Preparing in our own way

These are seasonal things.

Great big happenings that happen once year.

And we prepare for them, they affect our moods, on good days doors are held open longer, lovely nods on the street are given to each other as we shop for things.

And in this particular part of the year, we know that Christmas is coming.

Christmas is on its way.

The kids are heading home.

The air is getting a bit chillier.

We perhaps step lighter on way to to and fro.

And this has always been a wonderful time of year, for me especially.

We grew up with those Christmas specials on TV, the decorations would go up and my brother and I were given certain tasks, certain things to do.

I was in charge of hanging those little sticky things on the windows that spelled out merry Christmas and Seasons Greetings.

After we moved from Ansonia to Cheshire, I suddenly had a real closet in my room with a door on hinges and everything.

No longer did I have a smaller closet with sliding doors, I had this larger closet with a shelf.

It was all very fancy.

And what to do with all of that space?

Well, on the day after Thanksgiving I would retrieve a box from the attic.

And that in itself was quite the routine as I would open the small half door to access the attic above the garage, retrieve a lamp as there was no electricity fed there, plug the lamp in down the hall and carry it to center of the room filled with boxes still unpacked after our move and perhaps still unpacked to this day.

And then I’d find it: a white copy paper box stored somewhere in the back of the attic on top of some things and besides others.

Written on the side in childish script were the words “Matt’s Christmas Stuff.”

I would pull the box out of the attic, unplug the lamp, wrap the cord around the base, place it back where it belonged and close the door, all the while making sure I didn’t lock the cat in the attic.

The cat did not like being locked in the attic.

I then placed the box on my bed, opened it by placing the lid beside it, then turned to face the empty palette that was the shelf at the top of my new and larger closet.

Carefully I placed a layer of batting on the shelf, angel white and soft, that would serve as snow.

And on top of that snow, I would add figurines of elves performing their work making toys for kids and Santas large and small oversaw their labors.

I had a small Christmas tree with a string of lights attached to the closet lamp, a pull string turned on the string of lights.

And it was wonderful.

With the pull of a chain, the closet would light up with a prism of greens and reds and yellows and blues.

A twinkling star reflected those lights and my closet became magic, a Noel Xanadu; a Narnia without furs.

And stepping back in front of the closet, before I went downstairs and called to parents asking them to come see my Handi-work, see what I did there?

Handi-work?

Before heading down the stairs, I would pause.

And I would feel the most wonderful of feelings, a reminder of Christmases past, a reminder of those Christmas specials watched in pajamas and our teeth already brushed so my brother and I could stay up late and then go straight to bed after Linus told us all of the true meaning of Christmas.

In that closet was the direct reminder of Heavy Cream placed in the refrigerator, itself serving as evidence that company was coming.

On special days, when we would have guests, my mother would buy a pint of heavy cream because she whipped her own whipped cream.

To this day I have still not told her my preference for Cool Whip.

And Christmas time meant family would be the company that was soon to arrive.

Christmas meant grandparents and my aunt and uncle and their children from New Jersey were soon to arrive.

The Christmas skits at my grandparents in Derby performed by my cousins and I were fondly recalled as I stood before my closet array.

Those memories were glorious and they played out before a twinkling display of plastic Santas a porcelain elves.

Friends, I was a 12-year-old boy longing for the old days.

I was a nostalgic child and only now does it occur to me how strange that is!

And yet, it is beautiful as well.

For those memories that gave me the warm and fuzzies, those flashes of time with family were so fondly recalled because they were the product of love.

I loved being with family because I was loved by family.

And so it was with anticipation that I laid out my Christmas display; I prepared for the arrival of doorstep greetings, cheek kisses and hearty handshakes, by building up a Christmas closet rivaling, in my mind, that of a Macy’s window in December.

~Pause~

This sermon has broken many rules.

You see, as a priest I am supposed to tell you that Advent, this season we are in with blues and roses and ribbons and wreaths, is not about Christmas.

Advent is supposed to be about preparing for the return of our savior.

Our savior arrived as one of the most vulnerable, a baby unable to feed himself and relied on his mother and father and those all around him for sustenance.

Our savior who performed miracles for those most in need for the sick, the bleeding, the children, and the poor.

Our savior who died for us, to relieve us from death and ultimately gave us the entrance into salvation.

This season is about that.

And not Christmas.

Not closets and lights and nostalgia.

It is about preparing ourselves for the arrival once again of that savior.

We are to make straight the highways for the Lord.

We will witness the dry land watered, the desert blooming and blossoming.

We anticipate the glory of the Lord.

An the glory of the Lord will ensure the blind will see, the deaf will hear, the lame will move with lovely abandon.

None of shall go astray; none of shall be unclean, in fact we will become holy and whole and joy shall be upon our heads.

That is what we are preparing for; that is what this season is about.

It is, I promise you, not about the mad rush to buy iPhones and Androids but about preparing for the coming of something better and someone greater.

And yet I just spent 763 words going over my wispy recollections of a child’s Christmas.

If we are to reside in this season, be truly present for the preparations it requires, why talk about colorful lights and secular things?

Because within the story I just told is one thread throughout.

Love.

I was not building an altar to Baal in that closet but a totem to love.

I so enjoyed that time with family that Christmas brought because I was so loved.

And I loved them back hard.

I hung around at the fringes when the adults talked because I loved being with them.

I played kid games with the younger cousins and helped put together their toys because I loved them.

The days before Christmas and after, the smile that crossed my face exiting the bus on Christmas Day because I saw my grandparent’s Dodge Aspen parked in our driveway appeared because of love.

I mention these things, these snapshots of happiness because of love and because of love we prepare for the arrival of our savior.

God so love the world that God sent us God’s son.

And God’s son healed us, and walked with us, and lifted us up, because we are loved by Jesus Christ.

And we are loved by God.

I spoke so much about the anticipation of Christmas as a child because it is the closest I can come to, in my own terms, understanding the anticipation of the return of Christ’s love and God’s kingdom.

It is how I come to terms with the need to stay awake for the return of our Lord.

To prepare and ensure we have the proper amount of oil for our lamps when the savior arrives once more.

That child’s careful walk to and through the attic, bringing the proper amount of light to retrieve those baubles and trinkets, unwrapping the porcelain, unwinding the light string, those were acts of preparation.

And those are acts we can carry over into our own lives, adult versions of a child’s hand laying out snow made of foam and polyester.

Friends, we prepare by entering into the attics of our hearts and minds in prayer and meditation, unwinding that which ails us, shining light upon all that is good in our lives and giving thanks, thanks to God, thanks to thanks to each other, we are grateful for love.

We prepare by taking on the lessons of preparation we learned earlier in life and presently and applying them to where we are now so that we might recognize the arrival once more of our God.

And we prepare by recalling that which is beautiful so that we can recognize that which is glorious.

We prepare by centering ourselves around Christ as if we are children standing before a closet shimmering in nostalgia and light.

That feeling, that closeness to family, is how I can approximate, even approach understanding the feeling that is brought about by preparing for our Lord.

We are preparing for a love so great, so perfect, that even but touching the hem of that love’s robe will heal us; it will make us whole.

And so I ask you to pause in this busiest of busy seasons.

I ask you to find a quiet moment to sit and rediscover calm.

I ask you to look to God with a child’s heart and child’s mind, pure in thought and stature.

I ask that you pray.

Pray for preparation.

Pray for return.

Pray for the simple and complete love of God and for Christ’s eventual return.

And the kingdom shall arrive.

We shall walk in that kingdom unfettered, we shall return to the Lord and we shall come to Zion singing.

Everlasting joy shall be upon us and we shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

And we will arrive at this place through preparation.

And maybe we will understand this place on this day and before its arrival through perhaps a bit of nostalgia and a family’s abundant love.

Oh wisdom

Lord and ruler

Root of Jesse

Key of David

Rising sun

Emmanuel.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Amen.