I must confess, I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas. I love the lights. What better way is there to light up the darkest time of year than with a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. It doubles as a floor to ceiling lamp.
I love the ornaments hanging from the tree, each evoking a memory, a season of life. A hallmark ball from a highschool friend, a ceramic angel from a student, a ball with 1970’s sparkly flowers from my husband’s mom. His name written in her printing on first aid tape. A reindeer bell made by my daughter when she was as tiny as Cindy Lou Who. An assortment of Rwandan handmade figures reminding me of simple Christmases.
I love the pretty gift wrap. I love the aroma of cinnamon, and balsam fir, and pumpkin pie, and cranberry apple. I love the baked goodies and the turkey, stuffing, and roasted yams. I love my sister’s homemade Nuts and Bolts. I love snowy, frosty – I’ll even settle for foggy mornings.
I love the special events, concerts and plays. The time set aside for family, extended family. The many simple traditions. I love the music. I love the reflections on Jesus’ birth, the contemplative opportunities. I love advent.
But … that’s a lot of love for one month.
Too much.
And that’s the part I hate.
I hate the sheer busyness. I hate feeling squeezed, overwhelmed and inadequate. Other people have beautiful bows hand tied on their presents. Other people have a freezer full of cookies. Other people have energy for the rehearsals, concerts and plays. Other people have energy to serve and give and serve and give some more…
I hate all the times I have to say no. And I hate to disappoint. Each time I say “no” to an invitation or a tradition, my “no” impacts the people around me, my husband, my daughter. How will she remember our family Christmases? Will she remember the steady flow of “no”? The peeling away of traditions?
By the 10th of December, I’m frayed and frazzled.
By the 20th, I’m an exhausted heap, wishing it were all over.
By the 25th, I’m numb, worn out.
Where’s the peace?
Where’s the joy?
Perhaps there’s another way to do December. Perhaps there’s a simpler way to celebrate?
When we lived in Kigali, there were very few festive opportunities, so we treasured the community carol sing. The school Christmas concert was precious rather than obligatory – even with those first year clarinet players squawking. There was even time to bake cookies.
The festive opportunities were so limited that every option garnered a “Yes!” And yet, with that simplicity came the feeling of longing. Longing to see family. Longing for a walk in the woods to choose and cut a tree. Longing for snow, or at least cooler weather – even just cool enough to wear jeans, please. Even a longing for the bustle.
It’s the one time of year that almost everyone – those who want to keep Christ in Christmas, and those who want to reduce Christmas to winter solstice – set aside the usual business of life, to celebrate. There’s the bustle, rush, rush, followed by the hush descending on the city late on Christmas Eve.
Simply Longing
In Kigali, I longed for the North American trappings around Christmas. And here in Canada, I long for a simpler, quiet celebration of Jesus’ coming.
Longing. Longing. Always Longing. Am I never satisfied? Is this a problem of ungratefulness? Do I need to practice gratitude?
Yes! Always!! And yet, I think there’s more. Something deeper.
I heard my heart echo in the introduction of the Advent book I’m reading.
“We are eager, yet frazzled; sentimental, yet indifferent. One minute we glow at the thought of getting together with our family and friends; the next we feel utterly lonely. Our hope is mingled with dread, our anticipation with despair. We sense the deeper meanings of the season but grasp at them in vain; and in the end, all the bustle leaves us frustrated and drained.” (1)
The writer goes on to state that even those who don’t wrestle with this dichotomy, those who embrace every bit of Christmas with gladness – “often miss its point.”
“Content with candles and carols… we bask in the warmth of familiar traditions… How many of us remember the harsh realities of Christ’s first coming; the dank stable, the cold night, the closed door of the inn? How many of us share the longing of the ancient prophets, who awaited the Messiah with such aching intensity that they foresaw this arrival thousands of years before he was born?” (2)
Longing. I’m familiar with that “aching intensity.” You probably are too. In fact, I believe longing is woven into the fabric of Christmas. Why else would Netflix run sooo many Christmas romance movies? If we’re not longing for romantic love, then we’re longing for family or healing. We’re longing for a child or the return of a prodigal. We’re longing for an invitation, or longing to welcome. Longing to belong. Longing to be held. Longing to behold.
What if longing is the point of Christmas? Longing with “aching intensity.” Longing with the ancient prophets. Whatever I’m longing for, could I see that the longing can only be contented by the Christ? The coming of the Christ. The advent.
A Prophet’s Longing
We see in the prophet Habakkuk this “aching intensity” variety of longing for God. He waits for God’s answer. His notice. His presence. His justice.
“How long O Lord…” Can’t you see all this injustice? Can’t you see all the broken? The messy! What are you going to do about it? When are you going to intervene?
“I will climb up to my watchtower and stand at my guardpost. There I will wait to see what the LORD says and how he will answer my complaint.”
And here’s the answer Habakkuk heard from God as he waited on his watchtower.
“Write my answer plainly on tablets, so that a runner can carry the correct message to others. If it seems slow in coming, wait patiently, for it will surely take place. It will not be delayed.” Habakkuk 2:2-3
It’s not only Habakkuk who waited. We see this theme of waiting again and again summarized by the writer of Hebrews. He lists these people of faith: Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Sarah.
“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth.” Hebrews 11:13
A Foreign Fugitive’s Longing
And then there’s Jacob, a homeless fugitive. As he runs for his life, he’s forced to rest with a stone for a pillow. In this vulnerable place he dreams about the famous ladder.
From the top of the ladder, God speaks. “I am the LORD, the God of your grandfather Abraham, and the God of your father, Isaac. The ground you are lying on belongs to you. I am giving it to you and your descendants.”
God promises to give land, a home to the fugitive foreigner. Jacob is promised an inheritance – greater than the one he’s just stolen. All through his years he waits for this promised home. He yearns for Rachel to become his wife. He waits for the birth of her sons.
He waits, and loses all that he longed for. Jacob loses the love of his life. He loses Rachel’s son to jealous hatred of the boy’s brothers. Finally he loses that promised land to drought. Jacob loses his home and dies a stranger and foreigner in Egypt, longing to see his grandchildren living in his dream home.
It seems to me that Jacob needed to hear God’s answer to Habakkuk.
“If it seems slow in coming, wait patiently, for it will surely take place. It will not be delayed.”
Habakkuk waited for justice. Jacob waited for a home, a wholesome inheritance he hadn’t swindled or stolen.
Still Longing
Henri Nouwen points out that many of the Christmas characters also waited. Mary awaited the birth of her promised son. Likewise, Elizabeth and Zachariah waited for their long yearned for son. Simeon awaited the “consolation of Israel” and Anna, the “redemption of Jerusalem.”
All this collective longing, this longing to behold the glory of the Lord, all culminating in the coming, of the Christ child, and the cross.
Then why, at Christmas, are we still longing, since the Christ has already come?
Clearly, we’re still in need of consolation and redemption.
Daily.
Even as we remember the first coming, the first advent, we are still longing for love. Longing for family. Longing for healing. Longing to welcome. Longing to belong. Longing to be held. Longing to behold.
I believe the point of Christmas is the longing. Our own longings cause us to care that the longings of the ancients were fulfilled. Our personal yearnings reveal that even fulfilled longings don’t satisfy. The aching intensity reminds us that ultimately we are longing for the return of the Christ. We are Longing to welcome. Longing to belong. Longing to be held. Longing to behold.
So this Christmas, the steady flow of “no” and “less” will continue. I’m leaving margin for longing with “aching intensity.” I will not crowd it out with the frantic fray. I’m creating room to remember His coming to the cradle and the cross, to recall his coming to meet my past yearnings.
The room to remember has a manger that’s feeding my faith. So even if I’m sleeping on stone, like Jacob, I will trust that God has a home beyond all I can ask or imagine. I’m choosing to yearn expectantly for Christ’s coming.
For me.
Everyday.
I’m leaving room for longing for Christ’s ultimate coming.
The Ultimate Advent.
The Reading
Genesis 28:10-17; Luke 2:21-38
The Pondering
Do you have space this Christmas to contemplate Christ’s coming?
What could you cut out to create room to feed your faith?
What are you longing for this Christmas?
Could your unmet longings like Jacob’s be part of a much bigger picture, that’s simply too big to be seen from your limited perspective?
Exercise trust by inviting Christ to come, and fulfill your longings this Christmas.
Works Cited
(1, 2) Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas. Orbis Books, 2007.