Christmas is over. Thank you Jesus.
As Christmas approached, I went into one of my holiday depressions. There is no doubt that Christmas is not one of my favorite holidays. I am supposed to feel full of good cheer. I am instead, depressed as I usually am (although it is a low grade depression, the one I always have).
I always say that I discovered the true meaning of Christmas the year that I was working as an ambulance medic in east Oakland. Ghetto kids mugging an old lady to get money for Christmas presents. A suptuously appointed home in the Oakland hills where we got a call to find that hubby had thrown his wife across the room, breaking her tailbone, and being met at the door by their daughter, who, when we arrived, pointed her face toward her mother with an expression of "here we go again." People getting plastered and crashing their cars into traffic barriers, and wasn't it nice that they didn't kill anyone else in the process?
I try not to take Christmas too seriously, except for the exchanges that I go through with my sisters family. Every year, on my birthday, my sister sends me a check for a hundred bucks (which I consider rather nice, considering that I don't even remember the day that SHE was born). Every Christmas I send the family a Honeybaked ham (the largest one they offer which is sixteen pounds, which will feed her, her husband, her nine kids, all grown, with eight of them married, and seven of them with kids of their own).
For the most part, I do not send cards, I do not give presents, and my great relief is when the whole process is over, which occurs on December 26.
I finally figured out how to celebrate Christmas without jumping off the Golden Gate bridge.
Here is my secret.
Every year, my church (the libs in my congregation insist on calling it a "Society", but I continue to consider it as a church. For your information, my church is the First Unitarian Universalist CHURCH of San Francisco) . On Christmas eve, we hold two candlelight services. One is the family candlelight service, which is held earlier in the evening. The other is the later candlelight service held at 8PM.
I was one of the ushers for the 8PM service. We sang Christmas carols that acknowledged that the whole purpose of this day was to celebrate that Jesus Christ, the son of God, was born. Whether He was born on December 25, or whether the Catholic Church decided to preempt the pagan solstice celebrations by planting the date here doesn't matter to me. What mattered to me that was that Jesus Christ, the son of God, was born. I don't care about the date.
It occured to me that the real meaning of Christmas had nothing to do with shopping, had nothing to do with Santa Claus (who in real life was a bishop in Asia Minor now referred to asTurkey, who, when he was confronted with a father who was ready to sell his daughters into prostitution, had anonymously given three bags of gold, so that the father had dowrys, so that his daughters could marry).
After the service, (where I had a great time saying Merry Christmas) I went to my favorite watering hole where I had a pitcher of beer.
After finishing up the pitcher, I took Muni to go the midnight service at Grace cathedral.
You talk about smells and bells. The Episcopalians really know how to do Christmas.
Orchestras, choirs, organs playing Bach, holy communion (which I partook of) and holy water, (which I crossed myself with) .
Christmas is a celebration in which we celebrate the birth of Christ. There is no other meaning to it.
I always say that I discovered the true meaning of Christmas the year that I was working as an ambulance medic in east Oakland. Ghetto kids mugging an old lady to get money for Christmas presents. A suptuously appointed home in the Oakland hills where we got a call to find that hubby had thrown his wife across the room, breaking her tailbone, and being met at the door by their daughter, who, when we arrived, pointed her face toward her mother with an expression of "here we go again." People getting plastered and crashing their cars into traffic barriers, and wasn't it nice that they didn't kill anyone else in the process?
I try not to take Christmas too seriously, except for the exchanges that I go through with my sisters family. Every year, on my birthday, my sister sends me a check for a hundred bucks (which I consider rather nice, considering that I don't even remember the day that SHE was born). Every Christmas I send the family a Honeybaked ham (the largest one they offer which is sixteen pounds, which will feed her, her husband, her nine kids, all grown, with eight of them married, and seven of them with kids of their own).
For the most part, I do not send cards, I do not give presents, and my great relief is when the whole process is over, which occurs on December 26.
I finally figured out how to celebrate Christmas without jumping off the Golden Gate bridge.
Here is my secret.
Every year, my church (the libs in my congregation insist on calling it a "Society", but I continue to consider it as a church. For your information, my church is the First Unitarian Universalist CHURCH of San Francisco) . On Christmas eve, we hold two candlelight services. One is the family candlelight service, which is held earlier in the evening. The other is the later candlelight service held at 8PM.
I was one of the ushers for the 8PM service. We sang Christmas carols that acknowledged that the whole purpose of this day was to celebrate that Jesus Christ, the son of God, was born. Whether He was born on December 25, or whether the Catholic Church decided to preempt the pagan solstice celebrations by planting the date here doesn't matter to me. What mattered to me that was that Jesus Christ, the son of God, was born. I don't care about the date.
It occured to me that the real meaning of Christmas had nothing to do with shopping, had nothing to do with Santa Claus (who in real life was a bishop in Asia Minor now referred to asTurkey, who, when he was confronted with a father who was ready to sell his daughters into prostitution, had anonymously given three bags of gold, so that the father had dowrys, so that his daughters could marry).
After the service, (where I had a great time saying Merry Christmas) I went to my favorite watering hole where I had a pitcher of beer.
After finishing up the pitcher, I took Muni to go the midnight service at Grace cathedral.
You talk about smells and bells. The Episcopalians really know how to do Christmas.
Orchestras, choirs, organs playing Bach, holy communion (which I partook of) and holy water, (which I crossed myself with) .
Christmas is a celebration in which we celebrate the birth of Christ. There is no other meaning to it.
posted by hans at 1:13 AM
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