Most of you who read this will (hopefully) be sleeping as I write. It is a strange experience to be so far away from most of my friends and family - to be warm and tanned (though wet for the past couple of days) whereas most of you are surrounded by snow, rain, frost, and cold; to be going to bed as you are thinking about mid-morning coffee; to be walking daily among Samoans, Tongans, and Maori; to be faced with wide open spaces instead of the narrow streets of Oxford. It is certainly a wonderful experience to be in a land, in a culture so different from my own.
But there is something about Christmas that always makes one long for home I think. It doesn't seem to matter whether or not that home ever really existed. The empty commercial hype, the talk of gifts and giving, the references to 'Christmas spirit' - these all leave us longing for people to share with, people to draw close to, a place to belong ... a family, a community. Sadly, in our short lives this longing is only fulfilled in part, and often not at all.
I am greatly blessed to have both friends and family who surround me with love. And in this land so far away from many of you, I find there is 'room in the inn' for me with a family who have opened their home and hearts to me this Christmas. The Pelz family work with the same organization that I do, used to live in Oxford and attend the same church as I do. We knew one another, but were not close friends. We got to know one another best when they were moving and I was jobless, and therefore available to help them pack and clean. And now ... here I am, several years later - finding that here on the 'other side' of the world is welcome, here home, here community and communion.
We are well into Christmas Eve in the Pelz family. Presents are being wrapped, Jane and I are cooking up a storm (tuna, shrimp and veggies on the bbq tonight, turkey tomorrow. a new dessert recipe baking in the oven), young Josh is watching yet another Disney channel Christmas movie (who knew there were so many? not me!). Tonight a midnight service, which brings back wonderful memories of my childhood - getting to stay up late, carols and eager anticipation, a church filled with candles. I know, though, that trying to relive those magical times, trying to find meaning in all the trappings of the season, is not what is truly important. Nor, even, are friends and family - they will fail us too.
Came across this quotation by John Stackhouse Jr. the other day, so I'll end with it, as I think it points the way through all disappointments, past and present, and provides a basis for the only kind of community that has a chance of really lasting:
"Carols stir us. Holy words inspire us. The golden glow from the manger warms us. A little religion at Christmas is fine. But that glow in the manger comes from the Light of the world. It exposes evil and either redeems it or destroys it. The babe in the manger is far more than an object for sentimental sighs. He is the Son of God who must be accepted as ruler - or confronted as rival."
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