Christmas Bells

(c) 2012 C. B. Park, all rights reserved.

The CD player in my car is kaput. I have, therefore, been forced to listen to Christmas music on the radio.  Most of it has been okay, but even I get tired of Josh Groban’s O Holy Night on a daily basis. There was one song that made me feel weird.  It was one of the versions of Carol of the Bells.  It started off pretty enough, but at the end, the voices sounded like they were screaming.  RIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIING RIIIIIING!!!!!!  Egad.

It reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe.  He wrote this amazing poem called The Bells. It is verse filled with onomatopoeia.  You remember what that is – right?  It’s when the pronunciation of a word reveals what the word means.  Like buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Well, The Bells begins rather lightly and ends up on a somber note.  Poe put a lot more into the somber than the light, but then, he was a depressed guy hooked on heroin, so what do you expect.

I decided to revisit Poe’s poem in light of the whole creepy Carol of the Bells thing to see if I could redeem something for Christmas Day. I still like creepy Edgar despite all of his gloominess.  And, he did inspire an Easter sermon for me once.  We might as well give Christmas its due.

The first bells are Christmas bells – silver bells – what a world of merriment their melody foretells!  Poe says that these silver bells keep time under a starry twinkling sky with some of the best lines of literature ever:

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Wedding bells come next.  They are gold and foretell a world of happiness. From them a gush of euphony voluminously wells dwelling on the future and the rapture that impels.

And, that’s when the twist comes.  Poe spends the remaining two-thirds of the poem describing alarm bells that shriek in the middle of the night and moaning and groaning of the funeral bells.  It’s an awful way to end – fearful and without hope.  I think that’s what made me so uncomfortable about the rendition of the Carol of the Bells that’s been on the radio. 

Despite the lyrics declaring Jesus as Lord, it was if they didn’t really believe it.  All that was left was alarm and a shrieking chorus. 

I’m not naïve.  The depiction of the Holy Family in our Christmas crèche is far from factual.  And, it’s not going to take long for this baby to grow up and meet his fate in Jerusalem.  It’s just that right now, Jesus is a baby.  He is Mary’s little one.  Just like most mothers, she looked at him with wonder.  “Here you are, my beloved.  You are my hope for a better world.”

My take-away from this reflection is that the world can do it’s best to fill me with fear, to keep me in a state of alarm.  Death can threaten to upset me to a point of despair.  However, I believe in hope.  I believe that the Love of God was poured into flesh so that I need not be overwhelmed with what the world might throw at me.  The brazen alarum bells may scream out their affright, but the songs of angels remind me that a child is born to bring peace on earth.  And the melancholy menace of the iron funeral bells will be erased when that child becomes a man.

Therefore, in the midst of the most turbulent of weeks, with terror and despair knocking on the door of my heart, I will tell them I am busy.  They cannot keep me from looking at a Baby in wonder, knowing that he is the hope for all the world.

Amen.

Children of snakes

(c) 2012 CBPark, all rights reserved

 I don't really know whether to shake my head in disbelief or disdain when John the Baptist exhorts us all on this penultimate Sunday of Advent.  In previous years, I would have been all Barbie Pink and in more of the Gaudete/Joy of Advent.  I would have clung to St. Paul and his “don’t worry, be happy” motif.  But, not this year, especially after the events of Friday morning in Connecticut. Blue is quite appropriate and any joy we might be feeling is tempered by grief and the Baptist calling us “children of snakes.” 

So, why in the name of all that’s holy did the lectionary gurus put a raving John the Baptist, locusts and camel’s hair and all, in these last days before we observe the birth of Jesus.  Especially since the other readings are all about not being afraid and not worrying about anything. 

 
I can give you the scholarly answer: It’s about repentance and readying ourselves for the coming of the Christ.  But, I think the down-to-earth answer makes a lot more sense.  In fact, it’s the perfect message ten days before Christmas.

John the Baptist is telling us to behave.

I don’t think John the Baptist would have much use for our current “spiritual but not religious” culture.  He was a hands-on, take charge kind of guy.  His baptism wasn’t simply a washing away of your guilty conscience, it was a call to action.  No more could you trust your lineage, your wealth, your position in society, or your place of power when it comes to the Kingdom of Heaven.  Oh, no. All of that thinking needs to take an about face. 

Repentance isn’t a simple matter of saying I’m sorry for something you did wrong.  Repentance was about living your life in a completely different way.  Repentance is about behaving as if we are citizens of a kingdom where our sovereign has great expectations.  The reign of God doesn’t value warm fuzzy feelings as much as it values just behavior.

Make a list. Check it twice.  How often have you and I misused our power or social status to demand something we didn’t earn or deserve?  When have we purchased something, or used our money in some way, that served us personally at someone else’s expense? 

Don’t we often feel entitled to the best things because of where we live or the circumstances of our birth?  These aren’t the “oops I made a boo-boo” sins on which John the Baptist is calling us out.  He wants us to look deep inside our lives and make note of how our living impacts the human dignity of others. And, he wants us to turn that around.

You might ask “How do we do that?”  And, in doing so, we echo the very people confronted by the Baptist at the Jordan so long ago.  “What then should we do? Teacher, what should we do?”  Now, as then, John says – you already know what to do.  Share what you have. Do not cheat those with whom you do business. Be satisfied with what you have and do not scheme to get what you do not deserve.

It is easier said than done. 

We are complicit in the sins of selfishness, cheating, and scheming through covert action, international and national policies, and the acts boards of directors of profit and nonprofit organizations.  Our complicity may not always be obvious, but if we have any integrity we know it exists, when we’re sleeping and when we’re awake.  We know when we’ve been bad or good – so be good, for goodness’ sake.  For goodness’ sake – not for our individual benefit.

Making systemic change when we are used to the benefits of the system takes self-reflection, honesty, and courage.  At times it will feel like we’re being smashed against the rough hard surface of a threshing floor.  Yet, each step we take to do so will break away our hardness of heart, leaving the chaff of sinful narcissism to be carried away by the Holy Spirit’s cleansing breath.  

That’s the good news in John’s exhortations – we will be lighter, we will be good fruit, we will be in right relationship with God and with each other.

So, what shall we do? 

What shall we do to become the fruit of the earth – the healthful grain? 

You and I must examine our lives, our habits, our indulgences.  The first step to turning around may be including charitable gifts in your gift-giving budgets.  It may be looking hard at that portfolio and determining whether or not the companies in which you are invested have questionable policies regarding human dignity.  It may be stepping aside from a leadership position you’ve held for a while in order that new people with new ideas begin the process of change. 

You and I can commit to studying scripture, praying for others, and tithing or working toward the tithe. We can write to our governmental representatives. We can be responsible stockholders.  We can learn to share power. We know what we need to do.  We just need to do it, willingly, cheerfully, lovingly, and without delay. 

There are times when it is appropriate to shout, to pout, and to cry.  Today is one of those days. Life gives us more than we can handle sometimes.  I exhort you though, hear the good news: Someone more powerful than John the Baptist is on the way. Jesus the Messiah is coming to town!