There is a coordinated attack on time, and many of us are weary from the battle. Time is well on its way to becoming the new currency. Success appears flawless from the outside—we work harder, sleep less, eat worse, and fight more—all to drive nicer cars, have bigger credit card bills, compulsively buy things we don’t really need (which end up in landfills), as we scramble to pay for and drive our kids to ‘lessons’ we should have had time to teach ourselves.
If we, by chance, find the time to ‘be still’ our minds are still not free—as we then battle the endless stream of polarizing backlit screens filling us with a ‘truth’ which promotes hate, division, violence, lust, greed, and false religion. We sacrifice ourselves and our loved ones to feed the machine, but it is not enough. Slavery takes so many forms.
‘Christmas’ is supposed to be different, the calm in the storm, and yet it leaves me feeling hollow and tastes like counterfeit Christianity. My friends worry I am pagan and goad me into half-ass decorating out of guilt. “You can decorate for other holidays,” they say. And that’s true; I can. Because I am not claiming to decorate in the name of God, so it doesn’t hurt as much. They worry about my soul, I smile and say silent prayers, but must acknowledge that it feels kind of good to have someone care about me. A friend even brings over a big green Christmas tree and sets it up in my living room for the sake of my children… and honestly, they are grateful.
I participate in Christmas just like I am supposed to, but as I stand in an absurd Target returns line, I find myself thinking this holiday has little to nothing to do with Jesus and everything to do with capitalism. Call me ‘pagan,’ or a ‘pessimist,’ and I will not argue, although I would prefer ‘jaded’ or perhaps ‘convicted,’ because these labels do not carry the same negative connotation.
Whatever the case, my heart hurts, and I cannot explain why. Something is off, but it’s not the kind of off that takes a form… you can’t see it, or point at it, or label it, but you can feel it. And for better or worse, I want to stand against it.
But that is not what I did this Christmas. Instead, I ran, because it is what I do when I don’t understand things. My ability to run away is my greatest strength and my biggest weakness. This year, my husband and I loaded our kids in the car and ran to New Mexico.
What I wanted this year for Christmas was time—time with the people I cared about most in the world—and silence. I needed a Sabbath with the people I loved, my friends, and my family. I wanted time to hug them, and hold them, and laugh with them, and be still all together (or make a back-rub pile on the floor in front of the fire).
I got everything I wanted this Christmas and so much more, but I am afraid I will have to give it all back now. You cannot hold moments; they just slide right through your fingers.
As I re-engage, I am not certain how to regain the ground we have lost. I am not sure how to stand against this force I can feel but can’t see. But I do know from my very core, I sincerely want to worship God, not idols, on the hilltops and under every green tree.
