The Work of Christmas
A month after Christmas Eve, the decorations are finally coming down. We celebrate our Christmas with our family in January, after all the grandchildren have visited their other grandparents, and when we can gather for a whole day. Our traditions have been tweaked over the years, most recently by dietary changes necessitating gluten free and non dairy options to be added. The games have changed from Dutch Blitz to Puerto Rico to Cataan, to Wingspan.
And then, after the games and food and stories and gifts, gradually everyone goes home and it still seems too quick to just rush the Christmas decorations away. But after a couple of hours of dismantling and labeling and packing into boxes, most of the work of Christmas is done...
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| Dismantled Christmas tree/ornaments |
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| Mom and Dad's ceramic tree |
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| Dad and Mom's Nativity |
I put all the decorations up during one presidency and took them down after an inauguration day I dreaded. Maybe I clung to the visual illusion of Christmas preparation longer because of that reality, but the reality is here.
It is a reality so stark that the bishop offering the inaugural worship sermon chose not to overlook it.
Her clearly worded sermon for the inaugural worship service was quiet voiced,
accompanied with eye contact
with the President and his family and honored guests.
It was a profoundly prophetic,
speaking truth to power sermon
in a public ceremony live streamed.
There was no masked language about what is at stake
with the policies this new president plans to pursue.
It was clear to all who heard,
including those who did not want to hear,
that Bishop Mariann Budde
was calling the President
and his chosen leaders
to follow a path of
mercy and justice.
The inauguration happened on the same day as the celebration of the life of Martin Luther King, Jr., who spoke to power with the same kind of clarity and vision. I listened to his daughter, Bernice, as she also spoke with power and with love.
How will we be faithful in these years to come?
I’m reminded that these are not uniquely difficult days, and that Howard Thurman wrote a poem called The Work of Christmas, during the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, but which is just as fitting today.
The Work of Christmas
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart.
It’s a scary thing to put in writing, where everyone can read it.
What if my response becomes more to hide away,
to keep a low profile,
to fill my thoughts with hopes and prayers rather than the actions Thurman names?
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