Grown-Up Christmas Lists

My girls love them some Christmas music! I can easily see them growing up into "those people" who start listening to festive tunes in October (no offense intended to any others who number among them!). Well, this year, they discovered the 24/7 Christmas radio station and now that's all they want to listen to when we're in the car. Since it's at least December now, I've largely obliged them, even if it means occasionally having to sit through such holiday classics as WHAM!'s "Last Christmas", Madonna's version of "Santa Baby" or Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmas Time?" (good intentions, awfully patronizing lyrics).

The other day, as Ruth and I were on our way downtown, one of the various covers of "My Grown-Up Christmas List" was playing. When I was younger, I always thought the song was rather sappy, but as the years go on, I find it is more likely to bring legitimate tears to my eyes. This year, it brings to mind Aleppo. It reminds me of the little boy we know whose cancer is progressing, despite many medical interventions, and the 6 kids (among others) who will spend this Christmas without their mother. It calls up broken marriages, children who feel rejected by their peers, people stuck outside in the midst of our recent barrage of snow. There is perhaps no time of year where we feel more keenly the strange juxtaposition of joy and brokenness in a single season. Christmas is about rejoicing, yes. We are celebrating the end of the long wait for the promised Messiah to enter our world and bring justice and peace to reign. But at the same time, we are still very much in a period of waiting for the risen Messiah to come a second time and finally do away with all the tyranny that yet remains in this world.

So Ruth and I are on our way to a wedding (rejoicing!) and I'm contemplating grown-up Christmas lists (brokenness), and she asks me what the song is about. I explain to her that little kids ask to get toys and candy for Christmas, but as we get older, it often becomes more important to us to experience true happiness and peace that we don't get by having stuff. Ruth's response was one of those 6-year-old answers that sometimes surprises us parents with its thoughtfulness: "But Santa can't give you those things. Only God can!"

She's completely right, of course, and yet how often do we all, 6-year-olds and 36-year-olds and 96-year-olds included, try to fill our brokenness with material things, with breakable human relationships, with amazing experiences, with feel-good Christmas tunes and dreams of Santa down the chimney? But putting shiny tinsel and lots of coloured balls on a dying tree won't make it any less brown come New Year's.

The older we get, the more we get to Christmas with thoughts of the loved one who won't be joining us anymore, the reminder of people suffering in our churches, our city, and around the world (and maybe in our own home). And it's not wrong for there to be sadness mixed in with the Christmas celebrations. Jesus has come into the midst of this world's brokenness to save us, and that is cause for rejoicing. But His work on earth is not yet finished and if anything, the mixed-up sentiments of this season should cause us all the more to long for His return when He will make all things new and finally cross off all those items on our grown-up Christmas lists.

There's a reason that song has been recorded by dozens of artists. In the season of "Joy To The World" and "Jingle Bells" all the way, requests to Santa for no more lives torn apart and peace on earth and friends for everyone resonate deeply with all of us who've seen and experienced the losses of life on earth. But as you sing along with Amy Grant or Kelly Clarkson or Michael Bublé or whichever version might be playing on your station this time, don't make it a list for Santa. Make it a prayer to the only one with the power to actually bring it to pass, to the one, indeed, who has promised to bring it to pass. And that's not the innocence of youth and blind belief touted in the song. It's faith in what is really and truly true. Amen. Come, Lord, Jesus!

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;

   Those who live in the land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.

You have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy;

   They rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, 

   As they are glad when they divide the spoil.

For the yoke of his burden and the staff for his shoulder,

   The rod of his oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.

For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult

   And every garment rolled in blood

   Will be burned as fuel for the fire.

For to us a child is born, 

   To us a son is given;

And the government shall be upon his shoulder,

   And his name shall be called 

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

   Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and of peace

   There will be no end,

On the throne of David and over his kingdom,

   To establish it and to uphold it

With justice and with righteousness 

   From this time forth and forevermore.

The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.

Isaiah 9:1-9

Home

Home [hohm], n.: "the place where one's domestic affections are centred"

The dictionary has other, more sterile definitions of the word "home", but all of them deal in some way with ideas of nativeness, regularity, comfort, what is common or usual, security. When we talk about a house or residence, we don't necessarily attach any emotion to that place of shelter. But far more often, when we refer to our home, there is a sense of familiarity that brings with it affection and comfort. Even when our home is a difficult place to be, even when it is not a peaceful place, we can still feel a sense of homesickness when we're away. There is a comfort in the familiar, even when what is familiar is not particularly pleasant. And how much more so when home is a happy place!

I've been thinking about the idea of home a lot recently. Not surprising, as we've just moved to a new house. Again. I won't get into all the details right now, or I might never actually finish this post, but yes, a few weeks ago, we packed up all our earthly belongings (except the boxes that are still at the cottage from 2 moves ago!) and moved from our downtown condo to a little house on the other side of the city. This was not my ideal move--to a place I was excited about, well-organized, meticulously planned for months. It was rather sudden (to my slow-and-steady-wins-the-race brain, anyway). I've never lived on the east end and until last month, wouldn't have had a clue where someone was referring to if they'd mentioned the major intersection near our new place. And our move date got changed more than once, and never to a later date! On top of all that, rather than moving with excitement and a clear goal in mind, this move felt foggy and somewhat unclear. By the time we got all our stuff into the new house, we were exhausted and battling depression. I'm not sure that a move is ever exactly "fun", but we found this one particularly hard.

Don't get me wrong--we love our new place. Even though it's not a big house, it feels positively spacious after the condo. There's a fenced yard I can send the kids into. I like the old-school finishes that are so different from the stark modernity we've lived in for the last 3 years. We're on a quiet street with several other families and we feel like our household fits in a little better with the new demographics than with the old. But it's still a move, a transition, a venture into the unfamiliar. And right at the moment, I'm tired of change. The morning we first woke up in our old bed in our new house, Nathan turned to me and said, "I don't ever want to move again!" And I hear him. Not only is a move a lot of work, it's a lot of change, and no matter how much some people may love new adventures, God has wired all of us to crave the comfort of security and stability in some way.

The problem is that most of us don't get complete stability and security in our earthly homes. Almost all of us move at some point, and some of us many times over. Even people who live in the same home for decades will see family members come and go from the household over the years and will experience change in the neighbourhood around them. We want the comfort of a stable home, but jobs change, families change, finances change, goals change and houses eventually fall apart. So it struck me, that first morning in our new residence which was not yet a home, when I read Psalm 27 and came across a very familiar verse that suddenly had a very pressing application. The psalmist is in the midst of turmoil and war, but he boldly states his confidence in this insecure setting and claims in verse 4, "One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple." What does he make his permanent home? Not the beautiful palace he built, not with his family, not a place free of earthly strife and confusion. His main goal is to make God's house his home, and not just in the next life, but all the days of this life.

And why? "For he will hide me in his shelter on the day of trouble" (safety), "He will lift me high upon a rock... lead me on level ground" (stability), "My father and mother have forsaken me but the Lord will take me in" (welcome), and, going back to verse 4, there is great beauty and wisdom to be found there. God's house is the only place where we can find eternal safety, security, welcome, beauty, wisdom and all other things good. And if home is where the heart is, we don't have to wait until we see God's dwelling place with physical eyes to make it our home all the days of this life. The heart that is seeking God's face, having been adopted into God's family through the reconciliation offered to us in the death and resurrection of Christ, has a permanent home now, regardless of the status of our physical address. I can live in a small condo in a concrete jungle, or in a quiet older house surrounded by pleasant gardens or on a farm in the middle of nowhere or in the slums of a third world country. I can move every few months or every couple years or stay in the same place for half a century. I can live alone, with a new roommate, a new husband or an old one. I can have a noisy home full of small children or a busy home of teenage activity or an empty nest of relative silence. And in the midst of all these changes, I can have one permanent, unwavering home.

I want to put some roots down here on the east end. I want to unpack the boxes, hang all the pictures, arrange the furniture in the most pleasing way, tend the garden. I want my kids to settle in and love the place and have fond memories of this childhood house. I want to get to know my neighbours and have them in my home regularly. I want to invest in our new church community and make it my home church. I want to see God working positive change in my family and my neighbours and my church over the long haul. I want my little house to reflect the warmth, welcome, beauty and safety of God's home. But however much this brick-and-mortar building starts to really feel like the place I love to be, I want to seek one thing: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, gazing on his beauty and resting in his shelter, firmly rooted and centring my domestic affections on the permanent home he welcomes us into.


Things to think about and/or comment on:
What is home for you?
Which home have you loved the most and what was it about that particular place that made it especially homey?
How much does your current physical home resemble God's home?
Do you know the comfort and security of dwelling in God's house?
How can we centre our affections more on God's dwelling place?