Not a very Christmasy Christmas Post

A Bah Humbug

This is a bit unlike me. This might be the closest thing to a political post I’ll ever have on this blog. I love Christmas . . . it’s certainly my favorite holiday. And I’m loving my first married Christmas. But I just had to share.

If you’re enjoying the warm fuzzies of the holidays and want to hold on to them, you might want to stop reading and wait for my next post, which, I’m sure, will be a whole lot more jolly.

Without going into a whole long rant over things that people normally complain about during this time of year, let me simply share with you a few images from my Christmas season so far.

One. I was driving to work this morning when I looked over at the car next to me to see that the driver was wearing a Santa hat. “How nice,” I thought. Someone in the spirit of the season. Then I got closer and saw a cigarette hanging from his mouth. There was something very ugly and very wrong about that.

Two. I was finishing my Christmas cards the other night when I had to ask myself when wrapping and decorating and Christmas cards became something to “get done” rather than to enjoy. Don’t we all (well, the women, at least) have lists of things to “get done” before the holidays and complain that they’re coming too quickly?

Three. Last week sometime, I was listening to my Christian radio station, enjoying some Christmas music, when one of the DJs announced that she was going to read a heartwarming and touching email she received from a friend . . . and, of course, it turned out to be one of those sappy forwards that we all get . . . all too frequently. “Lord, let me remember that the person who cut me off in traffic might be a single mom who is rushing home to make dinner for her children, help them with their homework, and spend some precious moments with them before they go to bed. . . Lord, help me remember . . .” Ick. I can’t go on. Lord, help me remember why I listen to that station.

Somehow, what irritates me more than anything else about the holiday season (more than the commercialism, the way people spell it “x-mas,” and the crowds of hassled and rude people) are the reminders we get of the “reason for the season” (does that phrase make anyone else gag?) – are we really so stupid that we need watered down versions of real messages? Do these things really help? Because, I can tell you, when someone cuts me off in traffic, I don’t really care where she’s going (although I usually have a suggestion).

With all this in mind, I’ll share a poem that has stuck with me since I studied it in college. I guarantee you’ll never find this on a Hallmark card. It pretty much sums up the “reason for the season.” And yes, it lays on a pretty heavy coat of guilt, but, after all, this is Robert Southwell . . .

THE BURNING BABE.
By Robert Southwell

As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear;
Who, scorchëd with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed
As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.
"Alas," quoth he, "but newly born in fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I.
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;
The fuel justice layeth on, and mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defilëd souls,
For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood."
With this he vanished out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I callëd unto mind that it was Christmas day.

Ok. So, sorry for the unusually bitter post. I’m sure after another cup of egg nog, I’ll feel just fine . . .