Wal-Mart is throwing the Christmas party for America again this year. And Best-Buy is co-hosting.
They've already sent out the invitations. The decorations are up. They've started playing the party music. They've set the theme: Consumption. And we will all send in our RSVP shortly, if not already.
Churches around the country will be hosting smaller, less well-attended events.
What is it about Christmas that evokes this annual frenzy? Of this I am certain: it is not love of Jesus or hunger for the Kingdom of God.
I think it is time for Christians to stop saying Jesus is the Reason for the Season.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Rain, Rain, Come My Way...
It is pouring down rain. Thunder has been rumbling above the clouds. Spencer, the 12-year old, is on a Boy Scout camping trip. Just like last month.
Knowing the forecast, I asked him yesterday if he wanted to stay home this weekend since it was going to rain most of Saturday and Sunday. He said, "No."
Today, my palm smacks my forehead. What kind of foolish offer did I make him? Why would I have tempted him with "indoors," "safe" and "dry" when he can spend two days in the middle of a storm?
I hope he is enthralled by the sounds and the difference in nature. The way the birds quiet down in anticipation. The way the gray skies press in toward ground. The steady, powerful rumble of thunder. The hammering percussion of the rain. I hope he feels slightly unsafe. Uncomfortable. On edge.
I hope they batten down the hatches and huddle together to wait it out. Or run through fields getting muddy knees and wet shoes. I hope the fire is mostly smoke and dinner is difficult to prepare. I hope sleep comes in long snatches between damp and cold.
And I hope tomorrow he comes home safely with his own personal story of surviving this particular storm and coming out the other side...to warmth, comfort, safety and yes, XBox 360.
Storms are like that. Big and blustery. Ominous and forboding. And always, eventually, over.
Knowing the forecast, I asked him yesterday if he wanted to stay home this weekend since it was going to rain most of Saturday and Sunday. He said, "No."
Today, my palm smacks my forehead. What kind of foolish offer did I make him? Why would I have tempted him with "indoors," "safe" and "dry" when he can spend two days in the middle of a storm?
I hope he is enthralled by the sounds and the difference in nature. The way the birds quiet down in anticipation. The way the gray skies press in toward ground. The steady, powerful rumble of thunder. The hammering percussion of the rain. I hope he feels slightly unsafe. Uncomfortable. On edge.
I hope they batten down the hatches and huddle together to wait it out. Or run through fields getting muddy knees and wet shoes. I hope the fire is mostly smoke and dinner is difficult to prepare. I hope sleep comes in long snatches between damp and cold.
And I hope tomorrow he comes home safely with his own personal story of surviving this particular storm and coming out the other side...to warmth, comfort, safety and yes, XBox 360.
Storms are like that. Big and blustery. Ominous and forboding. And always, eventually, over.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Time on the Fly
I remember somewhere in my early forties realizing I had accomplished my dreams. I'd graduated from college, gone to Divinity School, gotten married, been ordained, lived overseas, learned foreign languages, had adventures, birthed three children and enjoyed the deeply satisfying and chaotic pleasure of creating a family.
At forty-three, I wondered, "Now what?"
What were my dreams for the second half of my life? What were my goals? How would I challenge myself?
I discovered that I had dreamed really well for the first half of my life, but looking forward to the rest of my life was a blank canvas. I suspect there will be great joy in celebrating my children's accomplishments. And I am glad to be part of a family. But I don't want to just watch other people, even my children and grandchildren, live life. I want to live mine, too. Without a destination in mind, I can't arrive. Without a plan, I'll be on maintenance. And maintenance living seems a great pale wasteland.
I might live 40 more years. At the end of that time, I would like to have accomplished more. I'd like to have more adventures. I'd like to believe that big dreams are still possible to achieve.
What do I really want from this next phase of life? More than a bucket list of events, who do I want to become?
I want to be married to Frank and I want to fall in love with him in whole new ways.
I want to learn new things. I'd like to learn how to do bicycle repair work. I'd like to learn another way to make a living. I want to go deeper and further in my spiritual life than christian orthodoxy embraces. I want to drink coffee in more of the world's cafes. I want to be surrounded by beauty and create meals that nourish people body, soul and mind. I want to laugh more. I want to have a clean house. I want to spend more time listening to an ocean keep its beat and smell the salt in the air. I want to collect camping equipment and hiking boots and head into the woods. I want to be fit, flexible and strong.
I want the rest of my years to be as packed with challenge, growth and fulfillment as the first 51.
People have often asked me how I was able to: live in Germany, travel solo in Israel, Cyprus and Greece, live in Russia, take my children on a year-long RV trip through the US, work and raise a family. While the dreaming and the planning for each was different, and having Frank along for the ride expanded the possibilities and the joy, the execution happened for one reason: I just did it.
Instead of telling myself why I/we couldn't, shouldn't or mustn't, we behaved as if we should, could and must. We emphatically told people of our plans. We put our dreams into words and by saying it outloud started to make it true. Then, we just did it.
Phase Two has commenced. Plan B is underway. Time is on the fly. The wheels are rolling. There are plans to be made, classes to take, dreams to envision, people to tell.
And then as before, whether we are young, like now, or older, we will just do it.
At forty-three, I wondered, "Now what?"
What were my dreams for the second half of my life? What were my goals? How would I challenge myself?
I discovered that I had dreamed really well for the first half of my life, but looking forward to the rest of my life was a blank canvas. I suspect there will be great joy in celebrating my children's accomplishments. And I am glad to be part of a family. But I don't want to just watch other people, even my children and grandchildren, live life. I want to live mine, too. Without a destination in mind, I can't arrive. Without a plan, I'll be on maintenance. And maintenance living seems a great pale wasteland.
I might live 40 more years. At the end of that time, I would like to have accomplished more. I'd like to have more adventures. I'd like to believe that big dreams are still possible to achieve.
What do I really want from this next phase of life? More than a bucket list of events, who do I want to become?
I want to be married to Frank and I want to fall in love with him in whole new ways.
I want to learn new things. I'd like to learn how to do bicycle repair work. I'd like to learn another way to make a living. I want to go deeper and further in my spiritual life than christian orthodoxy embraces. I want to drink coffee in more of the world's cafes. I want to be surrounded by beauty and create meals that nourish people body, soul and mind. I want to laugh more. I want to have a clean house. I want to spend more time listening to an ocean keep its beat and smell the salt in the air. I want to collect camping equipment and hiking boots and head into the woods. I want to be fit, flexible and strong.
I want the rest of my years to be as packed with challenge, growth and fulfillment as the first 51.
People have often asked me how I was able to: live in Germany, travel solo in Israel, Cyprus and Greece, live in Russia, take my children on a year-long RV trip through the US, work and raise a family. While the dreaming and the planning for each was different, and having Frank along for the ride expanded the possibilities and the joy, the execution happened for one reason: I just did it.
Instead of telling myself why I/we couldn't, shouldn't or mustn't, we behaved as if we should, could and must. We emphatically told people of our plans. We put our dreams into words and by saying it outloud started to make it true. Then, we just did it.
Phase Two has commenced. Plan B is underway. Time is on the fly. The wheels are rolling. There are plans to be made, classes to take, dreams to envision, people to tell.
And then as before, whether we are young, like now, or older, we will just do it.
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