So here's a yuletide newsflash: Christmas is probably not about spending time with your family. I realize that such a statement flies in the face of a century or so of accumulated commercial Christmas wisdom--the hundreds of inoffensive plays, television specials, and songs where a family finds the "true meaning of Christmas" after losing its source of income, and as a result its members learn to appreciate each other. I'm not saying this is a bad thing to learn. Obviously, relationships do make us happier than getting stuff, and families are important and good. But the effect of this repeated message is to intensify the loneliness of those who are--for whatever reason--separated from their own families at Christmas. Not only have their loved ones been taken from them, but so has (if the holiday specials are right) an essential aspect of Christmas.
Obviously, it's good to spend time with your family during Christmas, if you have one. It's probably even your duty. But Christmas is not really about your family, any more than it's about your presents. We want both, but can do without them if necessary.
Instead, Christmas is about how a transcendent and immutable God became our family, and gave us his own. This is a gift that all people are in need of, whether they already have a family or not. And it is a gift that God gives throughout the year--though it is possible that Christmas, with its potential darkness, loneliness, and time off from ordinary routine, might make us more aware of our need for it. If this is you, take courage--your heartbreak very well may be a prelude to fulfillment and wholeness beyond that experienced by most human beings. Draw near, and ask him to draw even nearer.
The Feast Day of the Holy Family is a comparatively recent feast day, and it is mainly celebrated by Roman Catholics. But I think all Christians can benefit from the remembrance of the Holy Family, as surely as they can all benefit from a Methodist hymn like "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," or an Anglican devotional writer like C.S. Lewis. The original idea behind the Feast (begun in the 17th Century) is that Christians should use the Holy Family (meaning Jesus, Mary, and Joseph) as a pattern for their own families.
Initially, this sounds misguided, especially to cynical moderns. It sounds a bit like the well-meaning Christmas carols that have lyrics like:
And through all His wondrous childhood
He would honor and obey,
Love and watch the lowly maiden,
In whose gentle arms He lay:
Christian children all must be
Mild, obedient, good as He.
For he is our childhood's pattern..."
(From Once in Royal David's City)
The whole thing sounds like a watered-down variant of the Adoptionist heresy: "Be good, like Jesus (or Mary) was, and God will adopt you too. Make sure to be a perfect, attractive member of a perfect, attractive family." Yet it's important to note that, in Scripture, while Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were characterized by their wholehearted response to God, the descriptions we get of their interactions--I mean the ones drawn from the Gospels rather than from imagination or legend--are complex, full of wrinkles, and by no means cheap. Joseph plans to break off his betrothal to Mary (essentially, to divorce her) when he finds out she is pregnant with Jesus; they have to run away to Egypt; they lose Jesus when he is twelve, and when they catch up with him, he essentially rebukes them and alludes to the fact that Joseph is not his real dad; when he grew up, according to John 7, "not even his brothers believed in him"; critics of his ministry call him a Samaritan, alluding to his potentially non-Jewish parentage; and when people do tell him, "Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that gave you suck," Jesus himself responds, "Blessed rather are those who know and do the will of God." To top it all off, while he makes arrangements for Mary from the cross (last minute, anyone?), Jesus' manner of death brings lasting shame upon her and her late husband. Only the Resurrection changes it all, and it's not likely that most of Mary's acquaintances, neighbors, and extended family even believed in that. There is nothing especially tidy or obviously exemplary, in other words, about the Holy Family. This is part of the reason I love the above painting. They are fleeing to Egypt, and they look a bit like they're quarreling--Joseph keeping his distance from Mary and looking sheepish, while she looks downright peeved with him about something. Presumably, no one besides the viewer of the painting is able to see their halos, marking them out as saintly. And yet, the halos are there.
If they are the least dysfunctional family ever, they have a funny way of showing it. But they are exemplary, all the same, and more than exemplary. Joseph does plan to divorce Mary at first, but he does what he can to reduce scandal for the sake of a woman who (as far as he knows) has betrayed him. He decides to marry her anyway in response to a dream. He could have turned over, gone back to sleep, and had a conventional, easy, stable (so to speak) family life with someone else, but he decided to believe the dream actually was a message from God. Mary, meanwhile, could have responded to God's invitation with a simple, "No thanks!" She could have refused to become God's family, preferring instead her own good reputation and uncomplicated life. Jesus, meanwhile, could have done everything his earthly parents (who were not omniscient) expected of him, but he did his Father's will instead.
All three of them, as I said before, were characterized by a wholehearted response to God. And, in fact, I believe they did love each other and serve each other, because it is only when human beings give priority to the transcendent--to God himself--that they are able to stop idolizing human relationships. They are, paradoxically, more free to give themselves to each other when they are themselves centered on God. But they will rarely fit the image other people have of "the perfect family" when they do. They will be better, though not everyone will recognize their oddly tilting halos, aligned with heaven's horizon rather than earth's.
They, of course, are not only a model, but a gift to us. Jesus' mother and earthly father become ours as well ("Son, behold Thy Mother"). And his brothers--all believers--become our brothers too. Even if those on this side of death so often forget it, it's a fact, and we can love them like brothers. Most of all, he is able to give us his own family because he first gives us his true Father, and we are fully adopted, wrinkles, complications and all. Our ultimate Holy Family is the Holy Trinity; the love that exists between the Father, Son and Holy Spirit that is at its heart transmutes our very selves and our relationships into a particular and peculiar sanctity. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, always relating to one another in mutual delight, draw us to their table to, in George Herbert's words, "sit and eat." And the amazing thing is that this is a gift to us not only from the Trinity, but also from his family on earth, whose choice of the Perfect made them so very flawed, yet so very fulfilled.
Obviously, it's good to spend time with your family during Christmas, if you have one. It's probably even your duty. But Christmas is not really about your family, any more than it's about your presents. We want both, but can do without them if necessary.
Instead, Christmas is about how a transcendent and immutable God became our family, and gave us his own. This is a gift that all people are in need of, whether they already have a family or not. And it is a gift that God gives throughout the year--though it is possible that Christmas, with its potential darkness, loneliness, and time off from ordinary routine, might make us more aware of our need for it. If this is you, take courage--your heartbreak very well may be a prelude to fulfillment and wholeness beyond that experienced by most human beings. Draw near, and ask him to draw even nearer.
The Feast Day of the Holy Family is a comparatively recent feast day, and it is mainly celebrated by Roman Catholics. But I think all Christians can benefit from the remembrance of the Holy Family, as surely as they can all benefit from a Methodist hymn like "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," or an Anglican devotional writer like C.S. Lewis. The original idea behind the Feast (begun in the 17th Century) is that Christians should use the Holy Family (meaning Jesus, Mary, and Joseph) as a pattern for their own families.
Initially, this sounds misguided, especially to cynical moderns. It sounds a bit like the well-meaning Christmas carols that have lyrics like:
And through all His wondrous childhood
He would honor and obey,
Love and watch the lowly maiden,
In whose gentle arms He lay:
Christian children all must be
Mild, obedient, good as He.
For he is our childhood's pattern..."
(From Once in Royal David's City)
The whole thing sounds like a watered-down variant of the Adoptionist heresy: "Be good, like Jesus (or Mary) was, and God will adopt you too. Make sure to be a perfect, attractive member of a perfect, attractive family." Yet it's important to note that, in Scripture, while Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were characterized by their wholehearted response to God, the descriptions we get of their interactions--I mean the ones drawn from the Gospels rather than from imagination or legend--are complex, full of wrinkles, and by no means cheap. Joseph plans to break off his betrothal to Mary (essentially, to divorce her) when he finds out she is pregnant with Jesus; they have to run away to Egypt; they lose Jesus when he is twelve, and when they catch up with him, he essentially rebukes them and alludes to the fact that Joseph is not his real dad; when he grew up, according to John 7, "not even his brothers believed in him"; critics of his ministry call him a Samaritan, alluding to his potentially non-Jewish parentage; and when people do tell him, "Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that gave you suck," Jesus himself responds, "Blessed rather are those who know and do the will of God." To top it all off, while he makes arrangements for Mary from the cross (last minute, anyone?), Jesus' manner of death brings lasting shame upon her and her late husband. Only the Resurrection changes it all, and it's not likely that most of Mary's acquaintances, neighbors, and extended family even believed in that. There is nothing especially tidy or obviously exemplary, in other words, about the Holy Family. This is part of the reason I love the above painting. They are fleeing to Egypt, and they look a bit like they're quarreling--Joseph keeping his distance from Mary and looking sheepish, while she looks downright peeved with him about something. Presumably, no one besides the viewer of the painting is able to see their halos, marking them out as saintly. And yet, the halos are there.
If they are the least dysfunctional family ever, they have a funny way of showing it. But they are exemplary, all the same, and more than exemplary. Joseph does plan to divorce Mary at first, but he does what he can to reduce scandal for the sake of a woman who (as far as he knows) has betrayed him. He decides to marry her anyway in response to a dream. He could have turned over, gone back to sleep, and had a conventional, easy, stable (so to speak) family life with someone else, but he decided to believe the dream actually was a message from God. Mary, meanwhile, could have responded to God's invitation with a simple, "No thanks!" She could have refused to become God's family, preferring instead her own good reputation and uncomplicated life. Jesus, meanwhile, could have done everything his earthly parents (who were not omniscient) expected of him, but he did his Father's will instead.
All three of them, as I said before, were characterized by a wholehearted response to God. And, in fact, I believe they did love each other and serve each other, because it is only when human beings give priority to the transcendent--to God himself--that they are able to stop idolizing human relationships. They are, paradoxically, more free to give themselves to each other when they are themselves centered on God. But they will rarely fit the image other people have of "the perfect family" when they do. They will be better, though not everyone will recognize their oddly tilting halos, aligned with heaven's horizon rather than earth's.
They, of course, are not only a model, but a gift to us. Jesus' mother and earthly father become ours as well ("Son, behold Thy Mother"). And his brothers--all believers--become our brothers too. Even if those on this side of death so often forget it, it's a fact, and we can love them like brothers. Most of all, he is able to give us his own family because he first gives us his true Father, and we are fully adopted, wrinkles, complications and all. Our ultimate Holy Family is the Holy Trinity; the love that exists between the Father, Son and Holy Spirit that is at its heart transmutes our very selves and our relationships into a particular and peculiar sanctity. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, always relating to one another in mutual delight, draw us to their table to, in George Herbert's words, "sit and eat." And the amazing thing is that this is a gift to us not only from the Trinity, but also from his family on earth, whose choice of the Perfect made them so very flawed, yet so very fulfilled.
The Icon of the Holy Trinity, by Andrei Rublev. There is a space for the viewer to sit at the table and partake of the eternal love passed between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
