The Christmas I Stopped Singing a Lullaby

When my children were babies, I loved singing lullabys to them as I rocked them to sleep. They were mostly songs I learned from my mother and grandmother before me—“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mommy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird” and “Go to sleepy little baby ʼfore the Boogie Man gets you” were two of our favorites. Another favorite was one in the hymnal used in most of the churches where I grew up:

Can you count the stars of evening
That are shining in the sky?
Can you count the clouds that daily
Over all the world go by?
God the Lord, who doth not slumber,
Keepeth all the boundless number;
But He careth more for thee,
But He careth more for thee.

It was a sweet song expressing the faith that God would individually care for each little child. Holding my sleeping infant and softly singing these words was both a parent’s prayer, but also an expression of comfort and security.

Our second child was born in August of 1984—the year a terrible famine struck Ethiopia. That fall the news was full of stories about the hundreds of thousands of people dying of starvation. I sat down to our annual Thanksgiving Feast of turkey and dressing haunted by images of starving children with emaciated faces and bloated bellies. I tried to forget the images while I ate and avoid feelings of guilt for my gluttony while others were starving, but that just made me feel more guilty for trying to forget.

Then one night I began to sing that lullaby to Zack as I rocked him to sleep. I came to the third verse and the words choked in my throat—I just couldn’t get them out:

Can you count the many children
In their little beds at night,
Who without a thought of sorrow
Rise again at morning light?
God the Lord, who dwells in heaven,
Loving care to each has given;
He has not forgotten thee,
He has not forgotten thee.

I have never sung the song again. I can’t. I don’t believe it any more. It was a song of a faith that only made sense in a life of privilege and plenty. The words were not true for starving children in Ethiopia.

A few days after Thanksgiving a group of British and Irish pop and rock stars recorded a new song to raise money for famine relief.  The song was written by Bob Geldoff (of Boomtown Rats) and Midge Ure (of Ultravox). Some of the biggest names of the day participated—Sting, Phil Collins, George Michael, Duran Duran, Bananarama, and more. “Do they Know It’s Christmas?” became a huge hit in both England and America.

I first heard it riding in the car in Chicago in the middle of the bustle of the Christmas season. The lyrics were piercing, disturbing, and inspiring.

But say a prayer, Pray for the other ones
At Christmas time it's hard, but when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear
Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears
And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom
Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you

Do they know it's Christmastime at all?
Feed the world
Feed the world

I lost a song that season. But I learned a better one.

Christmas Mission

Those are not two words I usually think of together: "Christmas Mission."
Christmas Eve. Christmas shopping. Christmas pageants. Christmas presents. Christmas dinner. Christmas sales. Christmas trees. Christmas parties. Christmas cards. Christmas decorations.
Not "Christmas Mission." Not unless you hear someone say they are going to help feed the homeless on Christmas at the Mission—but how often do you hear that?
But isn't the Christmas story really a story about mission. And I don't mean Rudolph on a mission on a snowy night. I mean the story of an angel announcing to Zechariah that God is about to fulfill the prophecies and promises of old. The story of Mary learning that she will give birth to the Son of the Most High. The story that God entered this world as a light to the nations, to bring peace to those on whom God's favor rests, to save his people from their sins.
Christmas isn't just a story about a baby in a manger, and angels singing to shepherds, and wise men bringing gifts. It's really just a chapter (though certainly a heartwarming chapter) in a greater story of a God who was, and still is, on a mission in this world.
Christmas Eve services are a lovely tradition (our family attends one every year). But the risk Christians run at Christmas is the same risk Christians run every Lord's Day. Most church goers are at risk of thinking that the focus of our faith is our faith. Church is about what the leaders can do this week that will be meaningful to me. Whether the church we choose emphasizes liturgy or preaching or music, the critical issue seems to be whether it encourages and nourishes my faith. We measure church by the quality of the experience. In short, church is about me (at least, that seems to be how we often evaluate it).
But isn't the focus of our faith really God's work in this world? Isn't the Lord's Day really about remembering the mission of God that took Jesus to the cross and brought him out of the tomb? Shouldn't we be more concerned about whether church services stir us to follow Jesus on his mission in this world?
And isn't that really what should lie at the heart of our observance of Christmas? Shouldn't Christmas call us to be light in the darkness around us? To be as concerned for the poor as is the Son of God who slept in a feed trough? To be voices of peace in the middle of all the strife? To be friends with the people Jesus came to save? To be on God's mission in this world?
Maybe Christmas at the Mission is closer to the heart of the story than most of what we do—whether at the holidays or on Sundays.
Maybe a good question we could each ask is this:
To what mission is Christmas calling me this year?

Black Friday Week???

I got an email ad this week from a retailer with this subject line:

"It's Black Friday Week! Get Started With These Great Offers."

Really? "Black Friday Week"? Has it come to that? Not only has our commercialized Christmas overwhelmed everything from Labor Day to New Year's Day, but now we are renaming Thanksgiving after a shopping day!

Ok. I know some of you who know me recognize this as my annual holiday rant. But the fact that I'm ranting doesn't change the fact that this is just simply disturbing. Predictable? Probably. Inevitable? Maybe. Pitifully materialistic? Definitely.

And the fact that I'm now working with a non-profit for inner city kids, trying to raise money so they can have something for Christmas, has nothing to do with it. Neither does the fact that I feel a little guilty about living in a brand new house that's nicer than we deserve, and we just helped a poor neighbor with her family's Thanksgiving meal. Neither does that fact that I already feel guilty for how much of a glutton I'm going to be tomorrow. Nor the fact that my car and laptop are both dying and I can afford to replace them both and still buy Christmas presents for all my family.

The only relevant fact is that a season once devoted to thanksgiving, and generosity, and penitence, and celebration of the advent of our Savior is now just one huge, seemingly endless, exercise in consumerism and self-indulgence.

If you are as disturbed by all this as I am, and concerned about the impact on your family, and feeling a little guilty too, then you might check out the Advent Conspiracy for ideas for a meaningful season. (Or, if you'll pardon the shameless plug, check out the Y.E.S. Christmas Store.)

Have a Happy Thanksgiving! And if you must venture out into the shopping madness on Friday, perhaps you might shine a little brightness into the blackness by following John the Baptist's advice and "if you have two coats, share with someone who has none; and if you have food, do the same."

I'm through ranting now.

The Night Before Christmas Eve in the Inn

'Twas the night before Christmas Eve, and all through the activity center, hardly a creature was stirring—just an occasional homeless man shuffling to the bathroom or slipping outside for a midnight smoke. I would settle down for a long nap, but I'm a very light sleeper. Unfamiliar noises will disturb my shallow sleep. And well before dawn there will arise such a clatter in the kitchen when Santa arrives (everyone in our church knows Santa), that I'll be wide awake in spite of myself.

So this seems a good time to sit quietly and reflect on the evening just past, and the evening to come, and the evening that inspired these evenings.

Tonight was the annual Christmas party for the guests in our Room In The Inn ministry. Each Tuesday evening through the winter, 24 homeless men come to spend the night in our church's gym. They receive a hot meal, a hot shower, clean clothing, and a safe and friendly place to spend the night before returning downtown. It's part of an interdenominational effort in our city to provide shelter from the winter nights.

A fried chicken dinner was served by a busy team of friendly elves (well, friendly church members). In addition to the usual clothing distributed in our benevolence center, Santa brought each man a brand new winter coat and a small gift bag with gloves and socks and the like (he wasn't wearing his outfit, but I could imagine him doing what he did in a red suit).

At dinner I chatted with L.W. and James, mostly about where they grew up and how they came to our city (but inside, I was mostly curious about the causes of the limps and scars which were painfully obvious). In the background was a television showing a Christmas special. One of the guys asked who the singer was (it was Faith Hill) and said he really liked the song (it was "A Baby Changes Everything"). I wondered why he liked it. Was it the beautiful singing? Or had the baby changed something in his life? Or was he drawn to the hope that it might?

After supper, I swapped jokes with Howard and Willie. I learned that some 25 years ago Willie used to be the custodian at our church. Now he has no job, no home, and no family except for an 88-year-old aunt. Everyone here has a story, but I think Willie's will bother me for awhile. Twenty-five years ago he was cleaning our church . . . now he's sleeping in it.

Patrick came to me privately with a 5 dollar bill in his hand and said he wanted to pay his tithes. I told him to keep it, but he insisted that God had given it to him and he was going to pay his tithes. If I didn't take it, he would find a church that would. So I thanked him and passed his offering on to those who will use it for other guests in the inn. And it occurred to me that he gave more than any of us had given last Sunday, who "contributed out of our abundance."

Later Cole and Joe taught me how to play a game of dominoes (or more accurately, "taught me how to lose a game of dominoes"). We laughed a lot. They got a kick out of trash talking with the pastor.

I found myself wondering where they would play tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night I will spend Christmas Eve with my family—with my wife, with my daughter and her new husband, with my son who just flew in yesterday from Texas, with my parents, with my mother-in-law, with my brother and his family who will arrive tomorrow from Texas, and with my other brother and his family who are driving in from Illinois where they narrowly escaped a blizzard (he is gladly leaving behind a white Christmas for a tender Tennessee Christmas!). We will eat too much in anticipation of eating even more on Christmas Day. We will open a few gifts in anticipation of opening even more on Christmas Day. We will attend a Christmas Eve service with many other faithful who have come to adore him. And like them all, we will leave the warm glow of the candlelight to nestle snug in our beds for the silent night.

That's where I'll be tomorrow night.

I don't know where L.W. and James and Howard and Willie and Patrick and Cole and Joe will spend Christmas Eve.

On the holy night, when the children fall asleep to visions of sugar plums, I think I may find I'm still wondering about Willie.

Is Christmas Fatal?

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year—with the kids jingle-belling and everyone telling you, ‘Be of good cheer!’ It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

I love Christmas . . . I really do. Despite anything you are about to read, I do love Christmas. I love the songs. The lights. Our Christmas tree with the angel on top. The turkey and dressing. The colorful packages under the tree. Attending a Christmas Eve service. My mom’s cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. The turkey and dressing. The holiday movies. The decorations my wife puts out all through the house. Family gatherings. The turkey and dressing . . . pretty much all of it.

But over the years some of my feelings about Christmas have certainly been changing. Part of that change had to do with my family rediscovering a religious meaning to the holiday that had been missing during my early childhood. That rediscovery led to new family traditions such as the annual setting out of the nativity scene. Attending Christmas Eve services at various churches in the cities where we have lived. Adding more religious ornaments to the mix of ornaments on the tree. More giving to the poor and less shopping for each other. And in my ministry it has led to sermons in December which shift our focus from the holiday shopping season to the season of Advent.

That shift has also led to an increasing concern over the commercialization and materialism of Christmas. “Concern” is no longer an adequate word. I moved a few years ago from “concern” to “displeasure” at the continuing expansion of the shopping season till Christmas displays seemed to show up in stores on Labor Day. And then to “disgust” as year after year news reports spread of fights breaking out among frenzied parents trying to get the latest hot item for their already spoiled children.

But now the Christmas avarice has descended to a new low.

In the mad rush of shoppers on the morning after Thanksgiving, a Walmart employee was trampled to death by a stampede frantic to get their hands on whatever was on sale. Trampled to death! Like a cowboy who fell off his horse before a crazed herd of cattle. Trampled to death!

He gave his life in service to . . . to what? To his country, in an act of selfless bravery defending life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? To his family, working in a dangerous occupation to put food on the table? To citizens in danger, braving calamity or crime to protect precious innocent lives?

No, he gave his life in service to a horde of bargain hunters so desperate to save a few bucks, to secure some highly prized piece of merchandise, to be the first one on the block to have whatever it is that everyone on the block wants to have, that they abandoned all sense of order, propriety, courtesy, decency, even humanity.

His was not the only death that day. Something died in that mob. Call it “the Christmas Spirit” (but I suspect that may have died in them some time ago). Call it “love for one’s fellow man.” Call it “human decency.” Whatever you call it, in that moment at least, they killed not only another human being, they killed something in themselves.

Or maybe, it was already dead. Maybe the frenzy of what Christmas has become had already choked it to death . . . slowly . . . year by frenzied year. And maybe it is choking us, too.

Jesus once said, “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.” I wonder if he even imagined that some day the celebration of his own birth would become known for its own kind of greed. This Christmas let’s all be on our guard against Christmas greed—it seems to be a fatal condition.



If you’d like to consider some alternatives to a materialistic Christmas, here are a couple of websites that you may find helpful:

http://www.adventconspiracy.org/

http://www.redefine-christmas.org/