Christianity is far and away the majority religion? And — though many are surprised by this — I know the Bible fairly well and have read it many times, so whatever it is, it is not “news” to me).
And yes, as an environmentalist I loathe the orgy of consumerism.
And as someone who has lost much of my family and many beloved friends to death, and has a at least one dangerous-crazy relative, I have a big problem with the often cruelly-forced family sentimentality that is Christmas as practiced in the U.S.
And it is true I am allergic to Christmas music everywhere (feels like I am being force-fed, shoved down my throat and the throats of all non-Christians — I actually carry earplugs in my purse for those times in November-December when I go to a WalMart, Rite Aid, or the beauty salon). Okay, I admit this last (the ear plugs) may be goofy enough to border on the… extreme. Just think of it as the spiritual and auditory equivalent of needing to be gluten-free.
Even many of my Christian pals, bless them, wince at some of these same things (like the rampant consumerism), and are kind enough to respect where I’m coming from. Some do not laugh with me, but at me, and because we love and understand each other, I’m down with that. And, most say, in one way or another, “But that’s not the spirit of Christmas.”
This commentary resonates. Having grown up with grandmothers who were deeply religious and the kind of matriarchs that were the glue of family & holiday gatherings, I simply always think of them. I have different views about my Christian upbringing than they had and that’s okay. The holiday season was a chance to bind together in love and to share lots of amazing, homemade food that was always made with so much love. Some attended church services, others did not. We played games and sometimes exchanged white elephant gifts. It was always about the love, laughter and truly– genuine good cheer over dogma. In a culture that has no pause button, this season, for me, is always a chance to take a real deep breath, bake and decorate and cuddle and play games with my kids and pass on the spirit of love and good cheer. That’s the beauty of each generation and each individual – We get to decide for our selves and our families how to define it and utilize that space and bit of extra down time we are given each year.
Long may we all “get to decide”! I celebrate every family, culture, religion or spiritual practice, and country that not just lets, but encourages us, to do so. That is indeed “the beauty.” And I loved your stories, too. xxoo
Thank you for this, and Happy Holidays! I like to think that people of other faiths or beliefs might find inspiration in the mystery of the Christmas story, in which ordinary people play a role in something much larger than themselves for the greater good, as well as by the story’s message of love, giving, and hope. These are things all people can share.
Your thoughts here make such sense to me, Crescent. I am a inner-dialogue-with-the-Divine, feed-the-hungry type of not-quite Christian who believes in many paths to the one God, which is Love.
But despite my many differences with those who believe in one narrow path to Salvation — or actually, believe in “salvation” in general, I enthusiastically celebrate Christmas as an annual renewal of love and peace and joy — a sort of rededication, if you will.
Especially after this year in which I experienced the compassion of loved ones and the kindness of strangers in new and astounding ways, I believe in miracles, in true magic.
This summer when I was bald and clinging to my grocery cart to remain upright, the young man who spontaneously followed me through the store to fetch anything too high or too low or too heavy for me to manage did not ask about my religion first. Neither did the parking valet who held my hand and helped me to my car each of the last 10 difficult days of radiation. Among the many friends who sat with me during chemo you’d find a Hindi, an atheist, a Buddhist-leaning skeptic, and a not-quite-lapsed Catholic.
The constant among them is reverence for that which connects us all, no matter what we believe. Or don’t.
Although I gladly celebrate that connection with trees and lights and fragrant baked goods, I honor other choices and preferences. And join you in taking consolation from all that consoles all people of good will.
I love, love, LOVE this, Jerri! Especially “the young man who spontaneously followed me through the store to fetch anything too high or too low or too heavy for me to manage did not ask about my religion first.” This year has been so tough for so many of us, and on the national level, has seemed fueled by hate and fear, to read “Especially after this year in which I experienced the compassion of loved ones and the kindness of strangers in new and astounding ways…” was deep and joyful solace to me.
I deeply appreciate this story. It makes so much sense to me. People prayer for my own salvation all the time and it’s refreshing to read an article that allows me to measure up as I am.
Ah, Mindy… I know they mean well (more or less), but my goodness how arrogant and condescending it is, and judgmental, when other people pray for our “salvation.”
I love this post and the story of Hawa’s tree. Christmas is one my favorite times. I always feel an inner peace as I think back on wonderful family memories that through the years have become like pages in a book of rich family tradition. If only we could all be consoled in knowing our fellow man has found consolation in something, anything. This world would be a better place.