What we celebrate
I decided the other day, amidst the unremitting bad news and sense of loss many of us feel, that living is hard. This sounds like a ridiculous statement. We are born, we live, we die. What's so hard about that? Anyway, I've been taught (and think I've learned) that the next world is more important than this one, so much more important.
Christmas is the beginning of a new cycle of teaching them, isn’t it? We show them the baby in a cave, and tell them to watch him just as the shepherds watched the miraculous star, and over the months to come we tell them what he did as a man, and we lead them to the tree which he climbed to die, and we fix their eyes there, telling them: watch, watch, see what has happened. Then we take them to his second cave, to the rolled-aside stone and the weeping women, and tell them to fix their eyes on his shoulders walking away, to hear him calling for them to follow, and we pray that this is the voice they remember as we grow feeble, not our own voices even, but the voice of the one they must follow if they are to have the gift we desperately want for them but cannot ourselves give.
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