Do They Know it’s Krissmiss?

“We Have Seen His Glory, the glory of the one and only Son…”  from John 1:14

By the time you read this is will have long since begun.  As a matter of fact, I suspect it will be nearly over.  Christmas…  (or Krissmiss, as it is often pronounced!).  It seems that every year it begins earlier and earlier.  And by the way, it also seems that every year the talk about how it starts so much earlier begins, well, earlier.  This year, my first seasonal sighting took place just before Halloween. Right there in the drugstore, next to a bright green Frankenstein monster mask complete with perfectly flat head and what looked like carriage bolts protruding from the neck, a bevy of Little Mermaids and a few other things I was pretty sure were cultural icons I’m a little embarrassed to say I couldn’t quite identify, was a shelf full of hundred-pack ‘mini-holiday blinking lights’ and next to that, were boxes of gold tinsel, and then some truly lovely glass ornaments.  Some time during the week before Thanksgiving I came across a local radio station proclaiming itself “Your home for the holidays” and all of a sudden we were seated next to Miss Fanny Bright while Jack Frost was nipping at our noses and Rudolph was being maligned by his unsympathetic cohorts.

Now I know what you are probably thinking: “Oh, here we go again with another “Shameful Commercialization of Christmas” diatribe. 

Well, the truth is, like nearly everyone who’s spent time serving in America’s churches; I have found myself railing against the corporate co-opting of the Nativity of our Lord.  Yes, I too have scoffed at giant inflatable Santa’s and snowmen in stovepipe hats in suburbanite yards. I’ve found myself muttering all too self righteously, “Gee, nothing says ‘birth of Christ’ like 140,000 kilowatt pseudo North Pole tableau that, along with the great wall of China can actually be seen by astronauts residing in the international space station.”

The society into which God chose to send His Son was in many ways like our own:  It stood in the midst of economic crisis and political upheaval.  People were losing what little faith they had maintained in the tried and true practices and institutions of old. But there was also most definitely a cultural zeitgeist of searching… searching for something to provide meaning and direction.  There were promises and prophecies handed down from of old – poorly understood, often misinterpreted, but nonetheless part of the common consciousness.  Everyone from the scholars in the synagogue to the prelates in Roman palaces to foreign practitioners of arcane astrology were looking for, indeed, were expecting something to happen.  Though the message was warped by politics, greed and fear, and the profound Grace of God was frequently obscured by blind adherence to long dead traditions,  there remained a grain of truth that some, however imperfectly, might find quickened to their hearts.  Or, to put it another way, no matter how hard man’s world might try, the still, small voice of God would not be overcome by the clatter of human endeavor.

Fast forward 2000 years: Those who lived during the moment of Christ’s entry into human history are a lot like us, and we are a lot like them.  We too are fearful.  We too are in the midst of trying and fearsome times. And it’s all too clear that the world around us is frantically searching for something – just walk through the mall, or better yet, New York City’s Times Square.  A proliferation of lights and sights proclaim the potential answer to all our earthly woes, all while the national debt clock declares each families share of indebtedness to be well beyond the means of an average lifetime to repay, and the news media proclaims wars and rumors of wars.  All of this to the accompaniment of fully orchestrated, frequently pop-rock versions of Christmas hymns and ‘seasonal songs’.  The words of Isaac Watts, and the music of Handel blend with Gene Autry’s flying reindeer, Eartha Kitt’s Santa Baby, and once again, for reasons known only to the late great Charles Shultz, the ‘bloody Red Baron’ refrains from blowing Snoopy’s ice besotted WWI biplane out of the Teutonic skies when he hears the bells from the village below.  Some measure of God’s truth is found amidst the glitter, consumerism and frantic quasi-traditionalism.  Beyond Dickens’s ghosts and Seuss’ Grinch, in a world that has not advanced very far from the one where there was no room, save a stable, for a very pregnant woman to have her baby, and the leaders of the government insist that ‘all the world should be enrolled’; in a world where the day after Thanksgiving is called Black Friday and the celebration is marked by stampeding a mega-store shop clerk to death in order to be the first to score a good deal on a plasma screen television; in that same world  the Lord of Life waits to be born.  The same Word that moved over the face of the primordial waters is waiting to be born in our hearts.

When you hear Bing dream of a White Christmas, Band Aid ask if “they Know it’s Christmas”, The “Barenaked Ladies” (yes, that’s the name of a rock group – they’re all men, and they perform fully clothed!) mash God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen with We Thee Kings, perhaps pause, and give a moment of thanks that our Lord is speaking as He always has – in the most ironic places and through the most unlikely people. Be mindful that as the stars in the heavens – mute soulless balls of fire a trillion miles away, declare the glory of God, as a rogue star that had no business shining in the light of day announced the arrival of the world’s Savior, so too God is speaking today, in spite of, or maybe even through the superficially luminous ‘stars’ of our little space and time. Take a moment to look into the manger of your heart and see that it’s ready for Christ to be born there.

I’ve been asked from time to time why I write poetry, and moreover why I write the way in which I do.  After I get past the flippant answers I am usually tempted to provide as rejoinder to such inquiries, and at last give the question something of the thought it warrants, my response generally is something like this:

My greatest hope and my greatest joy in writing – what one might term my purpose – is to illuminate my topic: the shedding of light, so to speak, on whatever it is I might be writing about.  I desire to do this for both myself and for anyone who cares to read/listen to my offerings.

Another way of putting this is that through my poetry I want to, in whatever limited way I am able, bring the “huge issues,” the “eternal questions,” if you will, to a level where we ground dwellers might at least begin to make sense of them. Perhaps it is the apex of hubris, but in my poetry I strive to tether the bright immensities – G-d, the Universe, Time, the Spiritual Realm – to the “lesser” creation here below.

I further hope through my poetic ramblings, to cast the light of wonder on the seemingly simple things:  How often a leaf or some passage of bird song, or a child’s smile is about far more than just what they by their being present. Or maybe those things are only about themselves.  But if that is the case, I know at least I need to be reminded of the beauty and wonder in yes, the simple elements of life.

If I could be allowed to encapsulate my purpose in a single thesis statement, my poetry is about making the complex simple and the simple... not necessarily complex but full of wonderment.

And now the bad part:  I know that most of the time I fail miserably.  Sometimes what I create has been called beautiful, but I am fully aware of its shortcomings. Like Isaiah and St. Paul, I know only too well that my “righteousness” is worth about as much as a heap of filthy rags.  And therein lies the reason for all the striving – the grappling with words and forms and meters.  But then again, maybe that’s not all bad – maybe we humans are not quite prepared for perfection in this life, neither paradise nor nirvana.  Maybe that is why we keep striving – why there are so many “crappy” love poems, so many poems about the universe, or time, or a single blade of grass.  Maybe that’s why there are so many pictures of the same landscape, so many novels and plays with essentially the same plot, so many schools of thought, divergent ideals, religions, and political parties.  If ever it – whatever IT is, could be done to perfection, why would the rest of us even try?  And yet again, maybe it isn’t about perfection at all, but simply about some unique perspective.  Maybe there can be several disparate perfections and an infinite number of roads to all of them.  Maybe.

So as to this issue of the simple versus the “high falutin” – well, maybe that too is really a matter of path. There are times when I will confess that ordinary words can’t quite say what I want them to say.  Maybe it’s the fault of the words, maybe the fault of my mind or most likely the fault of my skills or lack thereof, but just the same, the big, fancy five-dollar words are still a tool:  There are times and places where azure is so much more satisfying a color than blue, and good old mother earth really is a fragile island hurtling through the vast expanse of interstellar space. These are the times and places where the exact shade of meaning is, or at least should be, captured by not just what one says, but how one says it. And yes, the obverse is imbued with just as much veracity – or the other side is just as true… There are the times and places when what must be said is best said without adornment, and any verbal accoutrement would detract from the truth and the beauty of what is being conveyed.

Is it “real” poetry if it contains no big words?  Is it real if it DOES contain big words? If we can agree that it IS poetry, is it great poetry?  Who are we, poets though some or all of us may be, to call the shot?  Is one individual’s simplicity another’s complexity? Indeed, can a virgin write passionate love sonnets?  Can an atheist write about G-d? Can one write a profoundly pained poem about the lack of one’s morning coffee?  Can one write a farce based on some national tragedy?  Why?  Why not? Should we throw our lot in with Ezra Pound who stated as if it were an inalienable truth, “There are no long poems.”?

Sometimes a good altercation can be balm for a community.  Especially when it ends with no one really getting hurt.  But at least on this topic, once the arguing is done, I’ll bet anyone a good bottle of rye that nothing will be resolved.  For me, and that’s the operative part… for me at this juncture, and for you too if you happen to agree, but if not that’s okay too… For me, poetry is an infinite universe.  And in an infinite universe there are after all, infinite possibilities: In this universe we embrace, there are no end to the possibilities for self-expression.  Perhaps no one can appreciate or even approve of all of them, but we are best served when we nonetheless acknowledge and even revel in their existence.

In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.   - 1 Thessalonians 5:18  

I’VE GOT AN IDEA. 

Thanksgiving is coming. You know… pilgrims, turkey, cranberry sauce… happens every year.  Time to be grateful again.  But on the other hand, let’s be real: life is pretty tough. Our future is uncertain, our present is often sad…  Seems like we have a lot to complain about. Still, complaining all the time is a pretty unappealing way to live.  So this year, let’s flip it around. Instead of having one day to give thanks, and complain the rest of the time, let’s take just one day and heap all our complaints together…. Really let ‘er rip! We’ll call this newly instituted holiday ‘Gripesgiving.’ To underscore the point, homemakers should prepare everyone’s least favorite meal, preferably burned, undercooked, and about an hour and a half later than expected.  In church we could have a service of Gripesgiving, where we list all the things about the church, its situation and one another that annoy us. To get us all in the holiday spirit, the organist will select utterly unfamiliar hymns and play them in an un-singable key.  On the left side of the sanctuary it’ll be so cold you can see your breath.  On the right side, it’ll be so hot as to melt the paint off the walls.  Afterwards, we’ll stage a traffic jam in the parking lot and all go home and watch video tapes of old super bowl games with particularly unpopular outcomes. 

SOUNDS REDICULOUS?    

Of course it is.  But then again, think about how many gripes you (or those around you, if you prefer to gripe about your neighbor!) have made, even if only to yourself between say breakfast and lunch.  

Just a few days ago, there were many, many individuals giving thanks over what they believe is the dawning of a new day in American life. There were parties in the streets, jubilant phone calls flashing back and forth across the globe.  Dancing, laughter and tears of joy were heard and seen in living rooms, public gathering places, and on the highways and byways of America and even around the world.  The excitement in the air was palpable.  But truth be told, there were, if you take the statistics to heart, a number not all that much different from the number of American voters who rejoiced, who were less than happy about the out come of our most recent presidential election.  On Wednesday morning, the day after Election Day, the airwaves, and I’m sure the bus stops and offices and factories, were full of nearly as much upset as exaltation. 

Of course it’s easy to give thanks when everything is transpiring just the way we want it.  It’s easy to evoke all manner of grateful emotions when the coffers are full, there’s money in the bank and our team is winning.  I think if we look around at our world, we will quickly realize that to be grateful under such positive circumstances doesn’t take a very spiritual individual.  A profound relationship with God isn’t necessary to be joyful when things are going well.  When it’s all going well, do we not ‘thank our lucky stars,’? ‘thank goodness’?, and in some cases, yes, even ‘thank God’?  To be happy when life seems pleasing is hardly divine. In fact, it’s basic human nature. 

Yet our Christian faith in as much it is derived from God’s living Word compels us to give thanks in ALL things: 

Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ    - Ephesians 5:20 

I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men.   – 1 Timothy 2:1 

Again and again, we are told to live in a state of eutcharistia.  A state of thankfulness, regardless of the circumstances.   So how can God ask us to do that.  Surely that is almost as nonsensical as a national day of ‘Gripesgiving’.   Nonsensical that is, until we are led by the Holy Spirit to recognize that in Chirst, we are more than conquerors…  (Romans 8:37). And that all things work together for those that love the Lord.  (Romans 8:28) 

Let us then pause to look at the good our heavenly Father has wrought for us, even now: 

-         There may be few of us, but let us give thanks for each soul who has come to know Christ in the long history of our church; each life that has been transformed; and for those who continue to gather in our midst. 

-         Though our future is uncertain, let us give thanks for what God has done in our past, and moreover let us look to what God will do in the future.  No matter what happens, he will not leave us destitute (see Ps. 25!) 

-         Thank God for our brothers and sisters in Christ.  Thank Him for the free course of His word.  Thanks Him for the past and the future, and even the privilege of striving together, in God’s kingdom, right now. 

Peace, joy, blessing and a spirit of eucharistia to all of you!

A brief statement on my philosophy of church music: