Perhaps my very
favorite Christmas song is one I was introduced to several years ago by my
partner, an aficionada of somewhat obscure music (as well as folk, pop,
classical, you-name-it music). It’s called “The Rebel Jesus,” and it was written
by Jackson Browne and performed with the Chieftains. You can find the lyrics here and listen to
it here.
The basic message of the song (at least as I hear it) is that Jesus was a revolutionary,
a counter-cultural nemesis to the systems—governmental and religious—of his
time. And that he got serious flack for this, but did it anyway. It’s also a
challenge to us to do the same. I mention this song and my appreciation for it
because it figures in what I’m about to say.
Let me preface this
a bit. My own reaction to Christmas as it’s celebrated here is less than
enthusiastic. Like many folks, I’m troubled by the overdone commercialism of
the holiday and the materialism I’ve seen it foster, especially in kids. But I’m
equally bothered by the unquestioned assumptions that are so easily made about Christmas—that
everyone celebrates it in some way, that everyone is content to have it pervade
their lives for a couple of months, that the ceremonies attached to it (trees
and songs, gifts and greetings) are shared by everyone who does celebrate this
day, that it is (or could/should be) a joyful occasion for all who recognize
the holiday, that generic wishes for love and peace and hope that we so easily extend
are applicable and meaningful to the recipients. All of these things make me
less than excited when Christmas rolls around, earlier each year it seems. Yet,
at the same time, I know that this holiday is hugely important to a lot of
people and for a lot of different reasons—religious, spiritual, and social, as well as material.
So, as I considered
writing about the topic I’m about to raise, I kept thinking of a line in that
Jackson Browne song: “I’ve no wish to come between this day and your enjoyment.”
And that makes me hesitate. I don’t want to “spoil” the day for those who
find great meaning in it by sharing this experience. This isn’t a critique of
Christmas. It’s just a moment I had that brought to mind (again) how automatic our greetings of the season can be, and how hurtful under
the “wrong” circumstances.
Here’s the
story. I have a relative who is currently in hospice with major brain damage.
She has been expected to die for some months now, but she lives on. She’s more
lucid on some days than on others, but for the most part, she lives in an
apparent fog of drugs, brain damage, and confusion. When she is more alert, she’s
frightened to realize her condition and depressed by what it means. Even during
these periods of alertness, she is often confused about time, about where she
is, and about who the people around her are. Most of her family live halfway
across the country from her, but a couple members of her immediate family live
nearby and visit often. During her periods of alertness, she recognizes them—enough
to be weep in sadness when they leave after a visit.
So, I wanted to
send her a couple of holiday cards so that her daughter could read them to her
and then post them on the wall above her bed as decorations, mementos, and
touchstones with reality. As I searched through the small selection of holiday
cards I had on hand, here are the messages I found:
“May your home be filled with warmth and love this
holiday season and all year through.”
“Best wishes for joyful holiday memories and a new
year filled with happiness”
“May you have the happiness of simple pleasures at the
holidays and all thought the year.”
“Merry Christmas and best wishes for a joyful new
year”
“Best wishes for a holiday season filled with peace
and joy.”
Which would you
pick for her?
I searched the
stores in vain for some better ones—simple greetings that didn’t invoke a
joyful day surrounded by loved ones or a happy year ahead. In the end, I chose blank
cards with colorful designs instead and crafted my messages from scratch.
Now, there’s
nothing wrong with the greetings on those cards. In fact, I sent them to other
folks whose lives are more … um … typical. But the moment certainly made me
think: Just how formulaic is our “celebration,” how standard-issue and empty of
thought? And who gets left out, what lives do we make invisible by our generic
holiday messages? Whose experiences do we disregard, trivialize, even demean in
our use of these prescribed wishes for joy and peace, sent (or spoken) without
reflection and without attention to the distinctive lives of the people we’re
wishing these things for? I honestly hadn't thought much about this before, but I certainly have since.
It was a fairly
stark reminder of how easy it is to be thought-less in everyday life. How easy
to disregard the people for whom the season is not so joyous and thereby ignore the realities
of the world we actually live in. I think of my relative and of others who are gravely ill, of people who have lost a loved one or whose home lives are anything but joyous, of those who are in crisis emotionally, financially, interpersonally, medically. Do we consider these possibilities as we convey cheery season's greeting? Or do we disregard them for the moment—in the name, perhaps, of keeping up the “holiday
spirit.” I think of how easily the odd combination of the familiarity and the
intensity of this season can evoke automatic actions, fitting or not. How
irrelevant, or even inappropriate, the standard greetings of the season can be.
Still, with Jackson Browne, I have no
wish to come between this day and your enjoyment. So please take this as a wish
for peace and joy, of the sort that comes from daring to be a rebel. From using
this holiday as an opportunity to be thought-full about what the day really
means to you—and about what you really
mean when you offer season’s greetings.
Meanwhile,
warm solstice greetings.
© Janis
Bohan, 2010-2014. Use of this content is welcome with attribution and a link to
the post.
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