A reminder at church on the second Sunday of advent, when we light the candle of peace:
Peace isn’t agreeing with one another; peace is walking together, living life together.
A good reminder, as we lurch into the frenzy of familial get togethers. I may not agree with you but we can connect on a human level over joy, sorrow, cookies, children, pets, the death of loved ones, aging parents, life with baby.
The point of the holiday family get together, then, is not to agree; the point of family is not avoidance of offending with an opposing viewpoint. That level of vigilance exhausts even the most seasoned expert at small talk. Neither is the point of family at the holidays to argue or point fingers. The point of family is to share space, to learn how to share space with open hands, to practice sharing space with a willingness to absorb someone else’s viewpoint, their unique differences, and not judge them.
Hard. Very hard. Especially now that I can cook a decent turkey. How will I ever not judge a gross, dry turkey in the future? I am a horrible food snob and I confess it with remorse. But again – the meal isn’t the turkey (ham/roast/tofu/potluck/pizza.) The meal is sitting next to you, hands brushing as we pass food or clean up after someone’s sloppy kid, likely mine. The meal is everyone pitching in – but mostly, sigh, the women – to divvy up leftovers and wash dishes afterward. The meal is the crowded kitchen, the laden table, the piles of expectations everyone is tripping over or stepping on – squish! – or sideskirting. The awkward dance of old and young. The grandfather, may he rest in eternal peace, adamantly insisting that dishes must be passed counterclockwise or else. The aunt, only willing to bring that one overcooked casserole that nobody likes. The teenager, blacked out asleep on the couch ten minutes after greeting all the elderly relatives.
We lurch along in peace, or out of synch with it, trying to find a right rhythm every year. A family is a slightly different creature each time the calendar rolls around. We find our peace in the fact that Christmas means something holy and worth remembering to everyone present. And if for some reason it doesn’t, we carry the candle of peace for them too. A snuffed out wick can always be lit again.
Post 8 of Waiting: An Advent Series.