merry x-mas

While having its roots in, and combining various elements of, pagan winter solstice celebrations, Christmas traditionally commemorates the birth of Jesus. And the more I contemplate what it is I admire about the life of Jesus, the more I think it boils down to the overarching theme of restoring community and repairing the brokenness we find in ourselves and the world. Almost every aspect of his example and message seems to point to this singular goal.

From the more abstract idea of the universal Christ manifested in the universal church (Gal 3:28), to the greater part of his words and actions and those of his disciplines, everything ultimately points to this idea of healing and restoration out of a seemingly inexhaustible source of compassion and love that we're encouraged to develop and tap into. Loving others as ourselves (Mt 22:35-40). Do to others as you would have them do to you (Lk 6:31). Forgiving seventy-seven times (Mt 18:21-35). Giving food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, welcome to the stranger, clothes to the naked, and care to those who are ill or imprisoned (Mt 25:31-46). Leveling inequality, both social (Mt 25:31-46) and economic (Mt 19:16-30). Bringing back into the community all those who were reviled or pushed to the margins of society by dominant power structures, from marginalized ethnic groups (Jn 4:4-42), lepers (Mt 8:1-4), sex workers (Lk 7:36-50), and tax collectors (Lk 15:1-7) to sinners (Mk 2:13-17), the poor, and those with disabilities (Lk 14:7-24). Throwing down rulers from their thrones and lifting up the lowly (Lk 1:46-55). Etc.

The story of Jesus is a meditation on saving the world from itself and its contradictions, hypocrisies, and modes of oppression—an intersectional meditation that's supposed to inspire hope, reflection, and action. What we're asked to repent of is our unskillful actions, the harm that we directly cause through greed, anger, and ignorance or indirectly support with our complacency and nonaction. And what we're encouraged to celebrate is our own potential for goodness and the example of those both real and mythical who show us the way to fulfill that goodness—the prophets who light the way with their words, deeds, and warnings, the shepherds who guide us and lead the way forward as we work together to restore our community and repair our relationships with ourselves and one another. And I think this idea is reflected most beautifully and succinctly in Teresa of Avila's poem:

Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours.
Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world.
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good.
Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

The spirit of Christ is resurrected in these moments. Every time we hold out our hand to lift someone up. Every time we care for another person who's sick, in prison, or in mourning. Every time we give of ourselves when others are in need. Every time we choose to forgive rather than to condemn. Every time we cultivate compassion and understanding rather than be overcome by anger and fear. Every time we seek reconciliation over estrangement. Every time we embrace peace over violence. Every time we make someone else's suffering our own and seek to do what we can to ease it or shoulder it ourselves. Every time we challenge modes of harm and oppression. Every time we elect to side with the oppressed. Every time we choose to include others into our lives and welcome them into our communities.

That's the moral of this story to me and what we're truly called to honour and celebrate. God is love, and love exists in our hearts when we're in relationship with others.