God is with us, even in unexpected places: Messages of Faith
By The Rev. J. Bennett Guess
Some of the more serious-faced Christians I know feel as if it's their job to critique everything, especially at Christmas. They seem overly irritated by the commercialism of the season, the lavish gift-buying, and the numbing effect of too much to do, too many parties. They are rubbed wrong when the secular seems to be encroaching on the sacred: Mention Rudolph at church and your own Christian credentials could be called into question.
To some extent, I understand the angst. Every year, my family still makes a point to drive by that house with the unique lighted-plastic Nativity scene, the one that includes Santa and Frosty in the mix, alongside the shepherds, Magi and holy family. It's a predictably good laugh.
I've long suspected that the creators of that holiday mash-up were both ill-informed and tacky. (Did I mention it also includes a red-white-and-blue bald eagle statue?) But maybe they know exactly what they're doing. Perhaps it's their way of saying that all things can play a part in revealing and relishing God's love in the world. You can haul out any old thing from your attic, or your heart, and place it at Jesus' feet and that's OK by him.
Locating the "holy" in already holy things is not that difficult. What's hard is training yourself to find the sacred in the ordinary, or even the profane. God thrives on the unseemly and unexpected at Christmas -- a barnyard backdrop, an unwed teenage mother, a bed of straw and livestock slobber, and poor commoners as the first to comprehend some significance in it all. It's as if God is stressing the point: You will find me in the last place you think to look for me.
The church calls it "incarnation" -- the idea that God embraces our humanity, so much so that it's OK for us to embrace it too.
Twenty years ago, as a freshly minted pastor, I thought I had a pretty good handle on what's sacred and what's secular. But the older I get, the less comfortable I am with making such hard and fast distinctions. Defining certain things as religious and other things as outside that realm drastically narrows our search for life's deeper lessons. It's what confines religious people to looking for God in ancient texts and traditions, and perhaps little else, and reinforces the misconception that nonreligious people aren't really on a spiritual journey because they're disengaged from all that "churchy" stuff.
St. Paul once instructed early Christians to "pray without ceasing." I doubt that meant mandatory 24-hour prayer vigils but, instead, asked for an attitude adjustment about how we see ourselves in relationship with the world. It means everything is a dialogue between you and God, a chance to live your praise and gratitude, your questions and worries, in the constant perpetual motion of your crazy life. It's why an impromptu toast among friends can feel like one of the most authentic forms of prayer (and why it's OK to keep that spiritual realization to yourself if you'd prefer.)
The oft-worshipped Everything's-Perfect God zaps too much of our religious imagination. Instead, it's the overlooked Real-Life God who is the one that refuses to compartmentalize us, knowing full well that the holy can be revealed in the strangest of circumstances, even tacky Nativity scenes.
So, this morning, just after you spy what Santa has brought the kids and what the family has picked out for one another, somewhere amid all the strewn wrapping paper and last night's dirty dishes and the angst of paying for it all, when the bonds of family and friendship feel impermeable and your usually hectic schedule has paused itself for a second, remember to look for where your too-distant God is breaking into your life again, maybe even without your consent.
"Emmanuel! God is with us!" the world shouts today. The trick is to live as if it were really so.
Guess is director of publishing, identity and communication for the 1.1 million-member United Church of Christ, which has its national offices in downtown Cleveland.
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