Christmas has come and gone – at least for those who’ve forgotten the song about twelve days (not just one) and for those who’ve lost touch with the birth of Jesus. Yesterday morning, Dec. 26 , I was visiting a family in Turlock. Their neighbor was already up on a ladder pulling down the lights. Elsewhere, some folks had already tossed their tree in the street.
How sad. Last time I put up lights, I left them shining until Lent. I couldn’t bear to face the cold winter without basking in the afterglow of Christmas.
Cards still on the desk or taped to the wall, gifts left unopened for weeks, chocolates still uneaten ‘till some turn white, I do everything possible to let the joy drag on before facing the real world again. But the truth of this joy, this heaven-sent lightness of being, is that it is far more real than the things this world has to offer: the things we buy, the products and foods and songs and wrappings we pile up around ourselves to make us “feel” Christmas.
This was dramatized for me during Christmas morning’s Spanish service.
Before this final celebration in a series of four Christmas masses, I began to feel more uneasy than ever with the porcelain figure of the baby Jesus. It had been nestled in the straw between the images of Joseph and Mary, who in turn had been waiting there since the second week of Advent. Beautiful to behold, this recently restored statuette had only two problems: first, given the size of the other manger-scene characters, it was far too large. Second, given the features of a first-century Palestinian, it was far too European.
Yes, the iris of its eyes was indeed brown. But surrounding them was the sky-blue of the eyes’ white surfaces, and the rosy white of a fair-skinned child. With golden locks and plenty of baby-fat, this little Jesus seemed as close to the historical Christ-child as Hostess Twinkies do, to a falafel.
Not to mention the question of identification: 99% of my parishioners have brown eyes and tan-to-dark-brown skin.
Would their babies look like this?
So, as Mass began, I asked the congregation, “¿Acaso trajo alguién un bebé Jesús para bendecirse junto al altar?” After a moment of silence, a hand appeared, ‘way in the back of the church. I called the family forward.
They might have been embarrassed, since this doll had seen better days. It featured broken fingers, missing toes, and a few visible chips, all of these highlighted by the contrast of white plaster against the dark brown paint.
But the grace of this particular “Jesus” – the only one brought forward at that mass – was its perfect proportions in relationship to the other figures, and its darker, more true-to-life appearance. Laid to rest in the place once occupied by that much more privileged statue, this one seemed apologetic.
No need to apologize. Not only was this version a “perfect fit”, but the very defects that seemed to disqualify it for prominence beneath the altar, actually made it all the more attractive. Because when the Eternal Word humbled himself to become one of us (John 1:14, Philippians 2:6-8), he assumed fully our human condition, taking on with this our woundedness, allowing even our sins to be cast upon his back, embracing even our death.
This is the Jesus I have come to know at Christmastime. He’s the One who doesn’t need the trappings, the wrappings, or the sappy storefront jingles to convince us he is here. He only needs a generous and open heart.
And so it was that yesterday, the day after Christmas, I found myself on the road, visiting one broken family after another. This one finally received their young son home on Christmas Eve. Incarcerated for two and a half years, he now walks free, but is now more endangered than ever before.
Another family buried their young daughter recently, and yesterday drove her belongings to Los Angeles, from where they’ll be taken to Mexico.
A third family is suffering through the season, because of a long divorce.
A fourth family, with two young children, has forgotten what “merry” means, because their beloved daddy won’t ever be coming home again.
At the gates of the Stanislaus County Jail, I was turned down. Inside, a young man who had always been good (or so, his mother testifies) began, three months ago, serving what will probably be a life sentence. I finally had a chance to see the kid, but couldn’t. My pass had recently expired.
I’d been worried about this young man and his fellow inmates. Just the night before, I arrived late for a Christmas gathering at the home of friends in Modesto. One of them had just been called back to work, due to a riot in the county jail. The officer behind the glass couldn’t tell me much.
But Christmas isn’t over. It shines on where families refuse to give in to despair. It stands tall where a husband and wife struggle to keep their kids well-fed and warm, where a couple works through their conflicts, trusting in the help of God. It resonates in the hearts of those who keep on giving, even when they have nothing left to give. It burns warmly in the stubborn determination of faithful people to persevere in prayer and in obedience to the God of life, even when life seems about to expire. It hangs in there when others just hang out. It keeps on singing when other voices fall silent.
It draws near to the broken-hearted, the broken-bodied, and those with un-spoken agonies, to communicate the message of hope for all God’s people:
“This day in David’s city a savior has been born to you, the Messiah and Lord. Let this be a sign to you: in a manger you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes…Glory to God in the highest, and peace to those on whom His favor rests.” (Luke 2:11-14). Or, in the words of Paul:
“Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I say, rejoice! Everyone should see how unselfish you are. The Lord is near.
Dismiss all anxiety from your minds. Present your needs to God in every form of prayer and in petitions full of gratitude. Then God’s own peace, which is beyond all understanding, will stand guard over your hearts and minds, in Christ Jesus.”
Paul wrote this to a people anticipating the coming of Christ (Philippians 4:4-7). We have the advantage. We celebrate Christmas, not just for one day but for a season, because we know that, in Emmanuel, Christ is here.
