Speaking of Raucous Praisefests,
After further thought on the matter, I am re-tooling Christmas.
I don't know about you, but when our girls were born, we lit candles, encouraged everyone around to speak softly and asked them to spend time in "quiet reflection" about what life was like before the baby. Some may say births are cause for celebration, aptly greeted with high pitched squeals, hearty pats on the back, balloons, cigars and champagne, but not us. We are Christians. "Quiet reflection" is the spiritual way to handle everything.
Take, for example, our birthdays. Instead of a "party," we host a "celebration." We invite everyone to a sterile, neutrally decorated room (the more it looks like a sanctuary, the better), make them all face forward in relatively uncomfortable bench seating and slap a hymnal in their hands. We love the enthusiasm with which they drone on, blankly singing verse after verse after verse. We're sure they're not concentrating on the lyrics that tell us how awesome we are, because their minds are consumed with thoughts of the gifts they're all going to give each other in honor of us. Sometimes, if the resources are there, we'll really blow our guests away by having some friends display their really awesome musical talents. It doesn't really have anything to do with us, but that's cool. We'll do whatever it takes to get people to come to our party instead of someone else's.
We light candles, of course, because that's what we've always done. It just goes so nicely with that song about how silent it was the night we were born, where all was "calm" while mom was in heavy labor, and then we just slept in heavenly peace because, you know, that's what babies do. And everyone is welcome to bring their kids - we love kids! We'll even tell them a little story in the middle, but we'd appreciate if they'd be quiet the rest of the service, because that way the rest of us can "quietly reflect."
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So I'm re-tooling Christmas next year. I was thinking, since in theory it's the celebration of Jesus's birth, that maybe a real party was the way to go. Pull out all the stops, you know? Celebrate the way you would celebrate your best friend's 30th, or your grandmother's 100th. Really, if there's a life worth celebrating, wouldn't it be His?
But no, that's not as spritual as candles and peaceful singing.
You know what I think happens? I think we talk our way into believing these traditions of quiet reflection at Christmas are actually Biblical, because we all just so desperately need to slow down every now and then. But maybe we feel like we can't, unless we concoct a Jesus reason to do it. Now, I can't speak for Jesus, but if it were my birthday, I'd be a little disappointed in the somber traditions we set up using my name to do it. I'd want everyone to slow down frequently for their own good, but really crank it up when it's time to celebrate Me.
I don't know about you, but when our girls were born, we lit candles, encouraged everyone around to speak softly and asked them to spend time in "quiet reflection" about what life was like before the baby. Some may say births are cause for celebration, aptly greeted with high pitched squeals, hearty pats on the back, balloons, cigars and champagne, but not us. We are Christians. "Quiet reflection" is the spiritual way to handle everything.
Take, for example, our birthdays. Instead of a "party," we host a "celebration." We invite everyone to a sterile, neutrally decorated room (the more it looks like a sanctuary, the better), make them all face forward in relatively uncomfortable bench seating and slap a hymnal in their hands. We love the enthusiasm with which they drone on, blankly singing verse after verse after verse. We're sure they're not concentrating on the lyrics that tell us how awesome we are, because their minds are consumed with thoughts of the gifts they're all going to give each other in honor of us. Sometimes, if the resources are there, we'll really blow our guests away by having some friends display their really awesome musical talents. It doesn't really have anything to do with us, but that's cool. We'll do whatever it takes to get people to come to our party instead of someone else's.
We light candles, of course, because that's what we've always done. It just goes so nicely with that song about how silent it was the night we were born, where all was "calm" while mom was in heavy labor, and then we just slept in heavenly peace because, you know, that's what babies do. And everyone is welcome to bring their kids - we love kids! We'll even tell them a little story in the middle, but we'd appreciate if they'd be quiet the rest of the service, because that way the rest of us can "quietly reflect."
-----------
So I'm re-tooling Christmas next year. I was thinking, since in theory it's the celebration of Jesus's birth, that maybe a real party was the way to go. Pull out all the stops, you know? Celebrate the way you would celebrate your best friend's 30th, or your grandmother's 100th. Really, if there's a life worth celebrating, wouldn't it be His?
But no, that's not as spritual as candles and peaceful singing.
You know what I think happens? I think we talk our way into believing these traditions of quiet reflection at Christmas are actually Biblical, because we all just so desperately need to slow down every now and then. But maybe we feel like we can't, unless we concoct a Jesus reason to do it. Now, I can't speak for Jesus, but if it were my birthday, I'd be a little disappointed in the somber traditions we set up using my name to do it. I'd want everyone to slow down frequently for their own good, but really crank it up when it's time to celebrate Me.
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