The Holiday Season Again
It seems like Advent came early this year. In the texts that we shared in worship approaching the end of Year C in the Revised Common Lectionary, I heard the restlessness that is so familiar to our radical hope in the coming of Christ. I heard it in texts where it might not even be there – but I’m aware of that yearning deep within myself. And so, I knew. It was coming. Whether I was ready or not. The holiday season was coming.
It’s the time of year when families gather together across long distances to gorge themselves with lovingly prepared food. It’s the time of year when loved ones yearn to be together. It’s the holidayseason that begins with the harvest at Thanksgiving and continues until the tree is finally hauled out to the curb on Epiphany, but I don’t have a family. There’s only one stocking hung by my chimney with care. And so, I wonder every year, how do I celebrate this season? Where will I choose to spend my time? How will I allow my hands and feet to live out the possibility of new hope, new peace, new love and new joy? What experience will allow me to experience the miracle of Christmas again?
I won’t lie. This isn’t easy. I didn’t travel for Thanksgiving to be with my family. Instead, I was in my own home to be available to those in my congregation if tragedy should strike. Now, in just a few short weeks, my immediate family will come for Christmas. It’s not the same though. I miss the traditions lived out by my father’s extended family. I miss the many card tables that are carefully arranged so that 35 people can have dinner together on Christmas Eve. I miss the red and green elf hats made by my great-grandmother that each family member dons at the meal. I miss the overlap that sometimes happens when my cousin will bring her menorah and light candles in the midst of our Christmas celebration. I miss sitting in the small chapel lit only by candlelight at midnight to hear the familiar story again. I miss the unexpected and uncontained joy of watching my little cousins on Christmas morning.
Sigh.
It’s not easy. I knew it was part of my call to ministry to figure out a new way of celebrating these family-centered holidays in meaningful ways, but it still makes me shed a tear. It makes me yearn for what I might be missing because that seems to be what the holidays are all about. That is, until I hear that call from our sacred texts.
In those words, I hear a challenge to something beyond sitting at a table with loved ones. It might be the single rev within me. It might be that stubborn part of me that insists that if I can’t have the traditions I love, I’ll find some religious meaning. It’s not to be arrogant. Not intentionally. It’s that deep need in my soul to be a disciple rather than a psychotic single white female lashing out at every invitation generously extended by members of the congregation to be present at their holiday tables. Clearly, I’m not successful. I’m trying. Really.
But, I need friends. I need to know that this isn’t only my challenge. And so, every year, I re-read Stacey Midge’s article “The Gift of Gentleness” in the hope that I might come a little closer this year. Every year, I wonder how I might celebrate this holiday season so that it’s a celebration of my own faith. It’s never perfect. It never feels quite right – but I keep trying to find that possibility that echoes fully in my own heart. This year, as my parents travel to be with me in Maine, I know that it won’t be the year that I volunteer at the soup kitchen or sing carols at the hospital but it might be the year that I discover something else beyond the wrappings and candle wax where the good news is just below the surface.
This year, I might be brave enough to see it.
Photographs by Jen Larson used under a Creative Commons License.
Thanks for the reminder of the possibilities amidst the difficulties of our vocation, and for the shout-out. I had forgotten all about that article, and really needed to hear it again this year (even from my three-years-ago self).
Thanks for these words, Elsa. I can distinctly remember Christmas Eve in my home church my last year of seminary, savoring every moment with the knowledge that Advents and Christmases from that point on would look radically different. Enjoy the time with your parents–and blessings as you discover the good news you’re anticipating.
I hear you–not single-but sooo homesick this year for my family of origin’s traditions. Unfortunately, even that family does not exist, since my mom died ten years ago, but something about this year has made me really long for the foods and rituals of my past. I know I’ll have a lovely Christmas, and will be with the new incarnation of my family of origin after the holidays, but I resonate with your longing.
elsa-
first of all: thank you.
second of all: you do have a family. as i was interviewing at churches i found myself over and over again being asked if i “had a family”. the underlying question being about a spouse and children (and occasionally a not so subtle way of asking if i was gay). i finally got to the point where i simply started answering “yes.” because i do have a family. i have sisters and parents and cousins and aunts and uncles in abundance. i also have a seminary family that supports me through everything. i do not have a husband, nor have a birthed children. but i have a family. and so do you.
with hopeful expectation-
libby
Thank you, Elsa, for your words, and for pointing me back to Stacey Midge’s article as well. I am no longer living the single life (this will be my second Christmas with my wife), but since we are both in ministry, it is similarly impossible for either of us to be back with our families for Christmas. For me, finding small ways to continue my childhood traditions seems to help – advent calendars, the advent wreath, CD’s of the old albums we used to play… And yes, giving ourselves permission to simply collapse and celebrate Christmas Day itself in a more low-key way (though one that generally includes a skype video call to both families at some point.) You are definitely not alone in this challenge. I hope that you are able to find new ways (or old ways made new) to celebrate this year.