Please! Don’t Go To Church This Christmas!

“Jesus said that he came to give life, so that people could have it abundantly; 
it's hard to have abundant life if you're dead from a virus 
that could have been avoided.”
Rev. Joseph Peters-Matthews
Vicar, St. Hilda/St. Patrick Episcopal Church
Edmonds, Washington

“This is a trying time, but our charge as Christians is to put
the welfare of all before our own comfort, 
that is our most honest worship, that is the worship 
I believe God calls us to.”
Josephine Robertson
Vicar, All Saints Episcopal Church
Bellevue, Washington

His hand betrayed the slightest tremble of advancing age as he reached to snug the mask over his mouth and nose.

“Ven, joven – come, young man,” he half-whispered, half-ordered and, with a single word, life changed.

The boy at his side was no longer “nino” – baby – or “chico” – loosely translated as “child” or “kid.” 

No! He was “young man.” 

“Come, young man. We have work to do and you have some things to learn. We have to find a way to save tradition – no matter what’s happening with viruses and quarantines.”

And off they went to the garage, where the septuagenarian first took an old card table from wall. “Set this up in the Florida room,” he directed. “Then we have to get all these boxes down.” 

“Careful,” he insisted as perhaps half-a-dozen boxes of various sizes were pulled from a shelf just above his head.

“Put them on the table. One at a time. Careful. Some of them are fragile. All of them are special.”

Only when all of the boxes had been place, did the old man speak again.

“First, let’s talk about tradition. Do you know what tradition is?” he queried, “and why it’s so important.”

“It’s what we do or how we do somethings,” came the response.

“Yes, but that’s only part of it. What’s important is the why we do – just as your grandmother makes her special Christmas flan in those old coffee cans she’s saved from year to year. That’s tradition.

“Because, even before your father was born, when we were very poor – I mean very poor – making flan in those old cans and then giving it to family and friends was her way of telling them they were special and they were loved. It reminded her of her mother and grandmother, who made flan in exactly the same way – in the same kinds of cans – and making flan that way is her connection with those who have died and those who are living and a reminder of how much she loves all of them.

“And you know how we all hate Notre Dame’s football team. It’s tradition. When your great uncle was very young – I think he was in fifth grade – and his father sometimes worked three jobs so your great uncle and his brothers and sister could go to Catholic school - and a nun – a Sister – punished him and made him stand in the corner of the classroom because he would not stand and pray for Notre Dame to beat the Hurricanes that night in the Orange Bowl. Ever since then, we have hated Notre Dame. It is family tradition. It reminds us that we are loyal to one another and we stand up for what we believe is right – even if we are punished and have to stand in the corner.

“So now. Let’s open these boxes.”

One by one, the boxes slowly yielded their secrets and their mystery. Because, inside were bundles of plastic bubble wrap and fit-in-the-palm-of-your-hand packets of strips of old swaddling.

“Careful. Save the wrappings!”

Slowly a panoply of shepherds and oxen, wisemen and camels, angels and sheep – some in full color and tinged with gold, some pure white and shining – was arrayed across the table and, from the bottom of the largest box, came a wooden stable and a small bag of straw.

“This goes first,” the old man said, clearing the top of the television cabinet. “It’s tradition.”

The boy, now suddenly a joven – a “young man” – was already reaching for individual figures to position.

“No,” came the admonition. “No. Now you must learn tradition.

“First the ox and the mule. This is their home.

“Almost eight-hundred years ago, in a town called Greccio, St. Francis made the first Christmas crib – a creche, they called it – and he only had an ox and a mule.

“So, first the ox and the donkey. Now, now bring Mary and Joseph. They must stand outside and ask permission to enter. Wait. Wait. Ah, yes. The ox and the donkey give their permission. Now you may place the crib for the child – the manger. It is where the ox and the mule eat. The straw is fresh and clean there and now you can place the baby in the manger.”

“Now, the large angel with the trumpet. He must see, so that he can go out and announce to the shepherds.

“Now you can bring in the shepherds. But not into the stable. 

“My mother, your great grandmother brought the painted figures from Germany when I was very young. Then her sister gave your grandmother and me the white ones. 

“We’ve always combined them – more than forty shepherds and wisemen and animals and angels. It is tradition the way we do this. And today you are part of the tradition. First, we build the stable and then place the ox and the mule. Mary and Joseph must ask permission to enter. Then the manger and the child. And the angel; then the shepherds and their lambs and finally, around the outside, the Wise Men – because they were the last to hear the Good News. But this year is different. 

“This year we will keep the shepherds over on this side and a little bit away,” he said, deliberately moving pieces. 

“Now the Wise Men and their camels over here; and the Angels – this year they all stay together.

“You see, joven. This year is different. And even in tradition, some things change.

“This year, yes. A tree – the biggest, tallest fullest tree your papi and I can find. Your grandmother would never allow an artificial tree. Real trees are tradition.

“This year the Christmas crib and all the figures. Right here. It’s tradition. But the shepherds and the Wise Men are not together. This year is the virus. We keep distance. This year we keep some traditions but not others. This year we remember that traditions change but their meaning stays the same.

“Tradition changes. Sometimes little-by-little. Sometimes a lot. But the meaning behind the tradition is always the same. This tradition is Good News and be safe.”

“This year, no crowds, no Midnight Mass, no family for the roast pig. This year, your mother and father and grandmother and me and the tree and the Christmas crib. This year we will read the story at home – not hear it in church. This year will be different because life is different. Because we love each other and want to be able to celebrate all the traditions next year.

“This year, we don’t just say we love each other. We love each other by staying home. By being safe. By keeping each other safe. By keeping doctors and nurses and friends safe. This year, we will have tradition and traditions and we will break tradition and traditions. Because those are the right things to do,” the old man said, stepping back and inviting the young man to admire and celebrate their socially-distanced, faith-filled non-traditional Christmas crib before which, this year they will celebrate Christmas as a family and without Mass.

“In every personal ‘Covid,” so to speak, in every ‘stoppage,’ what
is revealed is what needs to change: our lack of internal freedom,
the idols we have been serving, 
the ideologies we have tried to live by, 
the relationships we have neglected...

This theme of helping others has stayed with me
these past months. In lockdown I’ve often 
gone in prayer to those who sought
all means to save the lives of others.
So many nurses, doctors and care givers 
that paid the price of love, together with priests and religious 
and ordinary people whose vocations were service.
We return their love by grieving for them and honoring them.

Whether or not they were conscious of it, their choice 
testified to a belief: that it is better to live a shorter life serving others
than a longer one resisting that call.
That’s why, in many countries, people stood at their windows
or on their doorsteps to applaud them in gratitude and awe. 
They are the saints next door, who have awakened 
something in our hearts, 
making credible once more what we desire to instill 
in our preaching.

They are the antibodies of the virus of indifference.
They remind us that our lives are a gift and we 
grow by giving of ourselves,
not by preserving ourselves but losing ourselves in service.

With some exceptions, governments have made great efforts
to put the well-being of their people first,
acting decisively to protect health and save lives…

Yet some groups protested, refusing to keep their distance, 
marching against travel restrictions - as if measures 
that governments must impose for the good of their people 
constitute some kind of political assault on autonomy 
or personal freedom!
Looking to the common good is much more 
than the sum of what is good for individuals.
It means having a regard for all citizens 
And seeking to respond effectively to the 
Needs of the less fortunate.

It is all too easy for some to take an idea – in this case 
for example, personal freedom – and 
turn it into an ideology, creating a prism 
through which they judge everything…

Look at us now: We put on face masks to protect ourselves
and others from a virus we can’t see. 
But what about all those other 
unseen viruses we need to protect ourselves from?

If we are to come out of this crisis less selfish than when we went in,
we have to let ourselves be touched by others’ pain…

This is a moment to dream big, to rethink our priorities – 
what we value, what we want, what we seek – and to 
commit to act in our daily life on what we have dreamed of.

How will we deal with the hidden pandemics of this world,
the pandemics of hunger and violence and climate change?...

If we are to come out of this crisis less selfish than when 
we went in, we have to let ourselves be touched by others’ pain…

This is a moment to dream big to rethink our priorities – 
what we value, what we want, what we seek – 
and to commit to act in our daily life on 
what we have dreamed of…

To come out of this crisis better we have to recover the knowledge
that as a people we have a shared destination.
The pandemic has reminded us that no one is saved alone.
What ties us to one another is what we commonly call solidarity.
Solidarity is more than acts of generosity, important as they are; 
it is the call to embrace the reality that we are bound by bonds
of reciprocity. On this solid foundation,
we can build a better, different, human future.
Pope Francis, November 26, 2020
The New York Times