i edit this every year...

a note about mary and her baby.

a revised, revised, revised version of my thoughts about mary and her newly born jesus originally posted several years ago…

---

i love traditions.

the rhythms of the seasons.

the customs that move from one generation to the next.

the simple ones. the whimsical. the sacred ones.

i miss the ones that are skipped because life ebbs and flows and maybe i get a little melancholy because i hold fast to routines.

december entered with a quiet snow. it’s been kind and unruly and heavy with despair and grief. somber but ordinary. festive and generous. full of traditions; late night baking, puppy chow and the santa claus, clouds of powdered sugar, wide eyed expectations of children. ballet recitals and hockey games, jingle jammies and my little family around a crowded table. a beautiful chaos.

for the sake of consistency, i kept with my ritual of longing for what was, bemoaning what isn’t, practicing wild gratitude for what is - all balanced with the the everyday art of carrying around packaged hope.

i eased the pieces of the crèche from styrofoam and placed them on a wooden tray handed down from someone who led a life of caring for others and surrounded them with a string of prayer beads - an unexpected gift of comfort sent during a time of uncertainty and heartache. mary sits there in between joseph and the donkey holding her baby as all new mommy’s do.

my childhood taught me about the birth of jesus in an inn surrounded by sheep and wise men and king’s bearing gifts. born on a silent, still night to mary. a young mother who held him close, snuggled into his warm neck, took in his sweet tiny life, exhaled and adored him, not because he was the expected king but because he was her newborn son.

he was hope-swaddled and sacred.

faith is a mystery to me during a time of unbearable sadness, when war rages, when life is ravaged and lost and hope is buried in rubble. when chairs are empty while divisiveness is prevalent and peace is illusive. when time passes and apathy settles in. when disappointment lingers.

life and waning idealism and faith set apart from doctrines or religion or rules…has reminded me about mary’s jesus.

simple, inclusive, aching love.

a refugee baby who would grow up to be a man worshipped and called the prince of peace. oh the irony. i can’t imagine that any words mary whispered to him while nurturing him into young adulthood gave him any thought that his purpose in this world was for just a few; that he was here for one people. one religion. one color or one way to love.

my view of jesus has shifted from the humble man depicted by others, the one who walked in a dusty robe, meek with a tender demeanor and soft voice.

i see him as the rugged carpenter he was with a countenance of compassion and earnest love and an intolerance for those who turn their hearts away from others or hold up hands as barriers as if to say you are not welcome here. i believe in his holy and adamant command that we call each other beloveds.

we were meant to sing as collective voices standing in harmony huddled together in a crowd of strangers and the people we love the most. a cacophony of voices-intertwined on uneven ground. we should not be blinded by power or piety or the contrast of those different than us. where is our relentless empathy? how can we celebrate this birth with our traditions, simple or sacred without honor and respect for the customs of others?

i’ve watched my brother as he holds his hand stretched out over congregations of diverse and not so diverse people at the end of a service or wedding and prays blessings of unity and goodwill and safe keeping before each one made their way back into their own unique lives and customs and ordinary corners.

the wee bit of naivety that’s left in me wishes we would en masse hold out hovering hands over each other and speak quiet benedictions. prayers of protection and benevolence and favor together with friends and unlikely strangers who might become family.

when all that remains of this season’s traditions are the memories and a packed away crèche and crumbs in a bowl, i hope we can be steadfast in living out what jesus came here for. rather than shouting hatred aren’t we here to yearn for mercy and long for unity?

i wonder how mary would feel…giving up her baby to a world of souls who dare to bicker and question who among us is worthy. how haughty of us to determine who is beloved while celebrating the one who called each one of us just that.

this season of traditions finds me standing with so many others on the uneven ground of gratitude everyday — grateful for the everyday while stumbling through lament and anxiety and disappointment.

i’ve been fumbling with the right prayers of comfort for friends walking through a time of immense loss and i’ve been pretty fierce in other prayers for rushed miracles for people i love.

the christmas music that played from the café patio across the street has gone back to the usual jazz playlists that have become the soundtrack to my own current mood of the day inside the loft. read: dueling playlists. i’m trying to convince myself that it’s charming.

i’m planning a hot chocolate do-over because what i served when i watched home alone 2 with the nine and under crowd received very poor reviews as i was out of real, whole milk.

i’ve eaten entirely too much puppy chow - if that’s possible and i’ve been re-reading several books by henri nouwen. he writes in reaching out that we are to turn our hostility into hospitality. in other words…walk the way of mary’s jesus.

here’s to this december beloveds. and to hope swaddled and sacred…RuAnn