Attic Treasures

 

I grew up in New England where old colonial and Cape Cod style homes dominated the landscape.  And a feature of such homes often was, and is, a full attic.  In our house, you walked up to the attic on a full flight of stairs, and except for the spaces by the eaves you could actually stand up without banging your head.  It was one of our favorite spots when we played hide n’ seek--big boxes and a free-standing mirror made for excellent places to hide!  And if you wanted solitude and quiet for an afternoon of reading you could find it there.  It was spooky at night and where my father would take us on Halloween to tell ghost stories.  My grandfather’s sea chest full of memorabilia from World War I was kept in the attic.  And it was, of course, where all the Christmas decorations were stored between seasons.   Our attic, like many, was filled with treasures:  treasured items, and treasured memories as well.

Earlier this month a parishioner shared a lovely story with me about an attic treasure.  How one day in what had been his parents’ attic, a rather dusty box was discovered that contained the American Flyer train he’d received one Christmas many decades ago.  It wasn’t just any Christmas, though, because he had contracted measles in a time before the measles vaccine.  Before getting sick he had seen the train, and desperately wanted it.  But he was so sick, he was confined to bed, and was sure he’d miss out on all the wonders Christmas had to offer.  Christmas Day came, and while the rest of the family was downstairs, enjoying the festivities, he lay alone in his bed.  But then, he heard his footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly appeared in his doorway, crossed over to his bed, and scooped him up into his arms.  And then, carried him down the stair to the living room, where under the tree, where the train was set up in all its glory.  The very train he had dreamed of having.  And in the end, what for a sick young boy, what seemed destined to be a very blue Christmas, turned into one remembered to this day.  A Christmas when love was made known in such a wondrous way.

As I’ve pondered things this second Covid Christmas and reflected on the past two years of struggles and challenges, I have been so incredibly grateful for the many Christmas treasures stored in the attic of my memory.  Often thoughts of a special moment from a Christmas past have lifted my spirits as I’ve had to make decisions about masks and social distancing and sanitizers and all the other concerns we’ve had to address.  I have been buoyed up by those memories, buoyed up by those treasures.

I am also reminded that chief of those attic treasures, is the story we remember each Christmas, pandemic or not, of a time so long ago when God chose to be revealed to us in the birth of a tiny child.  It is a story both simple and profound.  A story populated by angels and shepherds, an innkeeper, a tired teenaged mother, and her travel weary husband.  A story rich with detail.  A stable.  A manger.  A donkey.  And cooing doves.  It is a story told round the world on this very night.  And even as we hear it again, even as we witness once more the beauty of the tale, even as we imagine the child being 
scooped up in Joseph’s arms and being handed to Mary, we are touched by the love made known on this night.

Maybe on this Christmas you need to be scooped up and carried.  Maybe you need to be cradled and held.  Maybe you long to be treasured and loved. 

If so, there is incredibly good news.   For in this birth that we celebrate each December, God appeared in human flesh and chose to remind us that human beings have inherent worth.  That you and I are indeed treasured.  Treasured and loved by the Creator of all that is, all that was, all that ever will be.  And God stands ready to scoop you up and carry you through the trials of life. 

Here in Florida we don’t usually have literal attics.  No stairs leading up to a space filled with treasures.  But we do have the attics of heart and mind.  And there, if we are only willing to look, we will find again the greatest treasure Christmas has to offer.  Not a box of decorations, not even a brand-new train set, but rather the love made known on a night so long ago in Bethlehem.  A love that can hold you throughout time and beyond.

So, This Is Christmas

This past Sunday two of our younger church members sang "Happy Xmas--War Is Over" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono as our special music at one of our church services.  The older of the two, Henry, is in college and home on his Christmas break.  His younger sister, Anabelle, is in high school locally.  Neither of them, of course, were alive when that song first hit the airwaves in 1971--I'm not even sure their parents were!  But their simple presentation, just a guitar and their two lovely voices, was heartfelt and well done.

I, of course, was alive, and in my first year at college.  It was the year I got my draft card and was subject to the draft, and part of the draft lottery.  The war in Viet Nam was still in full swing, and back then the song spoke directly to me and my life.  I was opposed to the war and concerned about being drafted.  But in the end my number in the lottery was well above the cut off that year, and so I was not at risk of being drafted.

All of that came flooding back as I listened to them sing and reflected on it later.  I am glad that neither of them face the prospect of being drafted.  I am glad we are out of Viet Name, Iraq and Afghanistan.  But the truth is war is not over.  There is literal war in various corners of the world.  There is the ongoing war against Covid in this time of our Second Covid Christmas.  There is the ongoing war with racism.  And the list goes on.  War is not over.  But it could be.  That's what the song says, "War is over, if you want it."  As we prepare to celebrate the birth of the One we call the Prince of Peace, perhaps we do well to ask ourselves, as individuals, as a nation, indeed as a global community, do we really want it?  Do we really want war to be over?  Do we really want peace?   I hope so.

(Photo Credit:  Dana Crater)

Tornados and Church

Yesterday, in the aftermath of the horrendous, tornado that ripped through Kentucky, the evening news featured a story about one of the churches in Mayfield that had gathered that morning outside the remains of their church building.  The story included video of maybe two or three dozen folks sitting in folding chairs, all bundled up against the cold, all singing a familiar Christmas carol.  

In an interview with the pastor, we were reminded of a powerful truth.  The church, he said, is not a building, it is the people.  We love our building and are very saddened by the destruction it has suffered.  But the church is the people.

This, of course, is a truth that transcends Christianity.  While our buildings can be extremely important, it is the people who gather in them--whether the building is a church, a mosque, a temple or a synagogue--that are the most significant.  

We will, of course, remember all those who have suffered the damages brought about by the tornado, and especially those who have lost loved ones.  And we can and will find ways to support them with monies, and volunteer hours, and supplies.  We must.  But first and foremost, as people of faith, any faith and all faiths, we must support them with our prayers.  It's what the mayor of Mayfield asked for.  It is what the Governor of Kentucky asked for.  For it is in and through prayer that we are reminded of God's great love for all those impacted, bundled up and singing carols, or not.  And our responsibility to reach out to help as we can.

Guns and Children: All I Can Say Is Amen

 Last Tuesday, November 30, a 15 year old boy entered a school in Michigan with a weapon.  A semi-automatic pistol.  After firing over thirty rounds, three students were left dead, eight others were injured.  The following day, one of them died as well from injuries sustained in the attack.  The shooter was apprehended on the scene by police, but his parents eventually fled the area, only to be hunted down and later caught.  The boy's father had purchased the gun for him just a few days earlier.  And both parents appeared to be cavalier when there were signs he might use it as he did.

The parents have now been charged with four counts each of involuntary manslaughter.  School officials may also face charges.  All of which is largely unprecedented.  

Of course, I am rehearsing details here that most of my readers already know.  But what may create more interest and therefore more press coverage, is the seeming facts about the parents and their actions.  The boy is just that.  At fifteen, just a boy.  Should he bear responsibility for his actions, of course.  But were those actions made possible by parental actions or inaction?  That will be decided in the courts.  But perhaps the fact that such questions will be asked in court is an indicator that we've turned a corner in terms of our attitudes and approach to gun ownership and use.

The day of the shooting a friend of mine, a fellow clergyperson from New England, posted a prayer online.  He posts a benediction many nights on social media.  Benedictions that often reflect the day's news.  That night he wrote: "Good night all.  I pray for a day when this country loves and values its children more than its guns.  The Lord bless you and keep you."

All I can say to that is Amen, Brother Rick, Amen.