I was a very young woman when I found this phrase, “peace unearth.” I think it might have been in the book Notes to Myself, whose author I no longer remember though his impact on me was great. I made last-minute Christmas cards with it, the words floating under turquoise decoupaged tissue paper, and even sent a few out.
"Last minute” has come to
characterize my Christmas preparations.
It’s not just that I’m lazy or tardy, though I am both of those. I am also one of those who is aggrieved by
the appearance of Christmas decorations in Target and Walmart the day after
Halloween, the sound of Christmas music in the grocery stores before
Thanksgiving. These “jump the gun”
people seem futuristic to me, and set my brakes screeching, sometimes against
my will. The sound inside my head is
illness-making.
Each year around this time I remember that I moved to small-town Lindsay in search of a more meaningful Christmas. At that time my family seemed destined to cash in the year’s income in order to mound presents under the tree, and I needed to disconnect from that compulsion. But more important was the need to grasp the true meaning of the Bethlehem story for my entire life, not just for the month of December.
The streets of our small towns this past weekend were strikingly empty. The merchants’ doors were open, but the customers filtered through in thin wisps. I was out looking for a few treasures and found them, but the spirit of Christmas was vaporous. My small-town antennae picked up warning bells.
Each year around this time I remember that I moved to small-town Lindsay in search of a more meaningful Christmas. At that time my family seemed destined to cash in the year’s income in order to mound presents under the tree, and I needed to disconnect from that compulsion. But more important was the need to grasp the true meaning of the Bethlehem story for my entire life, not just for the month of December.
The streets of our small towns this past weekend were strikingly empty. The merchants’ doors were open, but the customers filtered through in thin wisps. I was out looking for a few treasures and found them, but the spirit of Christmas was vaporous. My small-town antennae picked up warning bells.
The pews in my church were almost as vacant. We listened to a gaggle of beautiful children sing, heard Mary’s part of the Christmas story once again. The organ piped out “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” while we sang along, anticipating the birth just a few days away. But the future of the church matches that of the small towns, both being eroded by the centralizing forces of the consumer empire. Until people learn to tend these critical components of small town existence, our future is on the auction block.
The Christmas cards are fewer this year, too, as more of us increase our reliance on sending e-wishes. The shift from paper to light and electricity has its benefits, but leaves some of us wondering what will become of the word, spoken or written.
“As healthy and active as ever, I became old in this, my 79th year,” wrote my friend Jann Maguire by email, “perhaps because of living in the same house for half my life. Everywhere I looked, I saw the past peeking through: open school campuses, now with high locked gates; houses, including my own, where the dear departed used to live; almost empty churches where I once worked and worshiped.” Catching herself in easy melancholy, she got out her verbal shovel and started to dig.
"I’m grateful for study with wise
teachers in vast virtual classrooms and for community service promoting art,
feeding my spirit,” she declared, unearthing some peace. “I pray we keep our hearts open and light in
spite of the daily news,” she added, digging a little deeper. “I revere the babe in the manger, the
carpenter who healed, the Cosmic Christ and the Mother and Father of All,” she
ended, at rest. “Amen” I say to that.
Another friend wrote his hope that I would enjoy this season walking around town like we did my first Christmas in Lindsay, enjoying the sights of lighted houses and yards, the fires stoked, the neighbors outside taking in the stars and the night air. We’re still safe enough here to do that, by and large. What a gift.
May you unearth some small-town peace this Christmas, courtesy of the Bethlehem story.
Another friend wrote his hope that I would enjoy this season walking around town like we did my first Christmas in Lindsay, enjoying the sights of lighted houses and yards, the fires stoked, the neighbors outside taking in the stars and the night air. We’re still safe enough here to do that, by and large. What a gift.
May you unearth some small-town peace this Christmas, courtesy of the Bethlehem story.
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Trudy
Wischemann is a neophyte elf in Grinch clothing. You can send her your peace digging stories
c/o P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA 93247 or leave a comment
below.
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