From the Rector

Dear Friends in Christ,

A few years ago, my very Methodist mother-in-law was staying with us over the Christmas holiday. Of course, the day after Christmas was a bit of a sleep-in day. I woke up to find that every Christmas decoration had been taken down and packed up. More than that, every image of Mary we had around the house—paintings, statues, and the like—all had been packed up, too.

Imagine the discomfort of Our Lady, Queen of Heaven, being unceremoniously stashed away in a bin with reindeer, snowmen, and some grumpy green creature with an odd dog bent on ruining Christmas!

Anyhow, rather than offer a theological defense of our numerous images of Our Lady, I chose the route every gentleman chooses in such a similar position. I waited for my mother-in-law to leave. Then I rescued the Blessed Mother from her ignominy.

But it wasn’t just the iconoclasm that was jarring. It was the abrupt end to the celebration. Growing up, we always had an extended Christmas. Over the twelve days, we visited various family. We went to nursing homes and far-flung towns to spend time with every relative.

One of my favorite memories from childhood is a simple one. During the twelve days, we went to visit my great aunt. She was probably in her nineties at that point. She couldn’t speak too much or at least I couldn’t hear too much at that age.

But she dug out this raccoon puppet. It was made with real raccoon fur. It had a leather nose and little leather bits in its ears. You could make its front two paws move if you put your hand in just right. And of course, you could open and close its mouth.

As she fished this thing out she motioned for me to sit down on the edge of the bed. It was one of those medical beds that was half plastic and half metal. She sat down beside me and slipped the puppet over her hand which was wise with age.

Then she made the raccoon gently kiss my nose.

Then she made it aggressively bite my face! She laughed and I did, too. I don’t remember a thing that was said that day. But I remember more about it than most.

I remember it was during those twelve days. I remember the gift of the raccoon. I remember even more the gift of seeing her delight—and mine, too.

These twelve days will offer moments of real joy and love if we let them. Let’s not rush to pack things away or forget those who’ve spent a lifetime waiting to spend these days with us. Life is too short and laughter too rare.

Let us celebrate the holy birth this season by celebrating the gift of life in all of its joyful complexity. We have too few of these seasons.

Culture and work and more will try to jam us back onto the world’s schedule. But let’s take a breath. Let’s remember the ways we’re loved. Let’s look for ways to share it and let the season surprise us again.

Yours in Christmas Joy,

—Fr Robert