Destination Discipline

“So I arrive at the conclusion
Love isn’t made
Love doesn’t sell or pay
But we buy and sell our love away”

Jon Foreman

It was a warm and sunny day in Missouri when I walked into the thrift store. It was also two days before Christmas. The store was all abustle with shoppers and employees rushing around in mass confusion. I tried to be calm. I was looking for something specific and it does no good to get distracted by all the stuff (treasures?). And then I saw it. The most amazing sight! A fluffy, wooly fleece. It was beautiful. I picked it up and began to hug it close to my heart. It was so soft. In that moment, it was everything my heart desired. But there was no price tag. So, I asked an employee for help. She said she would sell it to me for $4.00, but another employee said, “We should ask the manager what the price should be.” So, she took the fleece from my arms and disappeared into the back of the store. A few minutes later she returned and said, “The manager said you can’t have it. He is going to buy it.” Then she shrugged and walked away.

I am pretty ambivalent about the holidays. The mass commercialism is off-putting. I celebrate Christmas because it is the birth of Jesus and my faith centers on his life, death and resurrection. But many people celebrate Christmas for the gifts. They love to buy and sell and give and receive….stuff. I have struggled in recent years to reconcile receipt of Heaven’s greatest gift, namely Jesus, with the giving and receiving of socks, electronics, and cash. What does that have to do with faith anyway? And while I suppose there are Christians who will rationalize it, I bear up beneath the weight of it and participate in a ritual I’m not entirely comfortable with. It’s not that I don’t love my family or friends. I do. And I love to give and receive gifts. But there is something tainted about using the birth of my Savior to rationalize spending money we don’t always have to buy stuff we don’t really need.

Ferdinand and Babe steal the alarm clock from Farmer Hoggett.

I drove home from the (religious) thrift store with a singular hatred in my heart for the manager that (stole) refused to sell me the fleece. And I thought of Ferdinand the duck (from the movie, Babe) running around screaming, “Christmas means carnage!” He was, of course, referring to the day Farmer Hoggett and his family consume a roasted duck (one of his friends). Poor Ferdinand. All he ever wanted was to be a rooster. But ducks can’t cock-a-doodle-doo, can they? (Though he certainly tried.)

I love the movie, Babe. I quote from it frequently. The farm animals all seem to understand “the way things are.” People…eat pigs. But Babe doesn’t settle for that. He wants to be a sheep-pig. He loves his adopted mom, Fly, and strives to provide value to the farm to which he belongs. He befriends the sheep after he saves them from wolves (wild dogs) that attack Farmer Hoggett’s flock. He speaks their language. And they come to love each other. The scene where he weeps over the loss of Ma, the flock matriarch, is one of the saddest in the film.

Mrs. Hoggett prepares to eat the Christmas feast.

In much the same way Babe longs to be a sheep-pig, I long for a world that refuses to buy and sell love. The brokenness around me causes a deep chasm of pain in my heart. The gift of love should be free and given every day in a burst of self-sacrifice. Instead, many of us walk around feeling lonely and sad because of the very real pain in our lives. Some of us have broken marriages. Others endure that first (or second or fifth) Christmas without a loved one. Others stare at screens hoping to distract themselves or even to connect with other humans. We long for more. We need hope. And a big screen television won’t solve that problem. But if I’m honest with myself, neither will a soft and fluffy fleece.

A friend came to visit me last night and we were talking about a rather sore situation in my own life; marriage. She is twice divorced and has never known a faithful husband. I told her a husband should be a man and fight for his family. He should never abandon his wife and child. She argued that if they don’t love each other, they should divorce. She said to force a man and wife to stay married is to make them hate themselves and each other. She said, “Don’t use God to force people to stay married. Let them divorce.” I told her, “I disagree,” as I got very angry.

I view marriage as a covenant promise through the eyes of faith. I see marriage through the lens of the bible as illustrated by Jesus’ sacrifice for the church. I see divorce as the ultimate failure to forgive. And I told her, “I believe love is a choice–not a feeling.” I have endured that dark night of the soul and I speak to the power of God’s love to bring about reconciliation. I see love as it should be–not how it frequently manifests in our broken, sinful world. I see a baby in a filthy feeding trough surrounded by cow dung and smelly beasts and a man dying on a cross for the sins of the world. And I can almost hear his voice speaking on the mountain, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.”

“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.” 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8

I have decided to forgive the unscrupulous store manager, though I doubt I will shop at that store any longer. I did pray for him and for the people who work for him. God knows. God sees. I forgive because I am forgiven. I love, because I have been loved. It is not because I am super righteous or holy. It is not because I am seeking favor or trying to be good to get into heaven. Indeed, I probably deserve to have the fleece stolen considering all of the ways I have sinned against others in years past and present. But the love of God has changed me. It has filled me with hope and joy and peace in a way nothing in this world ever will.

Christmas does not mean carnage. Christmas actually means love. Love came down and dwelt among us.

“So I hated life, because what is done under the sun was grievous to me, for all is vanity and a striving after wind.” Ecclesiastes 2:17

The holidays hit hard for some of us. Even as we see the Christmas lights go up on houses and we consume ads and movies that tell us to “believe in the magic of Christmas”, something thrums in our heart in a disharmonious way. We want to believe there is hope and joy (and a really cool present under the tree for us), but we struggle with the redux of spending money we don’t have and longing for things we can’t buy.

I have a squishy spot for sentimental movies, and I have been (over)indulging as of late. Last night I watched “The Spirit of Christmas”. While my husband made fun of the spirit (a ghost who is corporeal for 12 days a year), I settled in to see how Kate, a woman who has never been in love, would eradicate him from the inn he “possessed” so she could sell it and get promoted. Convoluted much? Yes, but it tickled all my squishy places so quit picking on me!

Most movies  like this present Christmas Day as the “happy ever after” moment. In fact, there was a moment in this flick that hinted we might not get one, and the heroine would have to wait until the next (or even the next!) Christmas to solve the mystery. I’m glad that didn’t happen because it would have been very tedious. The lingering question I had after credits rolled was, “What happens the day AFTER Christmas?”

Back in the real world, I had to get up for work this morning. My son was sick and couldn’t go to school today. After solving that situation, I hopped in my car and started to drive to work. I thought of my friend whose husband is battling a mysterious disease, another friend who lost her best childhood friend to Covid, and another friend whose work situation is dehumanizing at best. I thought of my own workload and insecurities around not performing well and started to feel down. Because while all of these difficult situations swirl around me, there are Christmas lights twinkling and music playing. And I want to slap Bing Crosby. (Too bad he’s already dead.)

Cabbage Patch Doll (Photo by ¬ù¬ù Jacques M. Chenet/CORBIS/Corbis via Getty Images)

While driving, I began to think, “what so special about Christmas anyway?” Is it the presents? Not really. Not as an adult. The last really awesome gift I got that made an impact on my psyche was the guinea pig under the tree in the early 80’s (back when I still believed in Santa Claus). Or was it the unicorn my mother hand-made in the late 80’s? It sure wasn’t the Cabbage patch doll my grandmother made for me when I was 11 (what girl wanted a homemade knock off instead of the real thing?) Although I have to admit, I wish I still had it now that she’s gone. In fact, all of those things are gone. Ash. Dust. Fodder for landfills. One could say the magic of Christmas past is… dead.

Ecclesiastes uses the word “vanity” instead of “meaningless”. In chapter two the preacher discusses the vanity of pleasure and of wisdom. No matter how beautiful and wonderful pleasures of all varieties are, they are meaningless. Everything dies and turns to dust. No matter how wise or foolish people are, they all die.

“I hated all my toil in which I toil under the sun, seeing that I must leave it to the man who will come after me, and who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will be master of all for which I toiled and used my wisdom under the sun. This also is vanity.” Ecclesiastes 2:18-19

Wouldn’t that be an interesting Christmas card? “Merry Christmas, Worm Food.”

How about, “Congratulations on your nuptials, here’s the receipt in case you get divorced.”

Or better yet, “Blessings on your pending adoption, hope the baby doesn’t get repossessed!” (This actually happened to a friend of mine.)

But let’s sing a happy holiday song, “While the merry bells are ringing, happy holidays to you!”

Somebody poke that guy in the eye already!

Now maybe the dear reader thinks I’ve turned “jolly green Grinch”, but that’s certainly not true. Why else would I be binge-watching Hallmark Channel movies? I want to “recapture the wonder” of my childhood Christmases, but the more I think about it, the more I realize the “holiday spirit” is just nostalgia repackaged and offered up for sale. We are trying to buy and sell a feeling. And I’ll be very candid here: it’s all just a very expensive lie.

Oh boy! Now she went and did it. Margaret spilled curdled milk all over the Christmas tablecloth. Send her to the woodshed for 10 lashings. Better yet, lock the door and throw away the key. No fruit cake for her!

So, since I’ve been consigned to the woodshed, I’ll digress a little bit… This is exactly why I love the bible. It cuts through the crap. So many people think it’s full of mystical mumbo jumbo, but it’s not. It really is the greatest story every told. We have so perverted the Christmas story with our cultural traditions that people are willing to throw it on the rubbish heap. But for those who are hurting—who are suffering—who are aching for there to be more—they will find hope in its pages. And the hope is this: there is a creator who sees our broken hearts. He was sitting in the throne room of heaven and said, “how can I save them? Who can I send?” and Jesus said, “Here I am. Send me. I’ll bind up their broken hearts and shine light into all of their dark places. I will bring justice and mercy. And love. I will show them what true love really is.”

Andrew Peterson captured the hope and joy of that love in his song, “High Noon”.

“Jesus took in that breath and shattered all death with his life.”

For those of us who grew up in the church and have heard the story a million times, we would do well to stop and consider: Jesus was dead and then he took a breath and was alive. Only God can do that! And without that truth, the Christian story is…at best…hollowed-out, disingenuous, and fake. It’s no better than the story of a fat old man climbing down chimneys to provide toys and treats—which most of the world knows is a big old lie – especially those children with hollowed-out bellies and no food to fill them. Or worse, mothers and wives whose arms are empty.

Without Jesus, Christmas is just nostalgia which quickly sours—like expired milk—on December 26^th.

There are those who will say the bible is full of fables. But the majority of people have never read it to assess for themselves whether or not it is true. And while I enjoy movies that tickle my squishy places (and make my husband crazy!) I love truth. Once one is awake to the truth, it’s hard to get caught up in the fantasy and make-believe world of the holidays. My whole life doesn’t hinge on that perfect gift, or providing the perfect experience for my children or grand children. I might make a nice dinner and express my love for my friends and neighbors, but I’m not going to freak out if the cookies get burned or they sell out of power rangers (now I’m really dating myself!).

So instead of getting down about the sad situations, I’m going to practice gratitude for the many many blessings God has given to me regardless of how tempted I am to complain about long lines and cranky customer service representatives. But most importantly, I’m going to tell my friends about Jesus, the founder and perfecter of my faith, who for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross, despising its shame, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. (Hebrews 12) He has conquered the grave! He is alive!

I love the words of the preacher in Ecclesiastes because they remind me of the toil and hardship of life under the sun. The pain is real. Then, they draw my eyes to what is above the sun – namely God the Father – and the promises of life after death if I believe in His son.

May this Christmas draw your heart to everything that is good and lovely and pure and TRUE.