Tag Archives: Christmas

Shepherds, Gen Z, and Instructions

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“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.”

Luke 2:8

With the first of this year’s snow covering the ground, evergreen wreaths appearing on doors, and holiday movies trending on Netflix, my mind begins to contemplate the coming of Christmas. I’m rather astonished that, at my age, I still have questions about the ancient nativity story? I have heard and retold the Christmas narrative innumerable times, yet, even now, questions continue to arise. Lately, I’ve been pondering the role of the shepherds.

When choosing parts in our annual No-Rehearsal Christmas Pageant, my friends always dress as shepherds. “The shepherds get all the best songs, they say.” For millennia people have speculated about this small group of unnamed souls who were just going about their business when, quite unexpectedly, they found themselves thrust into the center of the nativity story and the main focus of some pretty great songs.

Luke’s biblical telling is brief, to the point, and succinct but certainly lacking in details. For example, did the angels appear to others that night or only these particular shepherds? Were there others who were too afraid, too busy, too tired, or just too disinterested to go in search of this mysterious child? Perhaps other seekers simply got lost and never found the stable. Luke says the shepherds discussed what to do about the angel’s message, but I wonder…did everyone agree or have to be convinced? Did they list the pros and cons? How did they decide? Luke also tells us that later the shepherds told others about what they had seen, but what exactly had they seen in that stable? Were they alone with the Holy Family, or were there others present that Luke simply failed to mention? These omissions prompt me to question, imagine, and wonder.

Sheep Grazing on a Hillside in England Near Hadrian’s Wall
October 2021

During Biblical times shepherding wasn’t the domain of outcasts and the lowly, as some have suggested… Although I would suppose that spending so much of their time outdoors and in the company of rather smelly animals didn’t garner them many party invitations…On the other hand, because sheep were so crucial to the community’s life, it naturally follows that caring for and protecting them was a necessary and valued job. Abraham, Moses, and King David were among many biblical patriarchs who spent time as shepherds. Most often, the youngest child…male or female… in the family had this duty. I think of it as a ‘starter job,’ much like Saturday night babysitting was when I was a teenager. Babysitters were entrusted with caring for a family’s most precious treasures, but once the wee ones were asleep, it was snacks and TV. So, instead of the thick-bearded, often wizened old men portrayed in many paintings, it is more likely that the shepherds on that hillside outside Bethlehem that night were teenagers or young adults. Knowing the penchant teens have for darkness and nighttime…maybe… just maybe, the angel appeared to them because they were the only people still awake. Additionally, youthful peer pressure and collective courage might have guaranteed they would leave their fields, go into the village, and seek the child.

“And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.”

Luke 2:9 KJV

It was a busy night in Bethlehem for the shepherds, but what happened next? What was the conversation when the young shepherd returned home later that morning and told what they had seen?

Another Guardian of the Sheep
On the Road to Kenmore, Scotland, 2014

Grandfather. You won’t believe what happened last night.”

“Was there a problem with the sheep? Bears? Lions? You and the lads didn’t get up to any mischief, did you?”

“Oh, no. It was nothing like that, and you’re not going to believe it.”

“OK… I’m ready. Go on with your story.”

“Well…you know, it’s kinda lonely watching sheep by yourself, so we decided to combine our flocks. When the sheep were bedded down, we were just sitting around the fire, telling stories and jokes, when the sky was suddenly filled with a blinding light. It was amazing, and get this…there were singing angels.”

“Angels? Really? Come on, are you making this up? Did you guys get into that new wine?”

“No, I swear it’s true.”

“Well, continue.”

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

Luke 2: 9-10 KJV

“It was amazing. One of the coolest things ever. Well…once we got over being scared half to death, that is. I mean, it was unreal. OK…So, the head angel said something amazing had happened in town, and we should go there immediately. Something about a special baby being born. A savior or some such thing. The angel was a little sketchy on the details of how to find this baby, though. No, directions. Just find some stable in Bethlehem. Do you have any idea how many stables there are in Bethlehem? Well, once the angels left, we talked about whether or not we should go find this baby.”

“Don’t tell me you left the sheep.”

“Of course not. We left the youngest ones behind, and the rest of us took off. Running through the night was much more exciting than watching a bunch of sleeping sheep.”

“So, did you ever find the stable and the baby?”

“It took us a while and was a little dicey at times. We didn’t want to be found peeking into a stranger’s barns, and who would have believed us if we’d said an angel sent us? But yes! Yes, we finally found the stable, the tiny baby, and his tired parents. It was really something to finally find this baby, just like the angels had told us we would. We were a little hesitant at first, but when the parents beckoned us to come closer to get a better look, how could we refuse? As we drew near, the mother pulled his blanket back so we could see the sleeping child. The funny thing was that all we saw was a normal baby…very pink and wrinkly. An actual angel had told us that this was a miraculous baby, but he looked rather ordinary to us. Maybe we just have to let him grow up a bit. Wow! What a night.”

Well…it could’ve happened that way.

“And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.  And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.“

luke 2:17-18 KJV
A Modern Day Shepherd
Photo credit: Adapted from Pixabay

I love the idea that the first ones on the scene…the shepherds…may have been teenagers or had teens among them. They heard the news, and together they ran boldly toward it.

Could it be that our youth…like the shepherds…are the hope of Christmas made manifest? No angels foretold their coming; they arrived in the world as ordinary infants…red and wrinkly, and like the shepherds, many are busy working starter jobs. Still, this latest generation…Gen Z… is also taking action on climate change, working for racial and reproductive justice, supporting LGBTQ and gender equality issues, and lobbying to establish sensible gun laws. They hear the message and are running toward it. Should we wait for them to report back on what they see, or can we join them in searching for the baby in the barn?

The days of my youth are long gone, now only visible in the rearview, but I can choose to live the rest of my life in the manner of the shepherds. Perhaps, that is the lesson that all my questions are teaching me.

“Instructions for living a life. Pay attention, Be astonished, Tell About it.”

Mary oliver
A Shepherd in the Christmas Pageant…2017
Yes, that is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

A Box of Memories

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“Memories…May be beautiful and yet…What’s too painful to remember…We simply to choose to forget.”

Bergman/Hamilsch “The Way We Were”

“Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open I’ll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I’ve stored away, just for this time in my life.”

Author Unknown

It’s nearly time for my annual game of Holiday Decoration Tetris. In the past few years, I’ve downsized considerably, resulting in fewer boxes and bins, so the game has become less exciting, but it’s a challenge nevertheless. Before I can extricate the plastic tubs from the front closet where they have resided… pushed aside, ignored, and buried…for the past eleven months, I have to remove a big box of Easter baskets and artificial flowers that has been unceremoniously stashed on top. Then I need to move the extra, oak, table-leaves that are leaning precariously against the box holding my senior-citizen-living-alone-sized artificial tree. After all the bins have been liberated I will gingerly remove the lids and inspect the contents. To the casual observer, the contents would appear as a collection of inconsequential junk… little plastic sculptures, fragile bits of colored glass, and painted popsicle sticks together with scraps of paper glued and glittered. But, in actuality, they are the tangible manifestation of love and connection held together by memories.

O, ChristmasTree
2020

Most of the holiday trimmings I collected over the years have gone to my children, been sold at the church bazaar, or have simply vanished in the foggy mist of time. The remaining boxes hold only that which is most meaningful. I have a large glass ornament that hung on my mother’s childhood tree.  In its final years, it is nearly naked of paint and gold bits that once adorned it.  I have a few brightly-colored, delicate treasures that have survived from the 1950s.  I remember them from as far back as I can remember.   During the 1970s,  on the day after Christmas, I rushed out, along with many other shoppers in my small town, to purchase Hallmark decorations at half price.  I no longer have most of those bargains, but the few that remain help me recall the love and joy of another place and time.  Art projects from school, church, and crafting days at home hold special memories. I pause momentarily when I take them from the box picturing the tiny fingers that created them and wishing that I could hold those little hands just once more.

  • Made by my granddaughter in 2010 to welcome the New Year.
  • I bought the wax ornament for my mom when I was in high school.
  • A decorative Springerle purchase in Alsace.
  • Crafted with love by my sister.
  • A Sunday School creation
  • Made in elementary school.
  • An at-home crafting project.

More than any other time of year, the holiday season stirs our senses and calls our memories into the present. I hear Silent Night, and I am singing with family and friends outside the Methodist Church on a long-ago Christmas Eve as snow freckles my nose. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and anise transport me to my grandmother’s root cellar with crocks and tins filled with Lebkuchen, Russian Teaballs, and Springerles. Reminders and memory joggers are inescapable. They surround us with connections to people and places we can only visit in our memories. The reliving often brings us comfort, smiles, and joy; but it may also carry feelings of melancholy, loss, and sadness; and an imperative to treasure the present moment and use it to create fresh memories that will give us succor in the future.

I’m not totally sure if it is an age thing or a Covid thing, but I have lived much of this past year…not just this coming holiday season…with a strong reliance on memories and a great deal of longing for the past… for the way things were before coronavirus, rapid-tests, or KN95s…or… at least the way I think they were. So it’s a bit disturbing when I consider the signifant role memories have been playing in my life…especially when I can’t seem to recall what day it is or why I went into the kitchen. I’ll be the first to admit that much of what I choose to remember has been colored by the rosy tint of my glasses. I’m reasonably good at dismissing those memories that don’t tell the story I want to hear.

“In personal life, the warm glow of nostalgia amplifies good memories and minimizes bad ones about experiences and relationships, encouraging us to revisit and renew our ties with friends and family. It always involves a little harmless self-deception, like forgetting the pain of childbirth.” 

Stephanie Coontz

In September, after a two-year absence, I returned to two places that have held great meaning in my life…places where my spirit is most at home…Stratford, Ontario and Star Island off the coast of NH. Before making the trip, I weighed the risks, precautions, and benefits. As I crossed into Canada and as I stepped onto the dock I literally stopped in my tracks to acknowledge just how lucky I was to be returning…stepping out of my memories…out of my imagining…and into a very tangible present. I seemed to slip outside myself a few times and view the situation with some detachment. I was a cinematographer searching for the best angle to capture my present while being aware that there were flashbacks and parallel scenes I’d want to incorporate in the final production. The present always contains shadows of the past.


Swans…Down the Hill from the Theatre
Stratford, ON 2021

In Stratford, I had tickets for live theatre. How amazing was that? After a canceled season, there I was enjoying two plays. A huge canopy had been erected and masks and other accommodations were in place to keep everyone safe, thus allowing the show to go on. I have enjoyed more than 40 seasons at the Stratford Festival, but this time I was there without the Stratford Gang or any family members. Just me. It could have been a heavy-hearted experience, but it wasn’t. Yes, I did miss having companions, but I could hear their voices, feel their laughter, and see them hurrying through the park toward the theatre hoping to arrive before the trumpets sounded. How could I be lonely? They were everywhere.

The Chapel at Sunrise in September
Midweek 2021

The following week found me on the Thomas Leighton, on my way out to Star Island. In June, when I would have normally been on Star, I was still hesitant about traveling. However, once I understood all the safety precautions being taken, I decided that I had to go. I knew that being on that rock in the Atlantic would feed my soul. A few other Shoalers also felt the island’s pull, but most of my friends would not be there. So much of Star Island is constant: the rocks, the wind, the gulls, and the waves, but the people give it life. I felt the absence of old friends even as the memory of their laughter, kindness, and sense of fun echoed in my heart, encouraging me to create new memories and giving me permission to make new connections.

Our memories, the way we tend to experience them, are sort of fuzzy around the edges, like a watercolor that has bled into the past and is not totally clear.

Lisa Joy

I wonder. When we spend meaningful time in a place do you suppose we leave bits of ourselves…our molecules…in the bricks, boards, and stones? Do you think the memories we create in a place are like a form of our DNA? I have visited many sacred sites where the presence of ancestors has been almost palpable. It’s difficult for me to stand in a very old cathedral without being moved. The architecture is designed to elicit a sense of awe and wonder, but I believe it is the lingering memory of the human activity…weddings, baptisms, funerals, innumerable pleas for help, and prayers of thanksgiving…that inspires me…creating the sacred and making it holy.

People don’t realize that now is all there ever is; there is no past or future except as memory or anticipation in your mind.

Eckhart Tolle

I saw a rather sad meme on Facebook recently: When the glue of the family passes away, the holidays are never the same. My first response was to sadly agree, but almost immediately, I had to admit that in reality, the holidays are never the same…they are constantly changing…we never get the same one twice. Wee ones grow up and elders pass away, and eventually, it is our turn to become the glue. It is up to us to create the magic and the memories. As I juggle the tubs, boxes, and bins, I realize that memories come out of those containers, but they also go in as well. Whether we are able to gather in person or if we once again connect over Zoom…we’ll be making memories. We won’t keep them all, but our favorites will be placed safely in the boxes and bins, waiting for another year when they too will be taken out, caressed, and treasured.

“When you are gone, the only truly important thing you will leave behind are the memories you’ve created.”

Michael Hyatt; Daniel Harkavy, Living Forward

Christmas Conversations with That Little Voice in My Head

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One semester my high school art class focused on crafts, including ceramics. While others busied themselves making giant ashtrays and long-haired cats, I concentrated on smoothing seams, selecting colors, and painting a version of the Holy Family: Mary, Joseph, and Jesus lying in a manger. For over half a century, these three have held a place of honor in our family Christmas.

The Art Class Creations of a Teenager

Most nativity scenes…aside from a massive display I saw in Notre Dame Cathedral in Strasbourg that included an elephant…imagine that on the streets of Bethlehem…portray the birth of Jesus as a quiet, solitary affair.  Until the shepherds and the magi show up, it’s pretty much just M, J, and J along with the livestock.

A Section of the Nativity…Complete with Elephant
Notre Dame Cathedral, Strasbourg, France

The story is pretty much the same In the countless retellings I’ve heard.  Mary and Joseph arrived in town. They couldn’t find a room in the local inn, so they took refuge in a stable, and that very night, without the need for pain relief or assistance, Mary gave birth to the infant Jesus, by starlight and the gentle, soothing sounds of the curious animals. 

Perhaps it is because I am spending so much time alone these days, but that little voice in my head…I really should give her a name… has been especially chatty and persistent lately. Our conversations prompt me to reconsider that 2000-year-old narrative and contemplate the details that might have been omitted, overlooked, or cast aside. I also keep thinking that we would have more specifics if a woman had been consulted while the Gospels were written. Women know that every birth comes with a story and that young mothers are usually eager to share the details. I’ve never heard another birth story as short as…it was time to give birth, so she did. Have you seen “Call the Midwife”?

“While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son.”

Luke 2:6-7 NIV

Luke’s gospel tells us that Mary and Joseph went from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. Not the most efficient plan in my estimation, but it seems governmental bureaucracy has been around, literally, since biblical times. Bethlehem was Joseph’s ancestral home…basically his hometown. He had deep roots and many family ties to the small city. Surely, he still had friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles, and perhaps even grandparents living there.  

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David;

Luke 2:4 ASV

As it happens, my son was unintentionally born at home.  While my mom stayed with me, my poor father rushed to fetch a nearby friend, a nurse, to help with the early arrival. Dad entered her house without knocking…totally out of character…and said, in a voice cracking with emotion, “I need help. I have a new baby at my house, and I don’t know what to do with it.”  Within half an hour of his birth, my son was surrounded by his sister, my sister, my parents, the nurse, her entire bridge club, and the next-door neighbors as well. Knowing the excitement around the birth of my son on a quiet November night in rural Michigan,  I find it difficult to believe that Mary and Joseph in a crowded city full of family would have faced the birth alone. The women undoubtedly would have been there to soothe Mary’s brow and tell her when to push. They would have fetched the swaddling clothes, washed the wee one, and rocked him while Mary rested. It seems to me the authors left out all the best parts.  

And what about Joseph?  He seems to get short shrift in this tale.  It’s true that the Joseph in my nativity set lost his crook years ago and has had to have his head reattached a couple of times, but I doubt he was merely a bystander in Bethlehem? If Mary was chosen to be the mother, doesn’t it follow that Joseph was also selected for his role?

One of my fondest Christmas memories happened during the annual church pageant a few years ago. Just as the procession was about to begin, the second-grader playing Joseph looked up at me, and with a voice full of tenderness and hope, asked, “Can I hold the baby, too sometime?”  Of course. Wouldn’t Joseph have wanted to hold the baby sometime too?  Unfortunately, most depictions have him relegated to the background, pushed aside by the shepherds while looking on beatifically.  He must have been tired and perhaps overcome with the miracle and wonder of the moment as he gazed upon Mary and the baby, but he was not unimportant. He gathered hay for bedding, ensured that the sheep and cows kept their distance, and kept Mary and Jesus warm and fed. I have no doubt that then he held the baby too.

St Joseph with the Infant Jesus
Guido Reni (1575-1642)
Joseph seems a little on the old side to me, but who knows?

The Gospels tell us of shepherds, angels, and magi, but not a word about the people who made reservations and actually had rooms in the inn. There were no streetlights in Bethlehem, so what must they have thought when the light of a brilliant star…a star bright enough to be used for navigational purposes…was suddenly beaming in through the window?  How could they get any sleep with something that bright shining in their eyes?  Did they drape blankets over the window, cower in their rooms in fear, or grab their robes and sandals and rush out to explore? 

And behold, the star that they had seen when it rose went before them until it came to rest over the place where the child was. 

Matthew 2:9

If Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem because it was Joseph’s hometown, so to speak, what about Mary’s family? Where were her parents?

This year, when so many of us wish we could be with our children and grandchildren, I feel a strong bond with Mary’s mother, who is unnamed in the Gospels and entirely left out of the story.  She must have worried, not knowing whether the women of Joseph’s family would support and coach Mary through the birth and how her arms must have ached to hold little Jesus, her grandson. Without Zoom, cellphones, or even a reliable postal system to comfort her, how could she focus on her daily chores during the years the young family was in exile in Egypt?

The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne.
Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519
While ignored in the Gospels, she does get a name in the Apocrypha.

I have so many more questions, and there are so many stories within stories in this ancient narrative.  Perhaps that’s the lesson the voice in my head is trying to teach me.  Look beyond the soloist in the spotlight to the angels in the chorus and beyond the shepherds in the stable to the one who had to stay behind to watch the sheep. Like these unnamed characters with uncredited roles, we all have a part to play and a story worth knowing.

Throughout my life, I have seen myself as the frightened shepherd who nonetheless curiously ventures forward, the seeker who journeys toward a promise and a goal, the young mother rocking her child, and now in the autumn of my life, the grandmother, yearning to be near her family. We can all find ourselves somewhere in the narrative if we look carefully.

The Arrival of the Shepherds
Photo credit: Pixabay

In the manner of Mary’s mother, this holiday season, I will patiently wait for the time we can all be together again. I will wear my mask, social distance, and wash my hands, keeping myself safe until that time.

In the meantime, like the folks in the inn, I’ll have to decide whether to cover the window and ignore the star or find new ways to join the celebration safely.

Update: Christmas 2021…A year later, the threat of covid still hangs in the air, much like the decree from King Herod following the birth of Jesus. However, unlike M, J, and J, there is no escape into a foreign land. Grandmothers around the world face the same threat and the same dilemma.

And yet, as I await Christmas morning, I chuckle to myself. The wee ones are looking forward to a visit from a chubby, old, white-haired guy in a sleigh, while I, a chubby, old, white-haired woman driving a Mini-Cooper, can hardly wait for the arrival of those little children. So…I am vaccinated, boosted, tested, and masked…a small price to pay for smiles, hugs, and the closeness of family.