​​Since it is Christmastide, it is appropriate to discuss Incarnation Theology. This is a school of thought that has been around since the time of Christ. Strains of this thinking run through the Roman Catholic church, mostly from the Irish Catholic influence. We find it among the protestant churches and Orthodox churches. My fascination with incarnational theology is that it fits well with quantum physics. It holds up well in the face of scientific knowledge.
 
In this school of thought the birth of Jesus fundamentally changed our place in the cosmos in relation to God and to the spiritual element of all creation. We joined with an overlapping universe, the Kingdom of God. Now since spell check is having trouble with adaptations of the word incarnation, I’ll refer to this line of thought as Christmas theology or Christmas People.
 
For the Christmas People, Easter becomes a sad event, but not important to living in this overlapping universe. Sin is present in our multi dimension universe, but it is the result of the brokenness of our original universe and is the result of something that needs to be healed.
 
How does this ancient line of thinking work in a real world? The two year old throws a temper tantrum in the grocery store. We don’t look at the child as being bad and needing punishment but as overwhelmed and in need of a quiet time. And no, he’s not going to get the candy he’s screaming over. The candy isn’t the issue. His emotional state is the issue and needs to be addressed by assuring him he’s loved and meeting his need for solitude and rest. Perhaps this particular toddler needs more maturity before he can go to the store. Grocery shopping may become a chore that happens only when he has someone to stay with him at home or only when the shopper can get out of the store before the child is overwhelmed. The child’s environment is changed to meet the needs of his immature nervous system.
 
What about the wife who commits adultery? The law says we can stone her and her husband can divorce her. Jesus didn’t condemn her. The Christmas Christian asks what is broken that caused this woman to betray her husband. The Christmas Christian tries to construct a life centered on healing, wholeness, and meeting the needs of others. In such an environment, adultery isn’t possible so it is seen as a breakdown in the whole environment. It is also seen as something that can be fixed. When the brokenness is healed, the woman and those around her will be stronger and better than before. The role of Jesus in Christmas Christianity is that of the healer, and he can heal because of the overlap between the universe of God and our universe.
 
So, despite the cataclysmic overlap between two universes that had once been separate, why is our world such a mess? We exist with and interact with the Christmas Universe, but we are not in the Christmas Universe. A powerful segment of our society will not consider the possibility of peaceful co-existence. Some people are driven solely by greed and will not consider an alternative to greed. Some people are driven by the need for power and will not consider an alternative to power over others. Way too many people in positions of influence are still the toddler having a tantrum in the grocery store.
 
Can we change our world? Yes, of course. The image I have for the Christmas person is a scene we see in many action films. The bombs explode, flames shoot into the air, smoke and dust obscure our vision, then we see the hero calmly walk away from the chaos. This is the vision of the Christmas person. The world may be going to hell in a hand basket, but the Christmas person continues on their way making music, painting pictures, telling stories, designing bridges and planes, exploring the cosmos, walking in the woods, and growing a garden. Yes, the Christmas person feeds the hungry, clothes the naked and listens to the problems of those in need. The Christmas people give what they can of their prayers, their presence, their gifts, and their service. Christmas people can be found in churches, at work, in the woods, in service clubs, in the fire department, in hospitals, shelters, and schools.  Christmas people can be found on Facebook and Twitter. They may or may not believe in God or attend a church, but they do believe in loving their neighbor and doing what they can to help others. The hope is, that there are enough Christmas people that one day all the individual islands of peace and healing will join into communities of peace and healing that join larger communities, until one day, there will be peace on earth. It all starts with the Christmas people.

Merry Christmas!  Happy Holidays! This is the time of year to celebrate and be happy. Really? This year, like every year, some have lost loved ones. Others are afraid of an uncertain future. Social justice seems farther away than ever and our taxes are going up.

I think one of the feelings that drives our celebrations of Christmas is a sense of the winter blues.  We search for light in a world where the sun has gone south for the winter.  We acknowledge our need for peace, hope, joy and love.  Sometimes, these are not to be found.

Occasionally something happens that makes it seem impossible that we will ever find peace, hope, joy and love.  Sometimes we are burdened with tasks that seem overwhelming.  Sometimes we are sick.  Sometimes we are alone.  We wonder if there is enough love, peace, hope and joy to heal our hurts.

Sometimes, we remember our childhood when Christmas was a time for the adults to get drunk, fight, cry and abandon us.  We remember Christmas as an excuse for our parents to fight over which one we spent the holiday with.  Sometimes, we remember the effects of poverty on our celebrations.  We remember returning to school to see the toys and new clothes of our classmates knowing that the only present we received was a pair of socks, if that.  Christmas has also been a time of spiritual abuse, with threats of hell if the young child asked questions, or not being allowed to receive gifts because of the parent’s beliefs. 

This year, we arrive at the third Sunday in Advent, aware of the hurts of the past and grieving for the tragedies of the present.  We face the prospect of a not so merry Christmas when we cannot help but grieve with those who have lost a loved one this year.  Where can we find peace, hope, joy and love?

So where does this leave us now?  Is it some cruel twist of custom that tells us to be peaceful, joyful, hopeful or loving when we feel none of those things?  I am inclined to believe that our great ancestors had more wisdom than we give them credit for.  Christmas is not exclusively a Christian celebration.  Many traditions and peoples have held celebrations around the winter solstice.  Could it be that these ancient people recognize our need to feast and be joyful during the time when sickness is most likely to creep in at the door, when death lurks on the threshold?  I think so.

We have come to learn that laughter is healing.  We have learned that our spices used in our feasts are healing.  We know that looking into the eyes of those we love gives us new strength.  Singing opens our hearts and lungs bringing oxygen into the whole body and releases the neurotransmitters that make us feel happy and healthy.  Perhaps people who did not have the words to speak as we do about healing sensed the healing aspects of celebration.

I am well enough acquainted with tragedy and suffering during Christmas that I am not going to tell anybody that you will automatically feel peace, hope, joy, and love if you just laugh or sing or do whatever is considered right.  Sometimes life hurts beyond our imagining.  Yet, I find that over the years, I have found peace.  I am often joyful.  Most of the time I can hope for a pleasant future.  I usually recognize that I am loved.

I think I have been able to heal from my hurts by following the ancient wisdom of celebrating when the world seems darkest.  I never consider the process of taking one step forward and decorating the tree, and another step and hanging our stockings, and another step, as something sweet and joyful.  Often celebrating in the face of tragedy is an act of courage.  For me, it is an act that gives me strength.  I seem to find strength in the ancient wisdom.  That wisdom calls me to stand up, move forward, and with my subdued celebrations, give The Finger to grief and tragedy.

The following is an excerpt from a short story I wrote for an anthology on the theme of islands. Mistress of Hemlock Cottage is a modern gothic. You may find the whole story in the anthology at: https://www.amazon.com/Island-stories-Melissa-McCann-ebook/dp/B077NZR2GZ/     Available in Kindle and Paperback

 Anderson Island WA
 
Hemlocks punctuated by the occasional western red cedar lined the small clearing. Their branches brushed the ground creating hidden fortresses where the little creatures of the wood could watch for hawks and bald eagles before dashing across the drive in search of seeds and berries. The dark green trees drew their shadows around them like winter coats and whispered among themselves.
 
Mrs. Hemlock leaned over the driveway and watched the cars leaving the clearing. “Did he pass over the rainbow bridge?”

Young Cedar scratched an old empty cone off the end of a branch. “They live such short lives. Are you sure he’s gone?”

Old Hemlock nodded his head. “This is their way. They go out laying down, then lots of people come and carry away what they’ve hoarded.”

Old Grandpa Cedar had the last word. “Aye, they’re like us in this way. When they go out layin’ down, they’re done for and aren’t ever comin’ back.” The trees settled down to wait for a new master or mistress.
 
Los Angeles CA
 
Audrey sat at her desk and slid the binder onto the monthly financial report. There, both reports are done and the old bitch isn’t even in yet. I wonder if I can sneak some time off to make up for coming in early?

Audrey didn’t have to wait more than five minutes before her boss bustled up to her desk. “Audrey, I want the itemized totals on my desk in a half hour.” Mrs. Hardy, who insisted on being called Gloria as if she were Audrey’s friend instead of her step-mom’s, brushed against Audrey’s desk, knocking the ledgers she had spread out in front of her askew. Audrey wondered how often Mrs. Hardy reported her activities to her parents and if the reports were as critical as Mrs. Hardy was. Audrey asked herself for at least the thousandth time, Did Dad tell her that I have mental problems?

“Here they are.” Audrey handed the folder with the sales by category and item to Mrs. Hardy. “Here’s the monthly statement if you want it, too.” She picked up the recently completed report and held it out in her other hand, and there she sat looking up at her supervisor, a report in each outstretched hand. She wanted to look at her clock to see how long Mrs. Hardy would make her wait before taking the reports.

Mrs. Hardy fluttered her hands. “Oh, done already? How on earth did you get them done so early? I just unlocked the doors five minutes ago.”

Audrey shrugged, “I had them ready to go last night. I just had to plug in the numbers from Hawaii and hit calculate, then print.” Audrey knew better than to tell Mrs. Hardy that the janitor had let her into the office at six. She’d have a fit and maybe get the janitor fired, worse she’d call Step-Monster, and she’d tell Dad, and Dad would say Audrey gets confused and can’t tell time.

Mrs. Hardy adjusted the rings on her fingers. “I want accurate numbers. If you’re done already, you can’t have had time to double-check. I want you to go back through and double-check your figures. We can’t make sound decisions if we don’t have accurate information. The numbers from Hawaii are the most likely to skew the results. Garbage in garbage out, as they say.” She walked away without taking the reports with her.

Audrey sighed and set the reports aside, then searched her drawer for different-colored binders. She’d learned long ago that Mrs. Hardy would reject finished reports on a whim, but changing the binders would be enough to satisfy the old witch. She stifled tears as she sat at her desk wondering why her best was never good enough.
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She watched from behind her computer screen while Mrs. Hardy harassed the company’s sales representative, Michael. As soon as the supervisor disappeared into her office, she made a break for the restroom. Locked in a stall, she blew her nose and let the tears slide down her cheeks. She chided herself for being so sensitive.  Mrs. Hardy, Glooooria, just likes to be in control of everything. She’s insecure. Her behavior has nothing to do with me. Audrey repeated the mantra her counselor helped her make up for Mrs. Hardy.