Modern Christmas season often feels exhausting, hollow, and meaningless. It can be stressful on tight budgets. It is often a list of one fun party or celebration or excitement after another.
The weeks before Christmas were never meant to be a time of celebration. It was more solem time for looking forward to celebrating.
What we refer to as the Christmas season was originally called advent. The meaning of advent is derived from Latin “adventus” it means “to come” or “arrival.” The idea was to spend the time leading up to Christmas looking forward in a more contemplative way not by starting celebrations. After Christmas day there was 12 days of celebration ending in a feast of Epiphany.
Christmas is not in the Bible. Christ’s birth and events leading up to it are of course, but the concept of Advent and Christmas were invented by the Catholic church. As far as I can tell or guess (I’m not a historian) the Protestants didn’t entirely give up Christmas probably because of tradition or a desire to look forward to something good in the darkest, coldest part of the year. Eventually there came a switch of celebrating first and a little bit of reflection on Christ’s birth near the end.
I know people who refuse to celebrate Christmas because it’s not in the Bible. If Christmas follows the more modern pattern I tend to agree. I have often felt an unsettling hollow meaninglessness in December. However as I discovered the more original intentions behind Advent, the solemness of it, I feel drawn to the discipline of taking time for Advent, to allow for the quiet solemn moments to drive my heart and mind to the second Advent of Christ.
Advent and Christmas are now a reminder to me of the future of Christ’s return when there will be great rejoicing with great joy. Until then we may move along in our life with the pressure to create a heaven on earth. If we quit trying to aim at heaven on earth, then the hardships of life, the pain, the suffering aren’t meaningless and hollow but are part of the life we have now as we look forward to a time when the sorrow and tears wiped away. By trying to put the Christmas celebration before the Advent, the celebration has less meaning. And when things go wrong, the pain and trouble also has no meaning. If everything is supposed to be all good and happy and perfect, then when something terrible happens it makes all the good things have less meaning because they never allowed for the bad to exist. Attempting Heaven on earth creates the same vain and meaningless hedonism that turns nihilistic when tragedy strikes.
If you feel like Christmas has no real excitement or meaning to you this year, try a time of quiet reflection or advent.
Tonight’s verse in our family Advent is
I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”
–Revelation 22:13
Hymn–
Of the Father’s love begotten
ere the worlds began to be,
he is Alpha and Omega,
he the Source, the Ending he,
of the things that are, that have been,
and that future years shall see,
evermore and evermore!
Copyright 2019 J. A. Goggans
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Stories I know, and ones I don’t know, tend on a regular basis to flash in my mind as an image. I don’t know if this is normal or not, but it does surprise me when stories I don’t know happen to pop in and out of view. It never occurred to me until more recently that I could write them down. I don’t know that there is a great deal of value in writing them down (and often sharing them), but I certainly can’t see any harm. Whenever I begin to think about or write the story, I tend to find out what happens in them. It is incredibly satisfying. You may understand the feeling, if you have ever been annoyed that you could never seem to finish your dreams because you always wake up too soon. Then one day you find a way to finish those dreams even if you wake up.
A few Sunday mornings ago, I was singing a song with an eternal world view. For a moment, the thought of the fear of loosing children and life seemed less painful. I thought of my grandmother living till over 100 years old. Losing much of how she defined herself, even her memory. I wondered, how do you cling to life—your own life, but also loved ones’ lives—while not being afraid of letting go and not giving up after so much loss?
Photo by Jordan Heinrichs on Unsplash
The image of a cowboy on the back of a bull or bucking bronco flashed in my mind.
Holding on.
One hand free.
Knowing he inevitably will be bucked off.
Yet, hanging on without crippling fear that would cause him to fail even faster.
I didn’t know the cowboy on the bucking bronco, but I realized it was a story. A very short story—or is it a long one? You can decide. I think the story it tells must be why there is such a draw to watching that sort of thing for “entertainment.” Some might feel it’s a gross form of entertainment because its touched with the threat of real violence. But I now suspect there is something more to it than that. Maybe it actually touches something much deeper. Most entertainment these days distracts from the reality of dying and living.
Life and raging bull rides inevitably end. For the cowboy, to ignore that reality is disastrous. However, fearing the inevitable is crippling, therefore equally dangerous. We could read entire biographies, watch whole miniseries on a person’s life, and still miss the big picture. For often the big picture is actually small, or in this case very short: a ride on a bucking bronco or raging bull is the story of holding onto this perilous life told in seconds.
Copyright 2019 J. A. Goggans
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Nineteen years ago my grandfather passed away two days after Christmas. I was in sort of a denial phase. The previous year, was a terrible Christmas. My other grandfather went into the hospital, he never fully recovered, and died six months later. I also spent that Christmas day in a prison visiting a relative–not metaphorically, but with real razor wire, guards, and inmates. It felt grey. I can’t remember the Christmas before when they were both alive and well. I can’t remember the last Christmas I had at my childhood home before everything changed forever.
For years I had a hard time with Christmas. I couldn’t look forward to it. I felt the dread of anticipation not the excitement. So many plans where the object is short lived happiness. What could go wrong? This is situation is about as fragile as the glass ornaments I see no reason to put on my tree with little children around. Christmas seemed like a lot of hype that had little to do with anything. A lot of vapor that was really gone in a second. Traditions seemed like a hollow excuse, a manipulation to relive some past moment that could never be captured—much like that vapor that life is. I still believe that tradition should never be used in such a way. But never the less, unlike any other holiday or season, a large part of Christmas is memories, tradition, and nostalgia.
When something bad happens at Christmas it memorializes that tragedy in a unique way. I don’t mean ordinary bad things like being late for work, burning dinner, or the car breaking down. I mean the kind of thing that when revealed it leaves you with that sick hollow ache that won’t leave you even when the morning comes. It keeps you from sleeping, relentlessly hangs on you, and you know down deep that even if you heal and things are made new nothing will be the same. Same. Same isn’t that what people try to do at Christmas? Go back to some Same Place that comforts and brings joy. But now, now, this is the new normal this new thing this horror, this tragedy is the thing you will remember every year or you remember nothing. The evil corrupts even the good Christmases.
Its hard to write this I don’t want to go down this haunted path. But I know, know it in my heart that others experienced death, betrayal, and grief when the world is full of nothing but twinkle lights and parties. And I want to share the hope I found.
Quite awhile ago I began a journey answering the question, “What if I was motivate by joy instead of fear?” Now when I asked this, I didn’t necessarily have a lot of joy and since then, fear still has raised its monstrous head. But the journey of asking the question led me to a see that I had an earthly world view of life and not an eternal one. While this perspective has grown there was one particular moment where it was solidified, and that moment redeemed Christmas even the saddest ones giving them permission to be horrible and sad. And, they lost their power to corrupt.
Two years ago and about 10 months into my journey in Joy, I attended a devotional that my son’s 7th grade class lead. Each student shared a verse and to my surprise the verses were on joyfulness. The last verse was quoted by my own son. We all know the passage, even Linus!
Luke 2:9-10 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. (KJV)
That moment condensed fear vs joy; it was the culmination of my entire year and all of history in one verse. Without that moment in history, when the word became flesh, we wouldn’t have a hope of joy. Now I see Christmas differently because the Christmas season is a discipline in advent where we look forward in the wishes of Christmas Day joy. It reminds me that we are in a season of ADVENT right now. We are looking forward to the hope of Christ’s return. That hope is certain, it is not a wish. Embracing the future hope is what has given me joy when I felt like all was lost. That hollow feeling following tragedy has much to do with why the WORD became flesh and dwelt among us. He is the light in the darkness. He came to bring hope to all people torn by the darkness of this world.
4 and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away.” Revelation 21:4 (NASB)
Mourning and grief at Christmas is really just part of the larger story of ALL TIME. The modern Christmas season is a just the prism of The Story. It is a picture of it all. We weep now, but joy is promised. We can grieve even when joy is promised just as Jesus wept with the women when their brother died. Yet he was going to raise him in moments. Tragedy is part of life but we get through it because of the hope that we have in him. Christmas is no different, it is the hope that we have in him and everyone is celebrating around us. Like one day, when every knee will bow. This momentary light affliction is nothing compared to the eternal weight of glory! Turn your eyes upon Jesus and the things of this world will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace. And suddenly our life isn’t just a vapor anymore it is ETERNAL. Death has lost its sting. We might not know what our life will be like tomorrow but we know that one day we will see him face to face and we will be like him for we shall see him as he is! Do you see how amazing that is? That we will be like HIM? That isn’t just being saved from our sins for that is mercy. For him to make us like him is grace, how can we even imagine what that will be like? We are looking forward in an advent, The Advent of all time, to the day when our joy will be realized, the darkness breaks, the morning comes, the tears are gone and the healing is complete.
“The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”
And as He spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at least they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.
– C.S Lewis, The Last Battle
Have you ever wondered if there is a story—an exciting adventure for example—where there was no trouble? No one writes the “happily ever after” part of the story because what’s there to tell? What good story doesn’t have a bad problem for a hero to face? Isn’t that odd that our good stories must have something bad? We never think of problems in real life as an opportunity, yet without the problem would there even be a hero?
by J. A. Goggans
One energy sapping afternoon that had been filled with dread and high adrenaline, I began to ponder if I would be so soul tired if I were motivated by joy instead of fear? My thoughts turned to eternity in Heaven and considered how joy might be what sustains us for eternity. Much like Bilbo, after having unnaturally long life, who can fathom living in eternity without turning into
“too little butter spread over too much bread?”
Fear in the moment of real danger saves us, but over time fear cripples us with weakness. Fear is necessary in a world with peril. Joy, however, strengthens us when we are weak. In eternity we will no longer have a mortal body that survives through fear and adrenaline response. Could our eternal strength be joy—powerful, pure, perfect joy?
When my son was about two he tripped, as toddlers do. I waited for the inevitable cry, but instead he laughed. As we walked on he clearly was trying to repeat the experience. He began to look for better ways to experience that feeling again by jumping off things.
Everything.
All the time.
He wanted to scare himself. Joy radiates from him and he bounds with energy and sunshine. Is this the foolishness of a child or does this show something of the faith of a child?
I grew up in a home averse to risk. Then I grew up and met risk takers—people who get out of bed because life is full of risk and a little bit of hope. I think I am raising one those people. When I think of peril, I think a bit of my son jumping. But instead of jumping off the deck, its like jumping off a cliff. It is ultimate risk and danger hanging in the balance and there is this moment where you have no idea what will happen that second your feet leave the ground.
As small kids my best friend and I had this theological debate. I said, “If we fell off a cliff in Heaven, we wouldn’t get hurt.” And she would always inform me, “There are no cliffs in Heaven.” She was afraid of heights, so I suppose in her mind horrible cliffs could not possibly be there.
Sometimes I think we look at Heaven like a place where nothing will really happen.
Not something to really look forward to.
A happy place but not motivating.
If you told my little boy he could jump but there wouldn’t be any risk, he might find it a little boring. Maybe he would like it at first but after a while he would look for something else dangerous.
Maybe something in the childhood debate about cliffs makes me ask, “Could eternity be like peril?” Not that it IS perilous, certainly not in a terrible way because Heaven is a place with no tears or pain. Peril would no longer be bad because of the joy strengthening us. Could even peril be redeemed?
Could eternity be a bit like the joy in an adventure story? However, not like any adventure we ever read about because we haven’t read an adventure story without a problem to overcome. Could it be a story of The Happily Ever After, authored by the Hero himself? If so it would not be our best story, it would be a perfect one.
Copyright J. A. Goggans 2018
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I remember when I was very little and my grandparents would come to visit or when we would go to visit them, surprises were often involved. As a small child the anticipation of presents was sometimes just too much and I would ask my Little Boppie what I was getting. Her eyes would twinkle, while staying intent on her crocheting, and she would and reply, “Well, it’s about that size. Its about that shape. Its about that color.” Nothing in her manner or expression gave any indication of which size, shape or color she was mentioning. I would pepper her with questions, about what shape, what size, what color. She would only continue her constant crocheting and say, “Its about that size, about that shape, about that color.” It was her way of teasing me and telling me that I would just have to be patient and find out when it was time. At first this was maddening but soon it was delightful. I played the game with her and I would ask her, “What is my present like?!” just to hear her vague responses. She would smile and tell me again, but her stitches never slowed unless it was to pull up more yarn.
I called my grandmother Little Boppie. The reason has been told to me because I don’t really remember it myself. Mom and Little Boppie shared the telling of this story. Little Boppie would tell me her part of the story with a calm little smile and a twinkle in her eye, and a laugh that told me how much she enjoyed the story. Mom told me that when I was learning to talk, I couldn’t say “Grandpa.” Instead, it came out as “Boppie.” My Grandfather heard it and wouldn’t be called any other name but Boppie. I started calling my Grandmother Boppie, as well, but one day she asked me how they could both be “Boppie.” I said, “He’s Big Boppie.” To which she said, “Who am I?” and I said, “You Little Boppie!” Her eyes and laughter danced when she related her pleasure in being called Little and she wouldn’t be called anything else.
My grandmother taught me how to crochet, reminded me how to play solitaire, shared the joy of putting large puzzles together, and exemplified hospitality, generosity and unconditional love. It was very important to her to have her family all together at the same time whenever she could. Yet that desire didn’t stop her from showing hospitality to others. She would invite anybody to her house anytime of the year, and if you went away hungry it was your own fault. If she knew someone in town who didn’t have a place to celebrate a holiday she invited them to come to her home. She didn’t care if this was “her family” time, if that even entered her mind. Her actions taught me that as Christians we are part of a much bigger family and she treated those in the family of Christ the way she treated her own. She would do just about anything for family or those in need. The list of things would fill this page.
I was out of town as the last few days of her race in life were ending. I knew this was possible and part of me wasn’t sure if I should leave or not. This I cannot regret for I can’t change it, there was no way for me to predict the future. I remember the last time I saw her. It was the Saturday after she had her first very bad week in the hospital—a week I was blessed to be with her during some of the worst of it. The day we visited we brought the kids in too. I peeked through the crack in the door before I entered to check things out before I went in. She was sitting up in a chair! She was smiling and alert! She had that twinkle in her eye back. She looked better than I had seen her since maybe even before she had entered the hospital. We stayed in her room quite a while—as long as the kids could handle behaving themselves in a contained environment. She was put back in bed, and slept a little before I left but when I said, “Good Bye.” She was sitting up in the bed and alert again. I hugged her. I will never forget how she looked me in the eye or tone in her voice. She had certain intensity. Yet her eyes had the old twinkle. She quietly just above a whisper said with joy and sincerity, “I love you.” I said, “I love you.” She said it like she never had before. She had looked at me with joy before, she was always sincere, and had certainly said, “I love you” before, but I realized that moment was different. As I walked down the hospital hall I had a suspicion and now I believe my suspicion to be true. She knew.
Copyright J.A. Goggans 2016
Some of my earliest memories of my grandparents were visiting them at Fort Myers Beach. I have loved the ocean ever since. Something about the ocean and the beach are forever connected in my mind with my grandparents. I was at the ocean when I received the call that she was gone. Although I missed being with everyone at her last, there was something special about being at the edge of the ocean. During times of continued stress in my life pictures of it have often made my heart ache and yet comforted it at the same time. Sitting on the beach represents having no worries or fears—like childhood. The afternoon before I got the call about Little Boppie, I stepped out on the beach. The sun was shining on the ocean so brightly I could hardly look at it. With the peaceful sound of the roaring waves crashing, I thought, “Is this what heaven is like?” After I got the call, I pictured the bright scene in my mind and thought she knows what it is like now–No worries, no pain, just beautiful happiness. “But what is it like?!” I can almost hear her saying, “Well, its about that size. Its about that shape. Its about that color.”
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