auld lang syne

It seems to me that we pay a lot of attention to the passage of time: years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes. They're all measured and counted, recorded in our planners, wall calendars, photographs and timelines. Sometimes we have parties for them, like birthdays and holidays.

For thirteen years now I have spent New Year's Eve with my family and our neighbors - we play board games, we play pranks, we eat seafood, and we gather around the television to watch the ball drop at Times Square. On the one hand, it's a night like any other because we are simply enjoying each other's company and renewing relationships that might have been strained by distance and time (especially for those of us in school). On the other hand, I can't help but wonder if it's something more. Or if it should be.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have to wonder what it all means. What is the significance of a day passing, or a month? Or even a year - why does it matter that I know how many years I've been alive? Once upon a time I'm sure that it did, when months meant planting and harvesting, and each year passed was an achievement, something to be grateful for. But what does it mean now?

It has been my tradition to spend a significant portion of the week following Christmas journaling. It's not my normal style of journaling, where I wax philosophical and pretend that my stories are funny (you thought I only did that online, didn't you?). No, that week is about looking forwards and backwards, as if the stroke of midnight on the 31st is a street about to be crossed, and crossed safely.

Perhaps it is. You probably know the song Auld Lang Syne, which was written by Robert Burns in 1788. The song has a nostalgic quality that, for me, puts it up there with Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas when I want to be melancholy about the holidays. Both songs are about remembering what came before - the joy and the pain and the years gone by.

It wasn't until this year that I realized that Auld Lang Syne is about more than remembrance; in its solemn Scottish way, it is about hope for and confidence in the future. What I always imagined were statements: "If old acquaintances are forgot..." are actually questions: "Should old acquaintance be forgot?" It is a small difference, but it means everything to me, because the answer to the question is and should always be a resounding "No."

To answer that question of significance, I hope that I will learn to mark the passing of a year with solemnity and contentment, gratitude that recognizes that these days are gifts. I hope that I will not celebrate by force of habit, but because of real joy. I don't know about other holidays, but I hope that my new years are more like the questions in this song - times of remembrance, but also of making new memories. Who will I be in the year ahead? How can I honor the memory of those who were with us in the past? I want to learn to cross the street well.

Whosetory

I was never allowed to celebrate Halloween. Tragic, right? I don't think that I missed much, honestly, and every year was an adventure, hanging dark blankets over the windows and playing very quiet games so that Trick'r'Treaters wouldn't know we were home. Apparently our neighborhood took the "trick" part literally, and they were handy with egg-throwing.

In college I discovered a new tradition. For six years now I have sat in Bible 200 (How to Read the Bible) on October 31 to celebrate Reformation Day. I wish my parents were aware of this tradition when we were growing up - it would have been a lovely counterpoint to the blue velvet drapes. More than that, Reformation Day and events like it have been vital to my faith formation.

That's a strange thing to hear, and sometimes to say. How is a silly party where we dress like we stepped out of the 16th century, eat symbolic foods, and share ridiculous poems about Calvin and Luther helpful for faith formation? The best way I can describe it is history. You know, that subject that you all loved in high school. History gets a bad rap, I think, because we treat it as just that - a subject, no more or less important than learning where commas go in a sentence or how to measure the velocity of a falling object, when it really is much more than that.

Not that English and Physics aren't important areas of study, and more than "subjects" themselves, but History is domething special. Even cultures without written language, where the people are more concerned with survival than with explaining gravity, share stories about where they come from. So why don't we?

Hearing stories about the Reformation never gets old for me, because they help me understand and take heart. Why do we so easily dismiss the faithful men and women who came before us? How audacious of us to assume that our life and times are so much more important than theirs, that we can't spare the time to hear and tell their stories... Maybe it's our individualism that tells us that each life is a free and unfettered start, but we need to get over that. Their stories are our stories, because they are our family, and I, for one, would like to make a habit of learning from their examples instead of making my own mistakes.

Firstfruit

I've said before that my family has few traditions. Ice cream for dessert, pizza&movie nights once or twice a week, watching the Steelers, and making semi-annual trips to Ohio (now more frequent) are about the sum of the list. Some that might be on there have been lost in recent years, including one of my least favorites: shopping for Easter dresses.

To be honest, I suspect that it was Grandma's idea - my most vivid memories of said shopping are of the same shoe store year after year. I never had a talent for choosing shoes - still don't - so I wasted time picking out the highest heels and most outrageous colors for her consideration. Her gasp of horror was gratifying, as was Grandpa's quiet smile when I put on a chastised face and went to find more reasonable pumps. Some years Mommy made the dress, but as we grew up we spent more time in real stores; some years were real winners, and some make me just a bit queasy to remember. Bright and early and almost late to church every Easter Sunday the three of us would stand out on the driveway and have our pictures taken.

cheese?

As a child, somehow these early spring events were soundtracked with the voice of Judy Garland, singing about the Easter Parade, which was romantic but always seemed a bit outdated. For a few years between childhood and whatever you call my present stage of life, I questioned the legitimacy of the whole thing - why do we have to dress up to go to church? Doesn't God say that he takes us as we are, that there is nothing we can do to earn his love and forgiveness? If so, why put on the frills, gloves and make-up? (yes, there were sometimes gloves involved) If I had been thinking more exegetically, I might have asked whether we thought that the Marys were dressed in their Sabbath best to approach the tomb - wouldn't they have been in mourning, distraught, and Jesus appeared to them anyway?

It boils down to the fact that I like jeans better than a skirt, and I'd rather not bother with my hair. However, clothes aren't the point. Confusion is the point. Isn't it amazing how easily we get stuck on a detour thinking, like a child, that this thing or that thing is the real thing? When I write I tend to imagine that my audience is a lot like me, so I apologize if you've never gotten caught up in the clothes and expectations and forgotten the simple truth... that we dress up because this is a day of celebration! The other 51 Sundays in the year are days of remembrance of this day, which is a day of remembrance of that day - that day when a man who had been beaten, humiliated and murdered was raised from the dead.

Did you catch that? Raised from the dead.

Resurrected.

Brought back to life.

(BTW, Pastor Eric was great this morning. Objection: "Science says that resurrection is impossible." Answer: "Uh... that's the point!")

In church this morning I considered finding the perfect Old Testament passage to talk about the promises that were fulfilled on the first Easter Sunday; you know, the one that was specifically looking forward to this morning. Silly rabbit, they all do! Jesus' life, death and resurrection were the fulfillment of the Old Testament, the realization of the hope of nations, and the embodiment of the hope that we have.

Last night I talked about the pain that Jesus endured and how he graciously made it possible for men to justify the execution that was necessary for their redemption. Today, I am celebrating what he saved mankind for (and I hope that you are too!). Jesus' crucifixion was the judicial payment for sin; his resurrection was victory over death, but not only over spiritual death. In I Corinthians 15, Paul says

If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men. But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. But each in his own turn: Christ, the firstfruits; then, when he comes, those who belong to him. (v. 19-23, NIV)

Firstfruits. Jesus came back in the flesh. Jesus ate with his disciples. Thomas touched his hands and his side. And Paul tells us that Jesus' resurrection is the promise of what we will also receive at the "last trumpet" (v.52).

Jesus' resurrection was the end of waiting for the Jews and God-fearers, the revelation of things obscured by years and prophecy. And, even better, his resurrection is the beginning of true hope. Not an indistinct, weak longing that someday things will be better, like Mr. Micawber's "something shall turn up!" No, our hope is substantiated, sealed with the demonstration of God's power to reverse the greatest human experience of brokenness - death.

Someday death will be gone. The redeemed will live eternally in a renewed heavens and earth, enjoying real life in resurrected bodies, doing real things: running, cooking and eating, playing softball, building, carving, reading and writing, singing and being silent. Those of us who have people to miss - that is, everyone who has ever lived - will have the joy of seeing our loved ones again. This is the day that we remember God's promise...

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

I did not see a temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their splendor into it. On no day will its gates ever be shut, for there will be no night there. The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into it. Nothing impure will ever enter it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life. (Revelation 21:1-4, 22-27, NIV)

The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote...

It's a bit late in the game to be writing this, but among the lessons I have learned at the Post Office is one about Christmas. And I am starting this with 12 minutes left in that blessed day, so I consider myself justified in attempting it, at the very least.

I have been known, among family and close friends, as a Grinch. In some ways it is a wonder that certain of my friends are still my friends, considering their devotion to the holiday. I am fine with the idea of Christmas, particularly when riding the cheery wave of Thanksgiving celebrations, but as the day draws closer I become grouchy and unhappy, and thus much more difficult to live with. I have many excuses for this behavior, but I'll only give you a few:

I have sometimes chosen to explain that I am disappointed by the blatant materialism of the holiday as most of us celebrate it, buying things that no one really needs and that they could just as easily buy for themselves (or that they will exchange so they can buy that other thing they really want). We treat it as everybody's birthday: it's very expensive, and the only people who really benefit are those in marketing.

 Or, I could say that the expectations stress me out. Christmas is supposed to be a cheerful time, full of time-honored traditions and merry-making with friends. Traditions and "merry-making" do not translate into our culture so well - we all want to have all of the traditions and negotiating the making of "merry" with friends with different schedules who are likewise involved in the keeping of all traditions is far too difficult. To top it off, the expectation of cheerfulness makes my sin nature rear up and say, "What? Cheerful? Well, now I'll be the farthest thing from it. On principle."

Finally, what is up with the music? 94.5FM plays only Christmas music from the day after Thanksgiving until the New Year, and while I appreciate their devotion, I swear there are only 20 Christmas songs in the whole world. They are all cheerful. They all talk about traditions that most of us don't have but wish we did (Yule Logs, White Christmas, a real life belief in Santa Clause, or the ubiquitous "sleigh-ride" that no longer has a wide-spread cultural context), which contributes to the stress mentioned in my last example.

On a more personal note, Christmas songs are all about the good old days and the people that we remember. I don't like to miss people. I want them to be here with me. Auld Lang Syne - since when is that a cheerful song? I don't want to miss "auld acquaintance," I don't want them to be gone in the first place.

So. That's the sort of thing I say. I admit I did some grinching this year, and I'm sure my friends and co-workers could give you some great examples, but working at the post office changed that a bit for me.

It's strange that transitioning from school to the night shift at a distribution center could do it. To be honest, when I took the job I breathed a sigh of relief - if I was working 72hr. weeks (as I was told I would be), I could take the holiday in small doses and hide from it when I wanted to. I felt that way right up until my second shift, when I saw the first package covered in colorful paper with the North Pole as the return address. And then the next day I got to do a manual sort - Christmas cards galore, from real people to real people. Lots of mail to APO addresses (that is, military mail), international packages, oddly shaped packages, coconuts from Hawaii pretending to be real packages.


In case you're wondering, you should never put Santa as the return addressee. I have seen too many packages go into limbo because of incomplete or torn addresses and an illegitimate return address. 

It is odd to think that this job, where anonymity is the name of the game, is the one that made me want to spend time with the people who know me, no matter how much stress comes along with it. The postal service is pretty darn quick - inspired by the mail I was sorting, I bought Christmas cards for some of my best friends, wrote notes in them during breaks, and mailed them two days before the big day, fairly sure that they would make it in time - but the extra time, the extra thought required to buy, package, mail, and be on time gave me some hope for this country and our traditions.

I haven't renounced Grinching altogether, and I probably won't until someone decides to write the modern equivalent of the sleigh song and put it to a melancholy tune, but I have made an effort to look for the opportunities in the holiday instead of the deficiencies. So far it's working, and I'm taking advantage of my day off to be with the people I love.

Merry Christmas, to my readers, my non-readers, and the people who play Springstein's version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" on the radio ad nauseum. It's not about the stuff, it's not about the cheer, it's about the people. Start a new tradition, one that's about words and time and hours spent "unproductively." It will do wonders for your holiday experience.

Musings from the Post Office

Happy December 22nd from the United States Post Office! That's right, my Christmas break plans included rejoining the ranks of "casual" postal employees. It's a bit of a disappointing transition from the rush and bustle of finals week - along with all its celebration and study and friendship - to the rattle and hum of a distribution center, but my bank account and future plans tell me that it's necessary.

Every time I get off an 8...9...12 hour shift I have to give myself a little pep talk about resigning my appointment, as in, convincing myself I shouldn't. Tempting as it is to turn in my badge and spend two weeks doing nothing, I have to remember that this is valuable, not only because it pays better than anything else I could be doing over break, but because of the things I learn from it.

For instance, just yesterday as I was talking myself out of quitting it occurred to me that I really am spoiled. My little sister says I work too much, and I'll admit that the transition from a school day to the night shift was ill-conceived, but at the same time... this is what real people do. Real people have real jobs that don't end the second week of December and resume in mid-January, with nothing between but reading and cookie-making. Real people put in hours when they would rather be at home loving their families or soaking their aching feet or planning Christmas shopping. Real people have to say "no" to good things on a daily basis because there is less appealing life stuff that must be done - and I shouldn't hide from being a real person.

I got off my shift early today and thus found myself wandering around Walmart at 3am hoping I would be struck by brilliant gift ideas. I didn't get any, unfortunately, but I was struck by the number of employees that were also there at 3am, restocking shelves and sweeping isles. Here in America our standards for customer service are pretty high, and I wonder how often we overlook the people who are right there, doing the things that must be done - especially during the holidays. They're men and women made in the image of God and doing their best.

 I tried to pretend I wasn't there (difficult, when I was one of five customers in the whole store) and stayed out of their way, but I couldn't help but think that they and I were both suffering through the same graveyard shift experience. I looked down at my painting jeans and work shirt, evenly covered with "priority dust" and realized that I'm not anything special because I'm in grad school. I'm just a Walmart employee. I'm just a postal employee. I'm just a member of the working class... and I could show them a little more respect. Maybe you could too?