Bring on the Christmas carols.
Those
who know me well may find a disconnect between how I feel about music during
December and my relation to it the rest of the year. I’m not a particularly
musical person. I don’t play an instrument can’t carry a tune. If alone in the
car or at home, I am much more likely to put on National Public Radio than
classic rock or contemporary hits. As a kid, I never bought records or tapes,
and unlike many of my friends, I didn’t have a poster of Andy Gibbs on my wall
in fourth grade. As a young adult, I rarely bought CDs and my apartment as a
twenty-something, was one of the few I knew without the ubiquitous CD tower
next to the stereo. I’ve downloaded exactly 13 songs off iTunes, and all of
them were purchased for the purpose of background music for one of our family
slideshows. If I need music downloaded for a party, I put my 13-year-old or
husband on the task. It’s not that I dislike music—I love to dance and do have
a few favorite bands (U2; Midnight Oil; REM.) It’s just that music isn’t
something that I consciously approach on a daily basis-- except during
Christmas. During the Advent and Christmas season, I cannot get enough carols.
On the radio; on cheesy Christmas CDs; from the Pandora Web site, which figures
out what music you like by having you click “thumbs-up” or “thumbs-down” after
a song— I love it all.
In
thinking about why I like Christmas carols so much, what I discovered is that
the carols, played during a season that is undeniably a lot of work, tell me
what I should be thinking of while I am doing that work. They bring me to a
better place. While I know others who get cynical and bitter about all the work
of the Christmas season—cleaning, cooking, baking, decorating, entertaining, I
can be lulled into a spirit of peacefulness—if not full blown joy—by simply
listening to “Away in a Manger” as I peel 24 potatoes for the upcoming family
dinner. Here’s what I take away from
some of my favorite carols:
Little Drummer Boy: If the Drummer boy
can play a drum for Jesus and be satisfied with that, I can be happy with what
I’m doing, too. Am I a faultless mom? A flawless writer? Are these potatoes
going to be the most delicious my guests will ever taste? Certainly not, on all
three counts. But by in large, I do my best for Him. I play my life for Him.
Pah-rum-pah-pah-pum. “The Little Drummer Boy” reminds me that whatever I offer
is enough.
O Come All Ye Faithful: First, triumphant is an outstanding word. Try
saying triumphant without
straightening your shoulders a bit-- it’s impossible. Seldom are we invited to
the feeling of triumph. It seems a word reserved for winning the Kentucky Derby
or medaling in at least three events in the Olympics. Yet this song dares to
begin, “O Come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant.” This song is telling
me that I’m welcome to feel joyful and
triumphant simply because I’m faithful. I’ll take it. And now I’ll write 17
more Christmas cards even though it’s already 11 p.m.
Do You Hear What I Hear? It’s the
questions in this song that capture me. Whether it’s the Night Wind speaking to
the Little Lamb or the Little Lamb asking the Shepherd Boy, everyone’s running
his or her observations about that first Christmas past someone else.
Regardless of how obvious the miracle is, we still need to ask each other, “Do
you see what I see? Do you know what I know?” And this is why faith must
involve community.
What Child is this? I never hear the
word “lap” in church. It’s not in the first or second readings, the Psalm
response or the Gospel. It’s rarely in the homily. Yet, “lap” is a word I—and
every mother I know—uses every day. There’s something about the juxtaposition
of “What child is this, who laid to
rest, in Mary’s lap is sleeping,” with the line a few moments later in the
song, “This, this is Christ the King.”
Christ the King started his life in a lap. And in some ways, this is the
point of the feast of Christmas—to point out just how ordinary and human Jesus’
beginning was.
An
ordinary beginning— a young family not sure exactly what they’re getting into,
but understanding God is leading. Angels guiding; stars shining; night wind
questioning. And two thousand years later, we’re still singing about it.
Merry
Christmas.
