Disclaimer: I love Christmas, really. It's my favorite holiday. Christmas is all about love, peace, hope, and good will. Who doesn't like those? It's much easier to explain to the kids than Easter. And, if you're lucky, your family comes in, and you get to eat good food, hang out, and have a good time. That said, I have two major issues.
1. Commercialism gone crazy
Why is it that it seems holiday shopping starts earlier and earlier? Two weeks before Halloween, the kids and I walked into a red-and-green extravaganza at Home Depot. The Boy just looked confused. "Mom, why is it all Christmasy?" The Girl was outraged. "For Pete's sake people, it's not even Halloween yet!" Precisely.
This year, the excuse is that with gas prices so high, retailers are afraid that the holiday shopping season will be flat. So they started the shopping season earlier. Great. Before you know it, shopping for Christmas will start on January 2. No wonder everybody is sick of the holiday before the holiday even gets here. People in my neighborhood started putting up Christmas lights weeks ago.
Me, I'm resisting. Our decorations won't go up until next weekend. I've thought about potential presents, but I haven't really bought anything yet. Once again, I'll probably do my shopping online. The hubby asked if I had plans for Black Friday. When I told him no, what did he think, he said, "Well, you might have been going shopping." Yeah, like you could pay me to get near a store today.
And judging by The Girl's reaction in Home Depot, I've got the next generation well in hand.
2. It's a holiday
I really hate to break it to people, but Christmas is a holiday - a Christian holy day, as a matter of fact. Christ's Mass, the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Granted, Christmas is easier to make accessible to people regardless of of religious background. As I said above, it's a holiday about peace, joy, love, and hope, and God knows the world could use more of that.
At it's core though, Christmas is about the birth of Christ. If you get rid of all the presents, the tree, and the decorations, I can still celebrate Christmas. If Christmas is all about the food, trimmings, and presents, you're going to have a harder time celebrating without them. And while it may seem petty, I'm pretty damn sick of people saying I just need to be less sensitive.
A friend recently sent me an email purported to be an editorial written by Ben Stein. If he wrote it, kudos to him because he understands. If he didn't write it, well, too bad because I'm going to pretend that he did. In it, he says that as a Jew he doesn't feel threatened by Christmas trees or creches. And don't call them something else, it's a Christmas tree. And he's right.
Pittsburgh's Light-up Night used to kick off a Christmas season. I forget what it was called, but the concept of "Christmas" was definitely there. Then people got upset and said that "Christmas" was too exclusionary, and it should be renamed Sparkle Season. There's a great name. Then somebody said the word "season" had too many religious overtones. "Season" is religious? So I guess Spring/Summer/Autumn/Winter is now a religious concept and The Four Seasons is a temple. So they renamed it Downtown Pittsburgh Sparkles. Because that really has something to do with anything. And they don't light a Christmas tree, they light the Unity Tree. Because that's not offensive to non-Christians who, just like Ben Stein, realize that it's a Christmas tree.
So there it is - my rants about Christmas. But I have one consolation. Now that Thanksgiving is over, I can get out my Christmas music and enjoy myself.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Retreat to Advance
If you're anything like me, your daily routine might resemble the following: Get up and get dressed; get kids up and dressed; feed kids quick breakfast; drop kids off at school; go to work; spend 8 hours with people who rarely listen to you and then expect you to clean up the resulting mess; go home; cook dinner; help kids with homework; run to dance lessons; bathe kids; put them in bed; do some laundry; and eventually collapse into bed around 10:00 so you can get up the next morning and do it all again. Weekends offer a little variety (grocery shopping anyone?), but it's still a lot of running. It's enough to make any sane person wish she was a hermit in the desert.
However, one need not be a complete hermit to get a little peace and quiet. A couple weeks ago, a letter arrived from a woman in my parish inviting me to the annual women's retreat. I was still in a bit of a religious funk, so my first inclination was, "Why bother?" A nagging feeling and the encouragement of my friends changed my mind. Even if I didn't discover inner peace, at least I'd be free of kids and husband for most of a weekend. That doesn't happen all that often.
Turns out, it was the right decision. I spent a lovely hour in the meditation garden, sitting under a tree in the weak November sunlight listening to an album of Gregorian chant. It was very zen. I got to hang out with women who were like me. And Saturday night, during the evening meditation - silent except for periods of very soft music - I had the great "a ha!" moment of connection I'd been looking for in the past two months. By Sunday afternoon, I felt my inner battery was fully charged. Sure, the kids mobbed me when I got home and within 10 minutes it was as though I never left, but I sure felt better able to deal with it than I had on Friday night.
This concept of "retreat," or drawing apart for inner reflection, has strong roots in most of the world's major religions. Judaism had prophets and hermits who lived apart communing with Yahweh. Muhammad found Allah in the desert. Catholicism abounds with people who used this concept of retreat both to enhance their public service and their relationship with the Divine. One of my favorites, St. Francis of Assisi, insisted upon it. Francis spent a lot of time traveling between communities, ministering to the people in whatever way they needed, usually in return for food and lodging. When this all became too exhausting (especially considering Francis had poor health), he would find himself a mountain cave to retreat to, by himself, to pray and fast. Recharge the old inner battery. And when he came down, spiritually refreshed, he would say, "Come, let us begin again."
But wait, you say. I'm not religious. I'm not even sure I believe in God. I don't need this retreat nonsense. Bullhockey.
Face it, modern life is noisy. The TV, the radio, the computer, your MP3 player - they all compete for your attention. Hours and hours of crap programs play endlessly on the bazillion TV and radio channels now available on digital cable, satellite TV, satellite radio, and now HD radio. Buy this, do that, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, there are some gems out there, but it's mostly crap. Bruce Springsteen once said, "Fifty-seven channels and nothing on." The Boss could update that to 157 channels and he' still be right.
And in the midst of all this bedlam is you. Maybe you don't attend church or feel religious or particularly believe in God. But maybe you feel anxious, tired, stressed, overwhelmed; in other words, out of touch with the universe. The Desiderata said it: You are a child of the universe, no less that the trees and the stars. Being out of touch with the universe causes you to feel "not right." And when this happens, it's not the universe's fault. What I learned on my retreat is that God - or the universe - does not abandon you. You abandon Him (or it).
The answer? Retreat. Turn off the TV and the radio. Banish the video games. Turn off your cell phone, and turn the ringer down on the home phone. Send the kids outside or have your spouse take them. Close your eyes and wrap yourself in silence. If you must have background, find soft instrumentals that soothe and fade into the background, barely noticeable. Quiet your thoughts and listen for that soft, still voice that tells you "You are here, you are mine, you are at peace." God or the universe does not shout. There is a story in the Old Testament about the prophet Elijah (or Elisha - I get them mixed up) who knew God was coming. So he fled to a cave and a thunderous wind came by. But God wasn't in the wind. A roaring fire came by, but God wasn't in the fire. Finally, a soft breeze, barely noticeable, trickled by the cave. And there was God.
Religious or not, we need the silence. We need to retreat to a place where the cell phones don't ring, and the music doesn't blare, and the TV stops turning us into mindless zombies. The great "a-ha!" moments in life don't come when you're in front of the TV or rushing the kids from activity to activity. Like the breeze in the Old Testament, they come in the quiet darkness, where all you can hear is the beating of your own heart.
Retreat is not necessary every week, or even every month. I would recommend doing it at least once a year. If you are religious, check out your local faith community and ask what's out there. If you're not religious, make your own or see if there is a secular version near you.
Retreat to advance. Sometimes, two steps backward is a good thing.
However, one need not be a complete hermit to get a little peace and quiet. A couple weeks ago, a letter arrived from a woman in my parish inviting me to the annual women's retreat. I was still in a bit of a religious funk, so my first inclination was, "Why bother?" A nagging feeling and the encouragement of my friends changed my mind. Even if I didn't discover inner peace, at least I'd be free of kids and husband for most of a weekend. That doesn't happen all that often.
Turns out, it was the right decision. I spent a lovely hour in the meditation garden, sitting under a tree in the weak November sunlight listening to an album of Gregorian chant. It was very zen. I got to hang out with women who were like me. And Saturday night, during the evening meditation - silent except for periods of very soft music - I had the great "a ha!" moment of connection I'd been looking for in the past two months. By Sunday afternoon, I felt my inner battery was fully charged. Sure, the kids mobbed me when I got home and within 10 minutes it was as though I never left, but I sure felt better able to deal with it than I had on Friday night.
This concept of "retreat," or drawing apart for inner reflection, has strong roots in most of the world's major religions. Judaism had prophets and hermits who lived apart communing with Yahweh. Muhammad found Allah in the desert. Catholicism abounds with people who used this concept of retreat both to enhance their public service and their relationship with the Divine. One of my favorites, St. Francis of Assisi, insisted upon it. Francis spent a lot of time traveling between communities, ministering to the people in whatever way they needed, usually in return for food and lodging. When this all became too exhausting (especially considering Francis had poor health), he would find himself a mountain cave to retreat to, by himself, to pray and fast. Recharge the old inner battery. And when he came down, spiritually refreshed, he would say, "Come, let us begin again."
But wait, you say. I'm not religious. I'm not even sure I believe in God. I don't need this retreat nonsense. Bullhockey.
Face it, modern life is noisy. The TV, the radio, the computer, your MP3 player - they all compete for your attention. Hours and hours of crap programs play endlessly on the bazillion TV and radio channels now available on digital cable, satellite TV, satellite radio, and now HD radio. Buy this, do that, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, there are some gems out there, but it's mostly crap. Bruce Springsteen once said, "Fifty-seven channels and nothing on." The Boss could update that to 157 channels and he' still be right.
And in the midst of all this bedlam is you. Maybe you don't attend church or feel religious or particularly believe in God. But maybe you feel anxious, tired, stressed, overwhelmed; in other words, out of touch with the universe. The Desiderata said it: You are a child of the universe, no less that the trees and the stars. Being out of touch with the universe causes you to feel "not right." And when this happens, it's not the universe's fault. What I learned on my retreat is that God - or the universe - does not abandon you. You abandon Him (or it).
The answer? Retreat. Turn off the TV and the radio. Banish the video games. Turn off your cell phone, and turn the ringer down on the home phone. Send the kids outside or have your spouse take them. Close your eyes and wrap yourself in silence. If you must have background, find soft instrumentals that soothe and fade into the background, barely noticeable. Quiet your thoughts and listen for that soft, still voice that tells you "You are here, you are mine, you are at peace." God or the universe does not shout. There is a story in the Old Testament about the prophet Elijah (or Elisha - I get them mixed up) who knew God was coming. So he fled to a cave and a thunderous wind came by. But God wasn't in the wind. A roaring fire came by, but God wasn't in the fire. Finally, a soft breeze, barely noticeable, trickled by the cave. And there was God.
Religious or not, we need the silence. We need to retreat to a place where the cell phones don't ring, and the music doesn't blare, and the TV stops turning us into mindless zombies. The great "a-ha!" moments in life don't come when you're in front of the TV or rushing the kids from activity to activity. Like the breeze in the Old Testament, they come in the quiet darkness, where all you can hear is the beating of your own heart.
Retreat is not necessary every week, or even every month. I would recommend doing it at least once a year. If you are religious, check out your local faith community and ask what's out there. If you're not religious, make your own or see if there is a secular version near you.
Retreat to advance. Sometimes, two steps backward is a good thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)