We went to the Christmas Eve service this morning then had lunch with extended family. Tonight, we have eaten our evening meal. Good, somewhat metropolitan Southerners that we are, Jan made an incredible roast in the crock-pot, coupled with rolls, mashed potatoes and (of course) spanikopita, a Greek spinach pastry in no way Appalachian.
We laughed together as a family as the adult kids who could be here teased one another and reminisced. We watched the gentle masterpiece, ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas.’ We watched the less than holy ‘Scrooged.’ (Bill Murray…what a guy.)
One of our sons read to us the story of the birth of Jesus from the Gospel of Matthew. We have prepared for tomorrow, for the celebration of the entry of eternity into time. We did it as believers have always done, that is to say the best we knew how.
This is Christmas. Our celebrations are ever imperfect, in endless counterpoint to the perfect story of Christmas, which is is part of the perfect story of the perfect redeemer of mankind.
Christmas spirit, the Christmas season, the ‘Christmas wars,’ all of these are somehow parts of the saga of our pilgrimage. These are all our infantile reaching, grasping for light we barely comprehend, always hoping to see it with perfect clarity. Always desiring to be filled with it, even if we ‘comprehend it not.’
I hope that tonight you, dear reader, rest. I hope that lights surround you and love carries you along. And that in whatever circumstance you find yourself, that there is peace and hope. I hope that the angels visit you as you wake or work, and the Christ child smiles in your dreams.
And that you wake refreshed and joyous. Or finish your night shift without exhaustion or despair.
Thank you so much for the time you give me.
Merry Christmas!
Edwin
Thank you for allowing me, a Jewish Buddhist, to share in your Christmas.
Merry Christmas, and thanks so much for the gift of your writing.