Traditions. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, they just keep on coming.
One of mine, this season, is watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” (something my husband doesn’t share). Black and white, sappy, some rather creative theology. A Tradition.
George Bailey is the goodest Good Guy in the entire history of the world (OK, second goodest). Small town George dreams of travel, saves his pennies, buys a huge suitcase and sets his face into the wind. At the last possible moment, duty calls and he, being a Good Guy, unflinchingly sacrifices his dreames and his pennies to stay in his little town to serve family and community.
This happens several times. You’d think he’d learn.
In one scene, George and his uncle are waiting at the station for his brother to come home from college. Hearing a distant whistle, George asks, "Do you know what the three best sounds in the world are?" "Breakfast is served, lunch is served, dinner is serv…" "No, no,” George interrupts, “Anchor chains, plane motors and train whistles."
Let’s take a vote. Hands up all who agree that train whistles are a glorious thing… OK, hands up all who cringe driving past a “Keep the train whistles” lawn sign… Now I know where you live. Hands down.
Traditions are like train whistles. You love ‘em, or hate ‘em. Sometimes both at the same time and Christmas is the biggest honking train whistle of them all, isn’t it?
It starts with a whisper (a touch of red and green among the black and orange; somebody on the radio says “good will”).
Then, it’s closer (your mom says she’s made the fruitcake and it’s ‘ripening’ in the fridge; you note a 89% increase in TV toy ads).
A little louder now (hints start dropping like leaves in October; oversize socks hang all over the mall) and then -- you feel it you feel the power shaking the ground under your feet areyouready-areyouready-areyouready-areyouready you just can’t bring yourself to turn that calendar page you know that when you do it’ll be in sight you’ll be overtaken by the urge to flee the muscles between your shoulder blades will scream, “It’s coming! It’s coming! Get off the tracks! RUUUN!!”
Or is it just me?
Only me, dreaming of a tinsel-less, turkey-less time? Of a merry little Christmas? Without lists, recipes, countdowns and timetables? When boxes marked “Decorations” remain unopened and strings of lights stay happily tangled, as they clearly wish to be? When expectations are dropped and nothing has to be the best ever?
A time of, instead of ‘doing’ Christmas, ‘keeping’ Christmas?
I’d be happy with the 3 albums I actually like (Bruce Cockburn, Nicole C. Mullen, Vince Guaraldi), hot mulled cider, church on the Eve, and the Story. The impossible, beautiful Story full of mad kings, midnight angels and normal people doing abnormal things, not knowing why or how. Christmas can even start to make sense, with the Story.
Maybe the whole problem is point of view. We see Christmas coming, try to run alongside for a while, then, disillusioned, watch it go. What would happen if we flag down the train, and climb on board? If we discover that we, each and all, are in the Story, and take our own place? Maybe it would change our perspective.
Maybe it would change everything.
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