Sing We Now of Christmas

Today I'm reflecting on Christmas.

Yes, I know it's early, we haven't even beheaded turkeys in the name of giving thanks yet, but if you work at or are at all involved in the worship planning of a Christian church who've been in Christmas mode since October, so I feel it's legit. Plus now is that awkward post Halloween not Thanksgiving yet everything Christmas related has been in stores since early September time when one makes Christmas travel plans and buys (or in my case makes) crap for people for the secular part of Christmas fun.

It all began because I'm a little stressed about a lot of things and needed some release. my Nano novel would be a good place except I've been working on it instead of other things, thus it's become a stresser. I needed something else. So I grabbed my flute, which has been out of it's case thrice since I moved to Seattle, and searched desperately for my etudes book. Which is missing. I literally looked everywhere, and my conclusion is that, like much of my music, I left it at my parent's house aka my storage facility until I move into a place big enough for all my books. My assumption being that I wouldn't have time to play since I do lots of other things.

True enough, but today I needed something to play, so I searched online. Turns out there is a significant amount of free music online, so I started looking through minuets and nocturnes, browsed the celtic section for a bit, and then saw the Christmas music link.

I know, Stina would glare. It's not after Thanksgiving. It's not December yet. But then I was always receiving the glare for uncontrollably humming Adeste Fideles (less pretentiously known as O Come all ye Faithful) on mission trips in July, so it's not all that out of character.

The thing is, I've been putting off Christmas. I glared that very same Stina glare at the Starbucks cups that were trying too hard to make me feel cheery the day after Halloween and I tried my hardest not to toe tap to the smooth jazz version of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas that assaulted my ears in Barnes and Nobel last week. I actively, and loudly, disdain the decorations section of Costco whenever I'm there. Partly to spite corporate America (I will celebrate when I want, not when you start selling me things!) But mostly because I just haven't been in the mood.

Christmas is simultaneously a wonderful and difficult time for me since moving to Seattle. On the one hand, I get a break from life and a chance to go home and see the friends and family I'm too far away from most of the year.  On the other, I can't celebrate fully with the friends and family I've made since moving here. It's 6 of one half dozen of the other every year, and while I'm lucky that I live close enough to make the trip home, it still feels like missing out. Add to that how dark it gets and I need something to help me through. Which is why I love that we celebrate the coming of the light when the world's at it's darkest.

But back to the music. I have noticed over the years the my favorite Christmas hymns are not the ones we sing every year. Trust me, I can belt Joy to the World with all the enthusiasm of a sugar high 10 year old in the Christmas pageant, but it's not where my heart is. My heart is in the minor chords and haunting melody of O Come, O Come Emmanuel and The Carol of the Bells and The Coventry Carol. I love singing What Child is This and God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman and Sing We Now of Christmas. Because they envelope not only the wonder of Christmas, but the melancholy of it.

And not just the melodies, but the words. The cries of longing. The uncertainty. The call to be still and at peace because we finally have a reason. The acknowledgement that living here is hard. That the path is confusing and we finally don't have to walk it alone. The Jews had been waiting for Jesus for hundreds of years. Our brothers and sisters, created by God, had done nothing but wait, and finally, finally we get to celebrate what so many of them never lived to see.

And yet the night Jesus was born was inconsequential in the moment. No one cared that a tiny new baby had been brought into the world in a barn. Chances are that happened pretty frequently. There were a few shepherds who were lucky enough to be privy to God becoming an insignificant tally on a census, but other than that, it was a night like any other. It was probably terrifying and gross and awful and wonderful all at the same time. Maybe Joseph fainted and the Inn Keeper's wife had to help deliver the baby. I can't imagine, after following God's directions to the letter, Mary was too happy about it all.

And yet it's exactly what it should have been. Awful and scary and wonderful. Because that's our what life is like. It's what his life was like.

So here's what I'm going to remember this Christmas: At the end of the day, the light is always there. But in those places where it's hardest to see, that's where the light shines brightest. So I'm going to search out the dark places. Not so I can dwell in them or sit by myself in the dark, but so I can see what the light illuminates.