Celebrating

Last night while carrying out the garbage, I thought about celebrating a pagan Christmas. The walk from the backdoor to the garbage carts in the alley took me past the blue lights woven through the grapevine on my fence. Like most Christmas lights these days, they're LEDs and quite bright, a fiery gas-burner blue. 

And quite tasteful, if I do say so myself. 

Over on the next block, there's a celebration of electric Christmas lighting going on, spreading from house to house with trees wrapped in red and white and arches of light over the sidewalk. "Too much," some would say, shaking their heads, because what do we live for (to paraphrase Mr. Bennet), but to judge our neighbors? 

So go ahead and judge me: I did some serious binging of Hallmark-style Christmas movies earlier this month. Enough to get knit one complicated cabled and three colorwork hats knitted, Christmas gifts all. You need a movie you can watch with only half your mind so that you can keep one eye on the pattern chart. These generic Christmas romances (and there are dozens of them on Netflix) feature very circumscribed Christmas celebrations. "What's your favorite family tradition?" one lead actor will ask the other as they discover one another's better self. The answer invariably involves snow or hot cocoa, family, and a special Christmas tree ornament. But sadly, these things have been inexplicably lost although there's a hint that they might -- just might! -- return at the movie's end. 

I learned while growing up that this sort of sentimental Christmas was, if not hollow, less important than the "real meaning of Christmas" which happened at church with Baby Jesus and traditional religious carols (definitely no chestnuts roasting on open fires). This was a lesson reinforced by participation in traditional Christmas Eve services with my Lutheran elementary school classmate. It continues, since in adult life, including this year, I've ended up as one of the teachers guiding students through this ritual. At some point this evening, during such a service, I'll stop and pray that the ritual -- the music and poetry, scripture and songs -- stays with these kids and somehow shines on into their adult lives. 

But gosh, I could go for a bonfire this Christmas. Or some dancing around the Christmas tree, fueled by spiced grog and good whiskey. Less metaphor, more serious yelling against the darkness. Fire up the Christmas lights, all the colors you've got. Turn on the blowers that populate front lawns with Santas riding on elephants and snowmen ten feet high bobbing in the winter wind. Feast on honey-sweetened Lebkuchen and cinnamon-roasted pecans. Revel in the now, enjoy the secular.

Poets and others fond of paradox make much of God becoming human, of Jesus being born to die and embracing human suffering. A lot of me is wrapped up in that truth -- just read my November post. But there's a lot to be said for letting in the primitive celebration of Christmas -- stuff Christianity borrowed and good taste struggles to tame. Not just a single star, but vast starry heavens. Not just a flickering light in the manger but electrical energy powering lights all around the neighborhood. The seasonal return of longer days and shorter nights. Dinners and desserts and Santa suits and cornball music. 

Pagan is a stretch for this perverse Lutheran. But less theologizing, more staying in the moment -- I'm going to try that on this year and join in as heaven and nature sing all kinds of songs.

Merry Christmas