“All things are
wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the
ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will
be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” So says the Questioner of
Ecclesiastes and so we have come to the end of yet another Christmas. The
family has left once again, and once again the house is a mess and you realize
that the days you will spend in repair will match those you spent to prepare.
You navigate the mess of crumpled wrapping paper and dirty dishes, and find
among the rubble that present you so carefully selected for another, now so
quickly forgotten. Perhaps you are sitting in the car, having finally wrestled
the children from the arms of aunts and uncles and grandparents and are now
trapped in a steel box with screaming toddlers and a spouse who wanted to leave
an hour ago. The magic of Christmas has done nothing to diminish the length or
the darkness of the drive ahead. Maybe you are awake in the wee hours of the
morning as your spouse sleeps in, and are slogging through the constant
bickering-fighting-complaining of children for whom the mountain of toys they
just received simply isn’t enough. Maybe you are alone, and all the promise of
tags and tinsel and trimmings and trappings has come and gone leaving you by
yourself yet again. In the end, you had a Christmas that was everything you
have come to expect, but still not quite the Christmas you had hoped for. Whether
you are five or fifty, aware of it or not, you begin to make your mental
Christmas list for next year. Next year will be the year, when you have a new
house, or a new job. . . next year there will be no tension as the family sits
to eat. . . next year you will find just the right balance of love and toys.
But, next year comes and you do the same dance and leave with the same mixed
feelings and Christmas goes round and round again. “All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.”
Indeed, all things are wearisome. Everything is tired. It has all been done over and
over again. There is nothing new. It has all been done to the point of being
worn out. And so, everything is tiresome, boring, wearing. Nothing refreshes.
Nothing fills. Life is an endless cycle of stuff and things to be done and had,
so tired and worn beyond even what the Questioner can describe.
Do you think you can change this? Does your arrogance
extend to the point at which you believe you can change the cycle of life since
the beginning? Do you believe that Christmas will change because you do
it differently? Maybe you can forgo all the holiday trappings and spend every
Christmas day feeding the poor. Will that not also become wearisome? The never
ending parade of weary faces year after year with no reprieve, the realization
that you are doing - and can do - nothing to change it? That will not wear on
your soul? It has been done before. You think that going to church this one
time will somehow bring meaning to this day? Look at the masses gathered here
year after year. Has the world changed because of it? Have these people become
kinder and more honest over the years? Will the ritual platitudes stop them
from greeting you with “Let’s go Brandon” at the grocery store? Perhaps you
will stop going, make room in the schedule to do. . . what? A football team
will win the Super Bowl this year, and then go back to the beginning to try
again, and again, and again. There is nothing new. Everything is wearisome.
Pray this prayer with me: “Father, I confess that I
have put my hope in events and things. These cannot fill. They have all been
done before and will be done again. You are not in them. I confess that I have
been surprised and angry when this new thing has not filled me, for I gave it
an expectation it could not meet.”
So what are all of these things? What are these
traditions and routines worn thin by repetition? Where is there meaning? It is
hidden and dulled by the repetition, but found in the child in the manger who
entered a world as tired and worn as yours. But listen, this child had the
power to turn rocks into bread and water into wine. He, he alone, holds the
power to make old things new. This child sometimes honored traditions and other
times mocked them. He created traditions of his own, which would also go round
and round again. For him, the traditions did not matter, they were merely a
vehicle to get to me and you. At the heart of Christmas lays a child, and
because of that child the heart of Christmas is us. There is nothing new under
the sun, except for every human being. Each one an image of the Creator. Each
one a complete destruction of any pattern which came before. Each one in desperate
need to be loved to the extent that one would die for them. What are all these
patterns for if not to bring us all together again and again? Each gift, each
toy, is a statement of love. One person telling another that they are more
valuable than any plan the giver may have had for the time and resources
wrapped up in the paper. Each meal made is a sacrifice by the preparer to meet
and exceed the basic needs of everyone in attendance. Every person at every
gathering is a new creation. The loud and foolish, the angry, the judgmental,
the frivolous, the ungrateful, the tired, the fearful, each one is a gift. Each
one is given the gift of Jesus. Each person is loved to that extent. At the
heart of all these meaningless repetitions lies the baby. And at the heart of
the child lies each one of us. If we can sit together at the Christmas meal and
celebrate the newness born in each person and the gift each one of us has been
given in the Son of God, then we have begun the journey to finding the meaning
of Christmas.
