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.Well,
here we are: our preparations winding down toward Christmas. Here we
are digging out from the snowstorm that, at least, yesterday spared
retailers the expected sad conjunction of the season’s long-expected
super Saturday ruined by a pre-winter blizzard’s depositing record
snows. We wait, thankful that an expected loss does not now sit on
top of lingering economic malaise, bringing this year a
psychological depression, if not an economic depression one. Here we
are, at this last Sunday of Advent, 2009, waiting.
For some of us, some of the time, this waiting doesn’t lead us
hopefully into the future, as our faith invites. Instead, we lean on
nostalgia, looking backwards, to imagined days of Christmas past.
“Why can’t we go back to the older, better days,” some lament.
I was cured of this kind of nostalgia last week, when I learned that
over the hundreds of years leading into the 17th and 18th centuries,
Christmas celebrations were not religious, but raucous affairs.
Partly like our Christmas, yes, with food and drink; but also like
today’s Halloween, but with adults, not children, knocking on front
doors to demand treats of the best food and drink; and most like New
Year’s Eve, a time for letting go of control, overindulging, and
acting foolishly – not for a day, but for up to a month. Such
Christmas debauchery was part of what drove the Puritans to
Massachusetts, where, in 1659 their legislature made it a crime to
celebrate the holiday at all, or to skip work on December 25th.
Out-of-control Christmas celebrations evolved this way: In late
medieval Europe, the late fall was a time of abundant food. Crops
had come in, and grain in excess of what was needed for baking was
fermented, to be stored and consumed as ale or beer. And, with the
crops safely stored, exhausted workers abruptly idle until spring’s
planting preparations. Finally, cool weather meant that animals
could be butchered, some meat salted to be used over winter, but
much consumed as produced.
You get the picture: too much alcohol exciting too many folks who
had too much time on their hands. Turning the tables on those who
considered themselves the better people, the common people went
knocking on doors, expecting to share in the seasons’ bounties.
After all, both the poor and their “betters” understood that they
each depended on the other. As Stephen Nissenbaum describes in “The
Battle for Christmas,” over the centuries, the season evolved as a
time for an odd reversal. The poor confronted their employers,
demanding the best foods from the table and the best drink from the
cellar. This social reversal was sanctioned by all sides, for
employers understood that their generosity made the poor amenable to
their otherwise oppressive lives. For both sides, Nissenbaum
asserts, it was a time for enforcing the social order by reversing
that very order. (Stephen Nissenbaum, The Battle for Christmas. See
especially chapters 1 and 4: “New England’s War on Christmas,” and
“Affection’s Gift: Toward a History of Christmas Presents.”)
Ironically, the peasants’ behavior reflected the Advent hope
presented by our faith. Today, for example, this fourth Sunday in
Advent, we yearn for God’s peace. But notice that our scriptures
present a vision of a quite literally ‘revolutionary’, that is,
turned to a new future, not a world returning to a chaotic and
stratified past. Hear as Mary the mother of Jesus sings:
“The arm of the Lord is strong, and has scattered the proud in their
conceit.
“God has cast down the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the
lowly.
“God has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich empty
away.
“God has come to the aid of Israel, chosen servant, remembering the
promise of mercy, the promise made to our forebears, to Abraham and
his children for ever.” (“Canticle of Mary,” The United Methodist
Hymnal, page 199.)
Hear those words. Let them echo in your mind, your heart, your soul:
“God has … scattered the proud … cast down the mighty … filled the
hungry … sent the rich empty away.” Hear those words. Notice that as
Mary speaks them, though she is yet pregnant with one not yet named
“Jesus,” she believes, like most expectant mothers, that great
things are ahead. She believes what we, the church know and affirm:
all the potency and the possibility that our world yearns for will
burst to life in him. For that reason we call him not merely Jesus,
but Jesus, the Christ. He is the One God gives to set the world
aright and by turning it upside down. Listen, if you dare, to these
revolutionary words.
And remember who is speaking. This Mary speaks from the bottom of
her world. She is not one of the privileged; she is not one of
society’s “betters.” She and her family are among the dregs of her
time, and her gaze is upward from an especially grubby economic
floor.
I know, I know. It’s hard to hear her, because you and clearly live
in a different world than does Mary. Still, while we don’t share her
poverty, we share her hope. We feel ourselves overwhelmed by a
top-heavy structure, a world built in favor of others. We’ve
glimpsed that world, a heady financial world ruled by those who
shamelessly call themselves “masters of the universe.” It’s a world
built on a false integrity, shaped by a willingness to lie, cheat,
and steal, a world with a selfish motto. Live for today. Tomorrow we
move on, before deals go sour. Or, to use their six letter mantra: “I.B.G.,
Y.B.G:” Meaning, “I’ll be gone, you’ll be gone.” And of course, like
predator priests reassigned by complicit bishops, they move from one
institution to another. Of course, not every investment banker is a
predator; nor is every priest. But the truth remains: every
hierarchal system is established to favor the moneyed, the powerful,
and the well connected. Sadly, it corrupts all its players,
including any of us who long for a share of that economic pie.
So here’s the larger truth. Yes, our world is built on sin and
greed. But, in just such a sinful world, God transforms the players
by upending the system. Peace – the peace we long for during Advent
or any other time – comes not from climbing to the top of our world,
but from remembering that, as the caterpillar learned in “Hope for
the Flowers,” the best way to the top is to stop climbing and wait –
wait for God to transform our greedy hearts, and the systems of
greed that enchant us. So Advent reminds us, Mary reminds us, that
our hope comes from the Lord, who holds all worlds, and us, in
powerfully loving hands. As Thomas Merton reminds us at the
beginning of his autobiography, “any fool knows that you don’t need
money to get enjoyment out of life.” (The Seven Storey Mountain,
page 12.) He knows. Mary knows. And we can know, too.
So, we wait to celebrate the birth of Jesus, the Christ. He is born,
our Bible tells us, among the lowest of the poor, but he has become
in our hearts “King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.” His death on a
cross came at the hands of those who, in his time, also considered
themselves masters of their universe. As such, it was more
predictable than ironic. Yet we celebrate his death as a new
beginning, and the birth of both his transformation and ours.
Remembering Jesus, crucified and risen, come to this table. Share
this meal. It’s a simple place, and simple fare. Unlike the fare of
the lords of 16th century London, it cannot be demanded by us who
are poor, but it is given to us freely and generously, by a God who
cares for all. Come, share, and be transformed by the love of the
One who, born of Mary, fulfilled her dream, and ours:
“He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent
away, empty.”
Are you hungry – for hope, for justice, for healing, for love? God
has given us a truly simple Christmas feast. Here, there are no
“lesser” and no “betters,” only the hungry.
If you are hungry today, God’s table is set for you. Amen.
Mamaroneck United Methodist, December 20, 2009
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