Emergent Village
“God, thanks for all this awesome stuff. Sorry to run, but we need to buy some more shit to be thankful for!”
I’d love to tell you that I’m better than that. I wish I could say that version of the holiday season repulses me. But I’m struggling this year.In years past, it’s become a tradition with my daughter to stay up and drive around to see all the hardcore shoppers camped out waiting for those huge discounts. And we’ve even ventured into some stores to enjoy the spectacle. On occasion, my curiosity has been piqued to the point of making a random, expensive purchase (after intense conversations with Micky explaining how much we need the thing).
I still think buying the Xbox360 was a good choice. 🙂
So, this year, my dear wife has again expressed her desire for a “smaller, simpler Christmas.” I mean, we say that EVERY year and we’re sure we mean it! But my spending has gone up proportionally with my income and the eyes of man are never satisfied, so I buy that gadget that will make my kids “happy.” However, this year I’ve been told that she means business…and I believe her.
And I know all us liberal, progressive Christians are supposed to be more “socially-concious” and less materialistic, and I know those are good things to be, but—and here’s my confession—I’m not there yet.
In my heart, I know there’s not a purchase that can be made that will bring my children true joy. There’s not a device or jewelry that can show my wife how loved she is. There’s no present that will bring peace on Earth or good will to all mankind.
I know these things, and I still struggle. I don’t know why, and to really dig deep and consider it? Well, who has the time?
This will be my first Thanksgiving, Advent and Christmas where I’m more uncertain than ever about all this whole God thing.
In the past, it’s been easy!
Saying prayers of thanks around our table holding hands with family and friends.
Lighting candles on the Advent wreath and reading the story every night.
Singing Christmas carols about the virgin birth of Christ our Lord come to us on that holy night.
But now, I don’t know if God is listening or if he had anything to do with my family’s year and how good or bad it went. I don’t have a church family with which to reflect on Advent every week. Sometimes, I’m so hung up on what I do or don’t believe anymore that the idea of celebrating seems ridiculous.
And I suppose therein lies the rub.
The story of a silent god—perhaps a god thought long dead—who suddenly speaks softly into our existence with his own existence. Out of nowhere. Out of nothing. Ex nihilo. And the creation story is told again in a new way. From the fertile soil of “nothingness,” something new is created.
If there is to be any hope in my heart—a heart so full of nothingness—then I need that story. I need a god who creates something from nothing. I need a god who whispers into my silent world of nothing and creates something new in me this season.
Last year I crafted a prayer for the first Sunday of Advent’s prayers of the people. It sounds so unfamiliar, but there are parts that I might need to hang on to:
“May we embrace the mystery of your coming. May we sit in the tension of Advent knowing nothing, but hoping for everything. May we find peace in your body and through your Holy Spirit and may all this be done that you would draw the world closer to you.”
Lord have mercy.
Follow me on Twitter if you are so inclined: @iamkcjones. See you guys next month on the 23rd. Thanks for reading my incoherent ramblings.
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