Treasuring and Pondering

December 30, 2012

Luke 2: 1-20

 

I watched two Christmas movies this week with my family.  One was the classic Christmas musical, White Christmas, with some of the best singers and dancers of their time—Rosemary Clooney, Danny Kaye, and Bing Crosby.  I love the dancing, the singing, and the story.  It’s all so magical.

The other movie I watched over the holiday was also about magic—or, trying to find the magic, the specialness in Christmas.  In A Christmas Story, Ralphie was doing all he can to get the most wonderful, special Christmas present–official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model BB rifle with a compass in the stock.  Whenever Ralphie told someone what he wants, he’s disappointed to hear the familiar, “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”  But, this did not deter Ralphie’s enthusiasm for this toy.

On Christmas day, Ralphie did finally get the gift he’d hoped for.  And the moment of opening that gift is magical—Ralphie jumped up and down and screamed for joy as he realized that the gift he was opening was the one he’d wanted all along.

But, the joy and magic quickly ended when he took the long awaited gift outside to try it out.  Ralphie took aim, fired, and fell back; the pellet bounced off the target and hitting him on the cheek, knocking his glasses off. Fearful for a second that he actually did shoot his eye out, Ralphie collected himself and looked for his glasses but accidentally steps on them, breaking them.

And just like that, the magic of Christmas was over for little Ralphie.

 

In both movies, the magic—that special feeling you get around Christmas—only lasts for so long.  Then, the music is done, the wrapping paper is recycled, the ornaments are back in their boxes.  And, it’s back to reality, back to responsibilities, and back to work.

 

In our story from Luke today, we hear the story that must be the absolute height of Christmas magic—the story of Jesus’ birth.  Mary gavebirth to Jesus, in a stable.  She wrapped her child with strips of cloth, and laid him in a feeding trough.

Meanwhile, the shepherds were visited by angels, who told the shepherds where they would find Jesus, while the angels sang, and filled the heavens with music.

After the light and music show from the angels (because really, what’s Christmas without a good show?), the shepherds headed out to look for Mary, Joseph and Jesus.  And when they found this family, they told them everything the angel said.

 

The nativity story as we usually tell it leads us to believe that this is a serene, tranquil, carefully orchestrated scene.  But, I rather doubt it.  It’s chaotic—with shepherd strangers announcing themselves to an exhausted Mary and Joseph.  Shepherds were not exactly known for being full of grace and decorum.  I’ve equated them to being the modern equivalent of a biker gang.  The angels met a biker gang, and the biker gang showed up to see this baby Jesus.  That is a chaotic scene.

It’s a smelly scene—it smelled like animals, and feces, and newborn babies.

And it’s a scene full of differing agendas.  The shepherds want to see Jesus, Joseph is probably feeling a little protective, and Mary—well, I’d imagine that Mary just wants to get some rest, and make sure Jesus gets a little rest too.

But with all the chaos, the smells, and the people in this stable, with differing needs and agenda, Mary did a most unlikely thing.

Mary treasured all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

 

There’s a lot about this story—particularly in Luke’s telling of it—that is unlikely, and unexpected.  There’s a lot about this story that is surprising and should never have happened. But this moment of Mary’s has become one of the most unexpected of them all.

In the middle of all the chaos of the first moments after her child’s birth—in a stable, with animals standing around, and uninvited, unrefined shepherds banging on her door, Mary looks around at all of this, and treasured it.  She enjoyed it.  And she reflected on it.

Now, I can understand treasuring and reflecting on the goodness of the season from the comfort of my sofa, while watching my loved ones open their gifts, and watching my children enjoy their special gifts.  I can understand feeling the magic watching the greatest holiday movies of our time, listening to songs about snow and family love.  I understand the magic of Ralphie’s most notable Christmas as he finally received that gift for which he has longed.

 

But sitting in the middle of a stable, among animals, a newborn baby, and a bunch of gruff, uncouth shepherds, Mary treasures all of this.  She saw the special-ness, the unlikely magic of it all.  She pondered it, reflected on it, and held it close to her heart.

 

Remember also, all the events of Mary and Joseph’s last several months.  Mary was visited by an angel, she visited her cousin, Elizabeth, who confirmed her pregnancy and rejoiced with her.  Mary waited to hear whether Joseph would accept her as his wife, even though she was pregnant, and they traveled together to Bethlehem for the census.  After a few days of riding on the donkey, Mary was ready to give birth, and when they couldn’t find any other place to stay, they ended up in a stable, where she gave birth to Jesus, the child God promised would save her people.

That’s a lot of chaos in a few short days.  And it was one of those situations where one twist in the story could have destroyed this fragile plot.  What if Mary had refused to take on this job as incubator and mother of the most high?  What if Joseph had refused to stand by her side?  What if they had found a room?  What if Mary had chosen to focus on the terrible, crazy things that happened in the previous months.  She could have chosen fear and anxiety about the conditions of her first born’s birth, the visitors to her moments after Jesus’ ill-timed arrival, and all the things that went wrong.

But Mary—only a teenager–treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.

 

I’ve been wondering this week what I’d do if I was Mary.  I am an introvert, I don’t enjoy being at the center of things, and I don’t like a lot of noise and chaos.

Even as the new parent of God’s human child, shepherds telling me their story and animals bleating and braying in my ear would be too much.  I’d need some time for quiet, some time to think, to deal with my anxiety.

But Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.

 

Sometimes we have the curse of trying to make things too perfect, of trying to make our lives too magical and too right.  We try to make our holiday, our lives conform to a certain pattern or our events happen in a certain way.

And let’s face it, this kind of “magic” rarely happens.  We rarely find magic in the careful planning and orchestration of our lives.

It’s often in the unplanned, un-orchestrated chaos that we see God at work, or that we feel that special feeling that we long to feel.

 

We could choose to focus on the chaos of family gatherings gone wrong.  But those are indeed moments to ponder and treasure.  They are holy moments, moments of interruption and chaos.  They shake us out of our regular way of looking at things, and they upset the prescribed way of living and being.

And they make the best stories.

Life does not go according to our best laid plans.  But they are—even in the chaos—holy moments to reflect on, moments of grace in chaos.  In all these moments, the tranquil and the terrible, the perfect and the disastrous, God is there, making things new.  Interrupting, confounding, comforting and disturbing.

And leaving us many moments to ponder and treasure.