Faith, Family, & Focaccia

For many good and right reasons one hears a lot in the annual lead-up to December 25 about “the true meaning of Christmas.” “Christmas is about giving and not receiving.” “Christmas is about putting aside differences and appreciating our families.” “Christmas is about remembering those who are less fortunate.” “Christmas is about love, and joy, and togetherness.” And so on.

All of these sentiments are good, and important, and worthy of reflection and application not only at Christmas time but throughout the year. It is a wonderful thing that this season encourages all of us to collectively focus attention on socially-equalizing and peace-loving values, and to do so in affirmative ways that are too often missing from our communal dialogue. I must take issue with all of them, however, as characterizations of the “true meaning of Christmas.”

The word Christmas is the slightly abbreviated combination of two words: Christ and mass. Christ, obviously, is one of the most universally recognized names for the second person of the Christian trinity, also known as Jesus. Mass, although now primarily associated with the Roman Catholic church, can in this usage be understood more generally as a term for the full Christian service of worship. If, then, what we are truly wanting to understand is Christ-mass, the sacred celebration of the person of God who came into the world, then the true meaning of Christmas must be an encounter with the incarnation.

While not the most traditional Christmas text, the most beautiful description of the incarnation, in my humble opinion, comes from the New Testament letter to the Philippians (chapter 2, verses 3 through 8).

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,

but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death–even death on a cross.

This is the real meaning of Christmas. That God — who exists so far outside the human condition that to take on the form and likeness of humanity was to voluntarily enter into slavery — did just that. And, that once this humiliation was embraced it was further eclipsed by the denigration of a criminal execution. This biblical poem uses the term kenosis in the original language, which means emptying. Christ “emptied himself” on the very first Christmas night.

Now, emptiness is not a term that we often apply to Christmas. Christmas is much more associated with fullness. Full stomachs as we gorge on feasts that take hours of loving labor and mountains of ingredients to prepare. Full eyes and ears as our senses are washed over by tidal waves of sparkling lights, colorful decorations, radio jingles, and Christmas carols. Full schedules as we struggle to find the time to address Christmas cards, complete shopping and wrapping, and participate in all the extra social activities of the season. Full spaces as we wonder how to find places for all the new clothes, toys, and other gifts that add to our accumulation of possessions. Full hearts as we look at the glowing faces of our children, or are transported into nostalgic memories of our own childhoods, or simply appreciate the precious moments to be with those we love.

The Christmas season fills us up in so many ways, and many of those ways are wonderful. This is not an harangue against the blessed fullness that we, as modern, Western, 21st Century people receive from the celebration of Christmas. What I hope it is, is a reminder that fullness is not the meaning of Christmas. Appreciation of all the gifts in our lives – those under the tree, and those we see more clearly in the late days of December – is important. It is something I am trying to teach my children about Christmas. When I recently asked Princess Imagination why we give gifts on Christmas she answered beautifully that it is to remind us that Jesus is God’s gift to us. That’s true.

But we need to also remember that this gift was and is kenosis, self-emptying. In that birth in a stable, Jesus released the honor, and authority, and perfection, and privilege, and power that is imbued in being God. There could not be a more complete or dramatic gift, and this selflessness is the real meaning of Christmas.

I had gotten so far in composing this post two days ago. Then it was time to get myself and the kiddos ready for Christmas Eve service. In the course of that activity my trick back decided that the action of bending at the waist to pick-up the Gigglemonster’s shoes was a sin punishable by severe pain of the shooting-down-my-legs-and-up-my-spine-and-continuing-for-hours-at-a-time variety. That would have been bad enough, but it was compounded by the fact that the Gigglemonster was so wound up in anticipation of the first Christmas where he could understand the upcoming barrage of presents that he only napped for about 40 minutes (as opposed to his usual 2 hours). As a result, the monster side of his personality was definitely dominant heading into the 4:30 service at my in-laws’ church. When he decided that it had to be Mommy who held him every time the congregation stood to sing a carol (I lost track at 5, but it may have been more times than that), and when my back declared that holding a 37 lb. boy while standing was a physical impossibility, things got ugly! I spent the majority of the service trying to shush him, and bribe him, and otherwise prevent a screaming tantrum, and the remainder taking him out to go to the bathroom and them experiencing the full force of the tantrum in the ladies room when I suggested that he did not actually have to strip naked to go pee.

Needless to say, Christmas Eve service was not a terribly worshipful experience for me this year. Nor was it an easy context in which I could put into practice my preceding reflections about self-emptying. I am unfortunately NOT one of those people who stoically copes with pain. Quite to the contrary, pain brings out every selfish and petulant inclination in my personality. My children’s whining, coincidentally, does the same. And so, fresh from my soulful contemplation of Christ’s self-emptying, I was confronted by the broken reality of just how full of myself I am. Full of my needs; full of my expectations; full of my own plans for how things should go. While I cannot even comprehend the power and perfection that Jesus voluntarily released, I am forced to confess that I grasp for such things. I try with all my effort to achieve them, and when circumstances, or back pain, or tired children interfere with these efforts I get annoyed or worse.

And so, I have these contrasting reflections to offer you all on what is now the day after Christmas. On the one hand, the Christmas example of self-emptying, on the other hand the fullness-seeking inclinations of my own heart. The contrast is all the more poignant to me because Jesus’ action of self-emptying subjected him to just the kinds of negative stimuli that make self-emptying so difficult to me. The kenosis meant taking on a body that was subject to physical pain, just like mine. The kenosis meant being in relationship with other people who would consider their own needs first, if not exclusively. The kenosis meant encountering personally and directly all of the things that I use as excuses for why I cannot really follow Christ’s example.

And that’s why I have to take seriously the call to have the same mind in myself that is in Christ Jesus. It’s not that Jesus just doesn’t understand or isn’t subject to the stresses I face. Jesus volunteered to face those stresses – that’s the whole point of Christmas. And so, in the 364 days until the next Christmas, I want to keep trying to empty myself. I know that in the moments I do, I will be more full than I am at any other time. For, I will be full of Christ and full of the true meaning of Christmas.

I was working on this blog post when I heard about the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School on Friday. There is no adequate response. I have no right to try to address the pain of any of those involved and I have no great wisdom to offer about how the community or the nation should respond. This devastating event certainly raises issues that we need to deal with as a society, including issues of gun violence and adequate mental health treatment, but I don’t have the expertise or authority to offer my opinions on these issues in the immediate aftermath.

The response I do have in the immediate aftermath is one of grief as a parent. My heart breaks for all of the parents affected, especially the parents who lost young children but also the father of the gunman, the parents of the school staff, and the parents who now need to help their children understand what happened in their school. I do not know their pain, but my personal reaction to this crisis is experienced as a parent. I am hugging my children and telling them how much I love them and thanking God for one more day with them. And I am also feeling even more deeply the weight of my job as a parent. While my struggles of recent days are revealed as trivial by this tragedy, the lessons I am trying to learn from them are not. And so, I still offer these reflections about parenting because I have been reminded just how important it is for me to thoughtfully embrace each day I get to do this important job.

* * *

Three days ago the munchkins and I made our third intercontinental trip as a three-some. While I would have naturally preferred it if my husband could have taken the extra week off of work to join this leg of the trek, I did not approach the trip with trepidation. After all, it is the third time I have travelled from Milan to California as a solo parent and I am fairly confident in my abilities. My anticipation of the roughly 19-hour journey was perhaps cavalier, but I try to hold the parenting philosophy that motherly anxiety usually breeds anxious behavior in children and that expecting the best generally produces more positive results.

I had not considered, however, how such positive expectations might impact my reaction to the challenges of the trip. To be fair to Princess Imagination and the Gigglemonster, they behaved really well. There were no screaming tantrums. There was no refusal to walk, or to wait, or to get in the stroller. They sat in their seats with minimal excursions to the bathroom. They watched their videos and ate the food I had brought for them. They played together or separately and were generally un-disruptive to the passengers seated around us. In short, they confirmed my confident pre-flight declarations to friends that “they are great travelers, so I’m not worried.”

Princess Imagination loved the royal treatment in Business class (Thank you expat contract!)

The Gigglemonster loved having his own TV almost as much as I love that little belly,

Taking his nap like a champion – he just fell asleep on his own!

The problem was me. I was so relaxed in my confidence about their travel ease that I wanted the trip to proceed as though I were not responsible for two children under the age of 6. I wanted to sit back and watch my movies uninterrupted by bathroom trips. I wanted to enjoy my pre-flight champagne without the responsibility to prevent juice spills in the seat next to me. I wanted to eat my meal without the inconvenience of shimmying under my open tray table three times to open a stubborn zipper/locate a lost toy/select a new inflight entertainment option for my daughter seated across the aisle. Although I cringe to think about it now, I wanted to focus on my own entertainment and comfort and just not be bothered with entertaining and meeting the needs of my two precious children.

Looking back on that flight now, especially in the light of what happened in Connecticut less than 2 days later, I am overcome with shame, because my response to their requests for my attention was one of annoyance. I had the privilege of spending more than 13 hours strapped next to them on two airplanes (in addition to the 5 hours of driving, and moving-through and waiting in airports). 13 hours of time during which I had no competing responsibilities. No dishes to do; no laundry to fold; no class representative e-mails to send; no Christmas presents to wrap; not even any blog entries to work on. In this season of incredible busy-ness, I had the equivalent of one full waking day of uninterrupted time with my children. And I wasted it!

I had packed their rucksacks full of in-flight entertainment options: books, and coloring sheets, and stickers, and games. They were activities that they could do on their own, but they were also activities that I do not get the chance to sit and do with them nearly as often as I would like. Despite the fact that I “do not work outside the home,” there never seem to be enough hours in the day to just enjoy my children. There is always something that needs to get done. And so, I have come to think of sticker books and paint-with-water sheets as child-minders. They are fun activities that my children enjoy and that provide a more nurturing alternative than television. And so they have become my tools of distraction. When I am busy testing the emergency calling chain for my daughter’s class, or filing out insurance reimbursement forms, I can give them some stickers and paper and hope for 10 minutes of distraction-free time to work.

I am not saying that providing activities for my children represents poor parenting. I am so glad to have the resources to be able to stock a “craft cupboard” full of activities that entertain my children and encourage creative activity. But I have come to realize in the past few days that I too often lose out on precious memories with my children for the simple reason that they are such good kids. They don’t often throw tantrums to demand attention. They can sit and play quietly when Mommy is “too busy.” They will simply look at the pictures in their books, or stick to the ones my daughter can read, because Mommy doesn’t have time to read to them right now. And so, I have come to expect relatively low demands from them, and to think of this as a good thing.

My children are happy, and well-adjusted, and have the skills of self-soothing and independent play. These are good things. They make my job as their mother an even greater blessing than it would be otherwise. AND, they make it too easy for me to ignore their eagerness to spend time with me. Heaven only know how much longer they will offer me that treasure. Princess Imagination has already taken to shutting her door so that she can have “some time alone.” The Gigglemonster is discovering how great he is at making friends, and at some point in the future I know that friends will supplant me as his preferred companions. And any moment could be their last or mine. Their pleas to “read me a book Mommy,” or “help me color the doggie,” or “get this sticker off, so I can stick it on your sweater” are precious offerings. They are opportunities to interact with my children, and watch their minds and imaginations develop, and share in their process of discovering the world. My response should be one of joy and gratitude and not one of annoyance for interruptions of my agenda.

So, for the last few days I have been working on taking advantage of the little moments (hence the delay in this posting). My efforts are quite imperfect. Busy-ness is a difficult habit to break, but so worth it. What a joy to read the race car book three times in a row, or help Princess Imagination make a sparkly headband, or just have a tickle-fight. I am blessed with good kids who can entertain themselves when I don’t have time for them, but time is a blessing as well. My Christmas wish is to appreciate each moment of it.

A few of the moments of our first days of Christmas vacation with my family are captured below