I’ve been taking my time putting Christmas decorations away.

            Long ago, before I grew up, my parents had a strict schedule for Christmas decorations. They went up on Christmas Eve, so that they could leave a child awestruck by their sudden appearance overnight. 

            We followed that practice even when I was old enough to help set up the decorations, so it was no surprise on Christmas morning.

            And then everything came down on Twelfth Night, January 6 -- when, tradition says, the Magi from the east visited Jesus and brought gifts of gold, and myrrh, and incense. 

            Even if that visit might have been up to two years later. Two years, you see, let King Herod be sure that by killing all the two-year-old boys in Bethlehem he could eliminate any threat to his throne. 

            On the day of Twelfth Night, we carefully removed the tinsel from the branches of the Christmas tree and wrapped it neatly in newspaper. We took down all the bright balls, wrapped them in tissue paper, and put them in boxes. We wrapped the candles in wax paper, wrapped the creche figures in old tea towels, and stuffed the streamers into paper bags. 

            We put them all away. Somewhere. That wasn’t part of my job. 

            My job was to take the tree and any evergreen wreathes outside. To burn them in the yard. A single match usually sufficed to demonstrate the combustibility of coniferous forests. 

Worth pretending

            This year has been different. 

            Some of my Christmas decorations have come down, and been tucked away in boxes in the basement storage room. But some are still out. 

            It’s partly lethargy, I know. Sloth, to use the word associated with one of the seven deadly sins. Winter, the shortage of sunlight, does not inspire me with energy. I may have some hibernation genes.

            But it’s also, I think, that I don’t want Christmas to end. 

            Regardless of what one believes about Virgin Births and the historical accuracy of supernova in the night sky, Christmas is considered a time of peace and goodwill. 

            Was it purely coincidence that the rioters in Washington DC waited until Twelfth Night, the end of Christmas, to launch their attack on Congress? 

            The Irish poet W.R. Rodgers -- no relation to the Rodgers partnered with Hammerstein -- satirized the fakeness of peace and goodwill at Christmas. “Punctually at Christmas,” he wrote, “the soft plush of sentiment snows down…Angels, like stalactites, descent from heaven, and bishops distribute their own weight in words.”

            Families, he continued, sit “in old stone circles” to share “the tinned milk of human kindness…”

            And yet beneath the pain in his words lies the reality that for a while people at least try to practice peace and goodwill. They donate to food banks. They hold reunions. They set aside old hostilities. They volunteer at the Gospel Mission.

            It may be pretence. But it’s worth pretending. Even for a short period. 

            Maybe pretending is a form of prayer. To act, if only for a few days, as if the values we profess are true, as if we really believed in them. 

            Okay. I just made a decision. I shall leave one or two of my Christmas decorations out all year. To remind me to keep pretending.

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Copyright © 2021 by Jim Taylor. Non-profit use in congregations and study groups, and links from other blogs, welcomed; all other rights reserved.

                  To comment on this column, write jimt@quixotic.ca

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YOUR TURN

In his response to last week’s column, Frank Martens focussed on how past decisions shaped our lives: “I love my wife, and she is probably the best thing that could have happened to me.  But… I had a couple of girlfriends before I got married.  And, as is usual, I suppose, with most males, you wonder what it would have been like with somebody else.  What kind of kids would I and another woman have had?  Would the Mennonite girlfriend I had when I was 20 have changed me into a religious fanatic?  Would I have been divorced, out on the street?  What if I had taken the other road?”

            Frank also said, “I think this column is going to hit a nerve with a lot of your readers.”

Lowell Courtney lives only 20 miles from Corrymeela, which I wrote about last week: “I remember the late, great Ray Davey setting it up and knew various leaders during my time as a travel agent in Coleraine. As you say, it has a heartbreakingly beautiful view over the waters of Moyle to Rathlin and Kintyre and still does invaluable work.”

Isabel Gibson commented on the value of “simple gestures -- a smile, a nod, a word. Maybe, a la Nancy Abrams [author of A God That Could Be Real] , these things are enough for God's presence to emerge in and from our interactions.

            “It's a lovely thought isn't it? That we might be helping to create a force for connection by connecting.”

Jim Hoffman also responded to those “simple gestures”: “Growing up on a farm in eastern Iowa, it was customary to wave at anyone passing by our farm. Likewise, as we travelled on the roads, we would wave to our neighbors and to those we didn't even know -- even to those in another vehicle we would meet.  It seemed the thing to do -- a friendly greeting and acknowledgement that they were important and we were glad to see them. It was a way of appreciating one another.  It didn't really matter if we knew them or not, but we wanted to be connected.”

Bob Rollwagen turned to community -- “a huge concept. I hear people talk about how friendly their community is as a reason for living their whole life there. I have lived in many communities. They have all been different in their own way; they have all been kind, friendly and have all contributed to my journey in a positive fashion. I have never rushed somewhere because it was reported to be a supportive or wonderful community because I am already in one.”

James Russell picked up on the dog-walking emphasis in the Corryneela prayer, and connected that to an article by Ursula Le Guin, about the books bu Saramago: “The Stone Raft … is one of his funniest books,” Le Guin wrote, “And here also we find the first important Saramago dog.

            “There is a dog in Blindness, too  Nobody in the book has a name, and the dog is known only as the dog of tears.  He is an unforgettable dog.  There is, I believe, a dog in all of Saramago’s best books.  His dogs embody a deep, essential element of his stories.  They do not tell what it is since they cannot speak; their silence is part of their importance.  I’m not sure why I tend to rank his novels with a dog in them higher than the ones without, but it may have something to do with his refusal to consider Man as central in the scheme of things.  The more people fixate on humanity, it sometimes seems, the less humane they are.  I have learned, whenever I begin a new Saramago, to hope for the arrival of the dog.”

Carolynn Fraser said that it was a “Good choice to choose God in the feminine form for that Psalm. Your example has been an inspiration to me. I am thankful for the grounding I received since my youth in the church but it is so important to be challenged to think and grow in mind. I have come to believe this God is far larger than I will ever comprehend. Hopefully the Spirit of God within will nudge me to choose wisely for the common good of all.”

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Psalm paraphrase

The NRSV translation of Psalm 147 sounds as if the psalmist expects God to resolve all problems, like “Daddy Warbucks” in the Little Orphan Annie comic strip. I preferred to look through the eyes of the ones Daddy Warbucks is expected to help. 

2          We are the refugees. 
Our homes and our spirits have been destroyed. 
Across the earth we have fled seeking asylum. 
God gathered us together, and gave us a second chance. 

3          We are the sick, the infirm, the elderly. 
God gave us nurses, and medicines, and medicare to cover the costs that would have crushed us.

4          We are the students, the scientists, the scholars. 
The more we explore our universe, the more the mysteries we encounter fill us with awe. 

6          We are the poor, the oppressed, the people at the bottom of the pile. 
We see the powerful and mighty come tumbling down, betrayed by their own corruption. 

5          When we see all this, we do not doubt the power of God. 

8          Why should we doubt? 
If God can make the rain fall, the grass grow, the rivers run, and the sun shine,

9          if God can balance the needs of nature 
so that both lion and lamb can live,
then surely God can also affect human affairs. 

10        God does not judge by appearances. 
God is not impressed by titles and positions, 
nor influenced by body-building and cosmetic beauty. 
In the eyes of God, a pauper matters as much as a priest, 
a person on welfare as much as a president. 

11        What matters is how well we hear God, 
and how much we care for each other.

You can find paraphrases of most of the psalms in the Revised Common Lectionary in my book Everyday Psalmsavailable from Wood Lake Publishing, info@woodlake.com.

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TECHNICAL STUFF

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                  And for those of you who like poetry, please check my webpage .https://quixotic.ca/My-Poetry I posted several new poetic works there a few weeks ago. If you’d like to receive notifications about new poems, write me at jimt@quixotic.ca, or subscribe yourself to the list by sending a blank email (no message) to poetry-subscribe@lists.quixotic.ca (If it doesn’t work, please let me know.)

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PROMOTION STUFF

To use the links in this section, you’ll have to insert the necessary symbols. Some spam filters have blocked my posts because they’re suspicious of some of the web links.

                  Wayne Irwin's “Churchweb Canada,” an inexpensive service for any congregation wanting to develop a web presence, with free consultation. http://wwwDOTchurchwebcanadaDOTca He’s also relatively inexpensive!

                  I recommend Isabel Gibson’s thoughtful and well-written blog, wwwDOTtraditionaliconoclastDOTcom. She also has lots of beautiful photos. Especially of birds.

                  Tom Watson writes a weekly blog called “The View from Grandpa Tom’s Balcony” -- ruminations on various subjects, and feedback from Tom’s readers. Write him at tomwatsoATgmailDOTcom (NB that’s “watso” not “watson”)

ALVA WOOD’S ARCHIVE

                  I have acquired (don’t ask how) the complete archive of the late Alva Wood’s collection of satiric and sometimes wildly funny columns about a mythical village’s misadventures. I’ve put them on my website: http://quixotic.ca/Alva-Wood-Archive. You’re welcome to browse. No charge. (Although maybe if I charged a fee, more people would find the archive worth visiting.)