Today We Went to Church
We went to church today. We went two weeks ago for the first time in two years and the kids looked surprised, unused to such music, procession and murmurings, but perhaps sensing a familiarity in the scene of their baptisms not too too long ago. This morning we entered again, encountering Advent making its familiar promise that I still want to believe.
We walked out two hours later with Walter cast in the role of a lifetime — Shepherd. People urged us to consider putting Glenn in the show as well, but we know better. Let's stick to the “silent night, holy night, all is calm all is bright" version of Jesus' birth, rather than the more true chaotic mess of the birth in the manger in Bethlehem that would be re-produced if our three-year-old was in the role of Sheep.
We went to buy a tree after the service and Walter and Glenn eventually landed on a beautiful one, the tallest we've had with the star almost scraping the ceiling. After our traditional spaghetti dinner, prepared by Brad, we all sat on the couch and gazed at the tree and began singing the Christmas songs that we sing every year — which involve Brad and my best efforts at the first verses of Hark the Herald Angels Sing, O Little Town of Bethlehem, O Come Emmanuel, and Walter's current favorite, "Joy to the World, as he loves the line “and heaven and nature sing” - I love that line too. We also sing We Wish You A Merry Christmas and Jingle Bells.
Half way through the singing we stopped, remembering the Advent wreath Walter had made two weeks ago in Church, and we lit the second candle of Advent, with its urging to prepare God room in our hearts, echoing to cries John the Baptist.
We sang a bit more, and after cleaning up the magna tiles in the bedroom, the kids climbed in and we said their prayers that I had created a few weeks back.
Why am I writing all of this? I guess because I am viewing myself as a parent, an identity that I'm still amazed is me, watching Brad and me along with Glenn and Walter craft together traditions that will be our family's own. As real to my children as the traditions my parents crafted were to me. I am becoming more clear that this work of translating tradition is our own to do — it is responsibility, a privilege, and a right. No tradition is 'pure' passing untouched from one generation to the next. It is all handcrafted, all homemade, and, if offered with love, the traditions will give our loved ones something to hold on to that gives them life.
This includes the tradition inherent in faith. I hope Brad and I can offer an expansive, open faith with Jesus at its core teaching a way of love. We offer it with an open hand, hopeful that such things as wonder and joy and the possibility of radical new birth are a part of our own lives and the lives of our children. Glenn and Walter already receive all this with grace and curiosity, and even now they are forging something new as new lives considers what is wheat and what is chaff for them. And so it goes, and I feel so grateful for it all as I sit, gazing at our tree — thinking of the new words that Walter is learning to read right now in school — beautiful, friends, family, together.
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