In fact, speaking of the mall, there's a rather welcome absence of certain kinds of Christmas frenzy this year. No big shopping push. No big meal to prepare. No quantum-physics level calendar co-ordinations. No travel plans. No rehearsals for the big Christmas Eve service. In may ways it's unusually quiet, in fact.
Except a vague feeling of 'too much' remains. What is that?
Too much news? There's certainly been that, and it's hard to tune it out when every day something comes down the pike that might just change everything. And that everything-change might require big decisions about really important things, like where your family will be all day, and whether or not you gather for church on Sundays, and what's going to happen with your paycheck.
Too many numbers? This is directly connected to too much news, but it's its own kind of stress. Ominous, sobering, and by now rather numbing. There's this scene in the Harry Potter movie "The Deathly Hallows" where Harry, Hermoine and Ron are fugitives, hiding in the woods and living in a tent. They're hiding because a hostile entity (not a virus, but...) is out to get them and everyone they love. They have with them a small radio on which each day a list of names, is announced, those missing and perhaps dead. It's crushing in its dreadful monotone of recitation. Sometimes, when listening to the numbers being given each day, I am reminded of this.
Yes, too much news and too many numbers. But the too much factor I'm feeling is less defined than that. It's more about just a hard to recognize and going on way to long undercurrent of fatigue and grief and frustration.
It manifests itself indirectly, in confusions and misunderstandings and distorted perspectives. In all the extra effort required in speaking kindly. In a strong temptation to overreact. Talking about myself here.
Pause for a needful reflection on the need for grace.
It's a unique feature of John's gospel that it doesn't include any traditional birth narrative. Instead, John bursts out of the gate with mystic prose and profound theology. In introducing Jesus, he doesn't give us any other characters in the story but Jesus Himself, come from the Father, full of grace and truth.
And then he describes what I think could quite accurately be pegged as the first, pre-magi even, Christmas gift.
Grace upon grace.
Grace to be loved anyways. And then more of it. Grace to be offered a way out of our own mess. And then more of it.
I love how this grace is spilling out of the fullness of Jesus. There's a picture underneath these words that conjures up it's own kind of 'too much'. So much grace, it spills over onto us. Undeserved and copious. More and more grace.
If ever there was a Christmas where we need to just be kind and give each other slack, it's this one. If ever the in-this-with-you sense of grace was needed, it's now. Grace to cover a multitude of offenses, both real and imagined. Grace to choose not to be annoyed. Grace to patiently listen, patiently re-direct, patiently wait for the ways we can all find our way together to better understandings, more love.
Grace given. Grace received.
The countdown is on. Only six days left.
We've all be through a lot.
I just needed to remember this.
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