Christmas in the Trenches

Well tonight is it, Christmas Eve. This Advent journey has been special this year because of this daily discipline. I hope that for those of you who followed along that you've found moments of insight and edification along the way. More than that, I hope that all of you have had your own Advent discipline and find yourself ready for the celebration at hand.

Christmas is a potent holiday. It has the power to make us all act like the people we always wanted to be, at least for one day (or perhaps a season). It helps us to believe in the greater truths that we hope would control the world, but sadly never seem to do. Christmas is the birthday of the Prince of Peace, and so we are particularly mindful of the powerful draw of the promise of peace on this holy day. So for my last Advent blog entry I want to lift up the power of peace.

On November 21 of this year, Alfred Anderson died in his sleep, he was 109 years old. At the time he was the oldest man in Scotland. He was also believed to be the last Scottish veteran of World War I and the last survivor of a most remarkable event that happened in 1914 on Christmas Eve. In a number of locations along the Western Front, Allied and German soldiers declared their own unofficial Christmas truce. At least one officer was later court martialed over the incident. It was when soldiers on both sides of the conflict realized that they were all celebrating the same holiday that they rejected the notion that they were so different, disobeyed orders, and met together in "no man's land." Yes, Christmas is that powerful!

Tonight I will share a song at the Christmas Pageant written by John McCutcheon called Christmas in the Trenches that memorializes that event. Here are the lyrics:


Christmas in the Trenches
words & music by John McCutcheon

Inspired by a back-stage conversation with an old woman in Birmingham, AL, this song tells a story that is not only true, but well-known throughout Europe. For some of the history behind the 1914 WWI Christmas Truce, click here.

My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool,
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung,
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure coming from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for evermore.

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.

©1984 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

I pray that you will know the gift of true peace this Christmas; peace that is not just the absence of conflict, but a peace that breaks down barriers and realizes that in the end we are all the same.

Blessings on you and the ones you love, and most especially those whom nobody loves this holy day!

The Gift-Giving Saint

While most of us know that the Santa Claus story is based on the life of Saint Nicholas, many of us have never had the pleasure of learning about the life of Nicholas, Bishop of Myra. There is a wonderful web site, www.stnicholascenter.org where you can read more about this man. I visited the site to retrieve the details of the most famous story about Nicholas. Here it is:

One story tells of a poor man with three daughters. In those days a young woman's father had to offer prospective husbands something of value—a dowry. The larger the dowry, the better the chance that a young woman would find a good husband. Without a dowry, a woman was unlikely to marry. This poor man's daughters, without dowries, were therefore destined to be sold into slavery. Mysteriously, on three different occasions, a bag of gold appeared in their home-providing the needed dowries. The bags of gold, tossed through an open window, are said to have landed in stockings or shoes left before the fire to dry. This led to the custom of children hanging stockings or putting out shoes, eagerly awaiting gifts from Saint Nicholas. Sometimes the story is told with gold balls instead of bags of gold. That is why three gold balls, sometimes represented as oranges, are one of the symbols for St. Nicholas. And so St. Nicholas is a gift-giver.

Following the Protestant Reformation, Protestant leaders worked hard to eradicate all semblance of the veneration of saints. Somehow, St. Nicholas escaped this fate (although merchandizing and marketing have been able to co-opt Santa Claus in our time). I like to believe that it was because this central "miracle" of his was one that any and all of us can and should emulate. The gifts he gave were gifts that mattered; gifts that made a differnce. I hope that you have put the same energy into your gift giving this Christmas. More than that, I hope that you continue after Christmas to look for chances to give gifts that make an important difference in the lives of others who have great needs.

Christmas Cards

I'm glad that I have friends who send Christmas cards. We have done it only sporadically. But as time passes I have found that there are some people from my past that I only average annual contact (unfortunately usually one-way) through a card this time of year. One sentence of news can be sufficient. One friend has stopped smoking, another says that things are going much smoother. Each brings a smile and adds to the joy of the season.

The picture ones certainly mark the passing of time. This year I've seen pictures of babies celebrating their first Christmas, as well as children looking much older than I remember them! One child in one of the pictures is Catherine. Not too many years ago we were praying that she would live to see another Christmas. Then she had a bone marrow transplant and is now completely healthy. If you attended my ordination service you heard her sing Won't You Let Me Be Your Servant? The gift of life came from her brother, Alex. That gift, her life and the love and prayers that sustained her and her family remind me of what the true gifts of Christmas are. I hope you take a moment to consider what those gifts are for you this year.

The Longest Night

It is good that Christmas is near, so I can stop making excuses for why the blog isn't updated. Actually, as reasons for missing a day go, today's is pretty good. I wasn't able to update the blog last night (or "today" according to the way I will make the date appear) because I spent the night at the church with the homeless families we are hosting this week.

Aside from the obvious Christmas message of making room at the inn for a homeless family, I realized that since the winter solstice took place in the afternoon, I was spending the longest night of the year at the church. The very reason that the church chose this time of year to celebrate the birth of the savior (no one really knows when he was born, though December is rather unlikely) was because of this event. At the time when there is more darkness than any other time of the year we most need the promise of light. People suffering sadness and depression often describe their experience as a long night. Long cold nights also tend to accentuate our losses, particularly if they are fresh.

So on this longest night, my thoughts and prayers are with those who find it hard to be festive in this season, particularly those who are facing a first Christmas without a loved one. May they know the peace of God and the embrace of friends.

Acknowledging Sacredness

In this season of connections I've found the book Gilead, and how it has moved clergy from John Thomas to me. In his letter that I quoted yesterday, he also points to a passage in the book where the narrator talks about baptism and describes it as "to touch another with the pure intention of blessing, " a blessing that does not "enhance sacredness, but acknowledges it." Among the blessings of my vocation is that I get called upon to do just that. When I enter a hospital room, I don't bring God with me, I point to the God who is already there. And when I preach, if I do the hard work of getting out of the way, God speaks through me despite all the clever and not-so-clever things I attempt.

Such was my experience this past Sunday. I felt that I stumbled a bit through the delivery of the sermon. I didn't particularly feel that it came off too well. Perhaps some of you will agree. But true to form, a more than usual number of people has postive comments. But what really touched me was the way one of the visitors with us this week expressed how she was moved during worship. Neither of us pretended that it had anything to do with me, it was her experience of the Holy Spirit during worship. It is such a joy and a privilege to be an instrument of this sort of blessing, not enhancing sacredness, but simply acknowledging it.

We may be waiting for the sacred to come and be born among us, but the truth is that it is already hear and we need to acknowlege it.

Woolworth Madonna

I just finished reading the Christmas letter from the Minister and President of the UCC, John Thomas. In it he quotes E. B. White in 1936:

Shopping in Woolworth’s in the turbulent days, we saw a little boy put his hand inquiringly on a ten-cent Christ child, part of a creche. “What is this?” he asked his mother, who had him by the hand. “C’mon, c’mon,” replied the harassed woman, “you don’t want that ” She dragged him grimly away, a Woolworth Madonna, her mind dark with gift-thoughts, following a star of her own devising.

I was back in the "belly of the beast" today (as witnessed by not one, but two church members!) finishing up some Christmas shopping. I didn't like the feeling of pressure, nor the temptation to buy everything that struck my fancy. It just isn't much fun and it has a way of leading to bad feelings when the gift is not appreciated, or you don't get the thing you most wanted.

I want to have fascination like that of the child E. B. White described. I want to see even the cheap imitation of the holy and reach for the bauble, needing to touch it and marvel at it. I want to be so captivated by Christ this Christmas that I can't see anything else. Unfortunately, it is too easy to see the child in the manger as just another piece of cheap kitsch, small, insignificant and taken for granted.

I am so very much looking forward to Saturday night at 7:00 when the children of the church remind us of the ancient story once again. The star of the show at yesterday's rehearsal was a stuffed rabbit. I've been told that there will be a more human-like doll for the actual pageant. No matter what is placed in that manger in church on Christmas Eve, that is where all the focus will be. In the dark sanctuary a light will break forth, and we will all behold the glory of God. I can't wait!

The Belly of the Beast

Today I went into the belly the beast...the mall! The craziness started with finding a parking place. Actually, my willingness to walk made that relatively easy. Then it was off the the very definition of holiday hustle and bustle. Fortunately for me, my assignment was to watch Angel, which meant spending the afternoon at the food court with a good book (Gilead by Marilynne Robinson, I'm only a couple dozen pages in, but I can already see why it won a Pulitzer prize).

I was aware of the fact that in the midst of the excessive chaos that defines Christmas in America that I was able to find peace and calm. In fact, I almost dozed off a couple of times while reading. The constant chatter of the shoppers became a murmur that practically lulled me into a sleepy state. Still, I would occasionally look around at the shoppers and wonder what they were thinking. Most appeared to be happy, or at least content. But I couldn't help but consider how much they were aware of the reason for the festivities. I had an urge to stop one or two of them and ask them about "the true meaning of Christmas." I would have liked nothing more than to find out from a stranger what Christmas really meant to them.

My guess is that nearly every shopper would have talked about the love of family and comfort of friends, even though they were each willing to subject themselves to the stress of spending money that they may or may not be able to afford because of an expectation of giving material gifts.

I didn't have the gumption to engage anyone in that conversation, so I am left with my conjecturing. But I have a hunch that I'm right when I conclude that everyone agrees that love is the greatest gift.

I Hate Housecleaning

I've met precious few people who enjoy cleaning house, so I suppose I'm not alone in disliking household chores. Today was spent cleaning the house in advance of company coming. Our houseguest is a friend of our son and a stranger to us. So that meant the we wanted to get things spruced up.

Of course, the idea behind my daily blogging was housecleaning in preparation of receiving a guest at Christmas (i.e. Christ) so today provided an object lesson. There have been a few days that the blogging has not come easily and I've grumbled a bit about my promise to do it. Well, just like the necessity of housecleaning, any discipline will be less than enjoyable at times, although still rewarding when completed.

So as I sit here in a (relatively) clean house, I'm aware of the satisfaction it brings. I'm also aware of the need for others, since I did only a tiny fraction of the work. I also realize that the cleaning was important because the person coming is a stranger, we don't usually worry too much about how clean the house is for those who live there (especially since they were the ones participating in the messing up!). So how much inner housecleaning is necessary for Christ's arrival? Where is he on the spectrum of stranger to family member? Perhaps you have a lot of inner work to do, but rest assured that when Christ comes in, he intends to stay...because you are family.

Mundane

Today was a mundane day, nothing exciting happened. Or at least that was my take on the day. I'm sure that with a bit more effort on my part I would have noticed something that would have knocked my socks off, but I didn't. And I didn't notice because I didn't look hard enough. That doesn't make it a bad day, just mundane, which literally means "earthy." Some days are best spent just connected to the earth, knowing your place.

Yesterday, I was walking up the driveway at the church on my way back to my office when I noticed a healthy white-tailed deer with a large rack standing at the end of the driveway on Warren Road! It stood there for a moment, looking in my direction, before running down North Main Street. That is just the sort of experience that we expect from God; breaking in to our mundane exsistences with a startling surprise. But guess what...I didn't see a buck today. Some days the lessons are simply mundane.

Putting Christ Back in Christmas

I find it fascinating that while some folks are up in arms about holiday greetings, holiday sales, and holiday trees instead of Christmas greetings, Christmas sales, and Christmas trees, that some of the mega-churches that some of them attend are choosing to close for Christmas! I think if you look up irony in the dictionary you will find that as the definition! So I got thinking about how to really put Christ back in Christmas. (Warning: the following contains a fair share of bitter sarcasm!)

I think that maybe it might be good to plant oneself outside a Wal-Mart and suggest to the shoppers going in that Jesus never said that buying lots of stuff to give to other people who already have lots of stuff was the proper way to celebrate his birthday. In fact, buying stuff that was made by workers in Third World countries being severly underpaid and working in conditions dangerous to them in factories that are dangerous to the environment might actually be the antithesis of what Jesus wants for his birthday. And maybe going inside to have a chat with the store manager about the low pay and lack of benefits for his employees might be squeezed into this day as well. References to Ebeneezer Scrooge and God's preferential option for the poor might be in order. Or maybe putting Christ back in Christmas means volunteering at a shelter or soup kitchen or hospital or prison on more than the holidays. It might even mean exercising your privilege and power as a citizen in a democracy and insisting that those for whom you vote take seriously the Christmas message and start really taking care of those who can't take care of themselves.

But then again, I might just be way off the mark and Christ might just be more concerned about saving the American economy than saving the souls of those addicted to wealth. Let me check with the scriptures and get back to you on that.

Pat's Owl

Pat Zepp joined me today in my annual winter trek through the “wilds” of Brimfield on a quest to count all the birds that can be found. The occasion was the Sturbridge Christmas Bird Count, a part of a 106-year tradition of documenting bird populations throughout North America sponsored by the National Audubon Society. While it is a count, not a competition, there is some pride taken in being able to provide the best possible data. Thus, Pat was subjected to the determination of Tom Clay and me starting our search for owls as soon as possible, i.e. midnight. This year we were so frustrated by the lack of cooperative owls (not to mention the single digit temperatures) that we actually took a ninety minute power nap back at Tom’s house at 2:30 AM. In the end, the sun rose on three very cold birders who had no owls to show for their efforts.

Not content to show up at the compilation (a reading of the list of species so each of the sectors can report their tallies) owl-less, Pat and I headed out to the location where I knew at least one Long-eared Owl has been roosting lately. When we got there, we soon heard a Great Horned Owl calling, just like we had expected…in the middle of the night each of the two times we had stopped there! Buoyed by this, we set off in the snow into the stand of pines. It was not easy going, but we were determined. Going on such little sleep in addition to having walked miles in the freezing cold all day made this an effort of sheer desperation.

And then it happened. I had taken a cell phone call from my wife, and while explaining to Gina that we were bushwhacking in desperation, the Great Horned Owl called again from very nearby, and from even closer a female Long-eared Owl responded with her distinctive slurred call. Pat’s eyes lit up as he pointed in her direction and said “THERE!” I had paused my conversation and clearly heard the owl call again. While I explained to Gina what we were hearing, Pat said with a big smile, “I got that owl, that’s my owl!” How right he was, he worked hard for that joy, and he had the privilege of being the first to receive it.

That is what Advent is all about. It is a long journey and can take a lot of effort to get to the point of finding Christ. There is every reason to take great joy in the glad tidings that Christ is born!

Slowing Down

I had a very hectic day today, one of those without enough time to get everything done. But the end of the day held the lesson. I visited Gail in the hospital in Worcester where she had surgery to fuse vertebrae in her neck today. The surgery went very well and she was enjoying macaroni and cheese when I arrived. We had an engaging and delightful conversation that included the observation that the month of suffering and worry that she had prior to surgery has been a blessing in disguise. She has had to slow down and take stock. When at first she didn't know what was going on she could imagine the worst. We both agreed tonight that it is good periodically to examine your life to see if you think it is going in the direction God intends. We also agreed that hurrying along life's path is a good way to miss the road signs God places there. It is also an easy way to miss a turn and end up on the wrong road altogether.

I like to think of life as a spiritual journey through woods where the path is marked by the blazes on the tree. It is not always easy to find your way, but all you need to know that you are where you ought to be is a single tree marked by the blaze. Then the only task that matters is finding the next tree. Life can really be that simple; we do only get it one day at time, so all we can do is nibble, gulping doesn't really help!