The World Needs More Unironic Glitter Glue (Or, I Can't Help Loving Christmas)

Image by Currier & Ives

by Lyndsey Graves 

I can’t help loving Christmas.

Sometimes I think it’s not very cool to love Christmas. Lots of people like to run around reminding everyone that it’s a pagan holiday (and therefore, somehow, utterly godless); some people have an understandable aversion to the commercialism of the season, which taints their enjoyment in the whole thing; and other people seem to relish cultivating a Scrooge-y, Grinch-y Scrinchiness, simply for the sake of being contrary. But I am one of those people who just believes in Christmas spirit.

I don’t know exactly why. I’m usually a pretty suspicious, critical person; I spent Thanksgiving weekend in equal parts watching football and analyzing misogyny in football TV commercials. But I am 100% bought into Christmas time, Christmas cookies, Christmas gifts, tinsel, lights, and praying for snow. 

This isn’t because I am immune to the frustrating parts of the season. I’m not as busy as some  - no parties to host, no kids in pageants, no church services to organize like my seminary pastor-friends. Further, I also happen to like my family and don’t mind driving long distances. Yet, December for me is and always will be fraught with finals frenzy, and as a student I always pick up extra work hours in order to afford a few gifts. I’m not just making paper snowflakes and singing Alvin and the Chipmunks all month.

Image by Susan Smith

So what do I mean by “Christmas spirit”? If there’s something beyond the shopping and rushing and Pinteresting, something warm and human and divine – what is that something supposed to be?

I certainly can’t say there’s anything objectively special about December 25th, unless it’s that, growing up in Georgia, praying for snow teaches you stubborn hope for things as distant and unlikely as the Advent of the Messiah. Maybe the dark of winter is, after all, a good time for an unlikely-bright celebration of such an unlooked-for king. And yes, that story itself has much to do with what I love about Christmas, but you’ll forgive me if I am a bit more enchanted by the donkeys and magic stars and cousins leaping in wombs than by the incarnation. I’m a theology student and “incarnation” is the only word any of us knows anymore. 

My Christmas just isn’t going to be hyper-seriously-spiritual this year; after term papers on theological concepts and obligations of all kinds, I’m gonna need down-to-earth sugar sprinkles and a Linus-reciting-Luke level of heady theological engagement.

Image by gravity_grave

Maybe “Christmas spirit” just means to me that I love seeing everyone try just a bit harder, approach the world with a little more openness and love. Just because we can – and, when we remember, because God is with us – we try to make a day more special for each other. We remember to surround ourselves with music and to feed each other real food. We let Christ’s birth into humanity call us back to our own humanity. If we’re lucky, we even get to take actual time off work to actually be with our families. 

The world needs more un-ironic glitter glue. As long as my Christmas still has those moments beyond the money-spending, pine-needle-sweeping, and Scotch tape emergencies, I’ll still believe in the magic of the whole thing.

Lyndsey lives in Boston, MA where she is pursuing her Master's in Theological Studies at Boston University. She enjoys Community, Mad Men and Beauty and the Beast and her spirit animal is a sloth. She would like to know if this is some kind of interactive theater art piece. You can follow her on Twitter @lyndseygraves and you can find more of her writing at her blog To Be Honest.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.
  
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• On Entitlement
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On Advent Dawning

by Sebastian Faust

My favorite song this time of year sounds nothing like Christmas on the ears, but it sings with unspeakable beauty to the heart.  Tom Waits' rendition of Silent Night, complete with accordion, calliope, angel, gypsies, howling dogs, and who knows what else, is perfect - a rough and tumble, broken-voiced growl of heartfelt praise - a hard-edged cacophony that does something more to me than all the choirs with all their idyllic voices combined.  It’s the fragmented beauty of that singular silent night, the one that lies at the very heart of the Advent season.

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Image by Marcus Vegas

It gets dark early now; the days are short, the clouds are sifting snow.  Blue-tinged shadows run far across the fields and dawn awakes to a world wrapped white in hoarfrost.  There's a chill that seeps into one's bones now, and feet stay cold beneath the blankets.  The warmth of a mug or a fire grows more precious with each passing year, and the reasons for straying from the hearth grow, yearly, less compelling.

But far, far away, and twice, at least, as long ago, moonlight flooded down on a dusty little village perched on the hillside of a temperate valley.  Three lone palm-trees stood on the horizon beneath a sky of crystal stars, and there was no room in the little hovel of a house on Barley Street, its narrow floors packed with relatives and strangers. No more room at all in a village filled to bursting.  A young girl, belly big with child, slept restlessly in the cold stableyard, seeking warmth amid the animals.

Image by Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato

Theotokos they call her, Bearer of God.

The young girl blessed among women. 

The one who found favor with God,

Who, with humility, carried Christ within herself. 

Theotokos, God-bearer.

“But what if,” you wonder, as you warm your slippered feet beside the fire, “what if it wasn't just little Mary, sleeping that silent night between her man and a mule, between heaven and earth, belly full of God?  What if you walked about (from Nazareth to Bethlehem, from 4th Street down to Main) with Christ somehow in you, pregnant with good deeds, expectant of miracle?  What if you bore within yourself the Son of God?  What if God dwelled inside of you?

You stop wondering; the words have struck you square, and meekly you lift your eyes and speak softly to the heavens, "Behold, the servant of the Lord; may it be unto me according to thy word."

Image by Carl Jones

And stepping out into the snowy fields scratched with blue shadows, where the fox goes stalking and the fieldmouse hiding, suddenly there is glory streaming down from heaven, and someone comes shining, announcing good tidings of great joy.  The whole sky is lit up with them like white-flamed stars.  The fox goes still, the mouse squints up at bright splendor.  The host of heaven sings, scratchy and hard-edged and cacophonous and beautiful.

"Go back inside," they say to you, "by the hearth you shall see him, clothed in flesh and blood, a kind of second incarnation."  Emmanuel, they call him; Theotokos, their word for you.

Advent has come.  We await the coming of Christ our Savior.  We await the angels singing in the skies, their rough and tumble song of heartfelt praise.  Advent has come, and with eager anticipation we await the Lord, and yet we also know, already he is among us, within us, and all round about. 

Sebastian Faust is an avowed heretic, armchair theologian, and a self-styled canary in the coal mine of pop culture. He takes life by the reins, bulls by the horns, and tigers by the tail, all while living in Nashville. You can't follow Sebastian on Twitter because he doesn't understand technology.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.
  
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• Waiting on Emmanuel
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National Sabbath

by Josh Kiel

Alas, Labor Day is upon us and as is befitting the occasion I have absolutely nothing planned. I've asked amongst my friends and, by and large, they have nothing planned either. 

No chores, no errands, nothing planned but a day of rest from life's troubles. Which is wonderful really since on the average weekend I try to have events and outings planned throughout, as well as whatever errands I may need to run. 

This third day off work is regarded by many as a "day of rest" (that's Wikipedia talking so you know it's legit). In essence it is our National Sabbath. The day we have set aside in recognition of the labor we perform the other 364.25 days of the year. 

I especially appreciate it since I so rarely observe anything closely resembling a Sabbath in my own life, which is a shame because I truly appreciate the concept. One out of every six weekends I am on call and can be contacted by work at a moments notice, and so many of the remaining weekends are negated by mundane activities that they can rarely be qualified as "restful".

I expect it is the case for many of us that we don't actually get a true day of rest except for a  few days a year. We stay so busy in our modern lives that days without plans, where moments of reflection are allowed, come around surprisingly rarely, at least that's the case for me. 

Indeed, if I start to over think the concept of Labor Day it could irritate me and lead me to a rant about how this seems like a way in which government may end up subverting religion by replacing the concept of a religious commandment with a proxy version in the form of a national holiday. That would only irritate me though so I'll spare myself (as well as you dear reader). 

Rather, I simply suggest that you make of this day a restful and peaceful experience and, if you are so inclined, reflect upon the day that you've been given and enjoy it. Perhaps you will find, like I suspect I may, that we could all use more dedicated days of rest and realize that we were commanded to observe one for a reason.

Father's Day Card

Today, a guest post in the aftermath of Father's Day by HJ.  In light of my classes this semester, focused in Jeremiah and Job, it was hard to read this without seeing how it often applies to our complex and intertwined relationship to God.  There's probably more to explore there, but I'll let it speak for itself.

Peace,

Ben

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by HJ

This card is always difficult for me to write and this year is no exception.  I don’t know what it would take for us to have some sort of breakthrough after which it would be easy to coexist under the same roof.  When I think about his role as my father I think things like, “He always provided food, clothing, shelter and healthcare for us,” “He didn’t abandon us,” “He never cheated on mom.”  

But that’s so basic; just thanking him for what he didn’t do rather than what he did.  Granted, I am aware of how many children are raised without such things.  Hell, I’m raising two kids myself who couldn’t claim such basics.  It’s just that last night after I got a little tipsy I opened up to a friend about my relationship with my dad.  I described it as “strained and passive-aggressive.”  He replied, “Usually when someone says that about her father, she follows it with, ‘and that’s why I’m a stripper.’”  Very funny.

But seriously, I’m jealous of anyone who would not describe their relationship with their father as complicated.  He wants my approval, I can see that clearly, but what do I do?  How can I affirm him and nurture our relationship in ways that are authentic and honest.  The fact is that beyond the basics he has been rather selfish.  

The best thing he could do to get a ‘Best Dad Ever’ card from me: treat my mom like a lady; show her more respect.  Hurting her has always hurt me.  Some of my earliest memories are of making sure she was okay after I knew he had upset her.  I take on their issues even now as a twenty-five-year-old woman.  And I love him, I really do, and I want so many good things for him, just as I know he does for me.  

And that’s where I began with the card.  He has always been the one to encourage me to go for my dreams and to tell me that I can do anything.  I went on to write about how he drops everything to come help me when my car breaks down or I have some other immediate need no matter what sacrifice is necessary.  See?  He’s not all bad.  I just wish, I really, truly wish that I could write him a ‘best dad ever’ card and mean it.  Maybe next year, because I cannot stop hoping that next year by some miracle that could be possible.