An Unexpected Christmas is Best

I spent part of last week, like most of us, wading through the crowds and Christmas commerce. I’m not the type to do my Christmas shopping with a list and a plan. I’ve always liked to let the season take shape on its own, so if there is anything deliberate about my version of Christmas it’s the expectation of being surprised.

What was once the childhood anticipation of opening presents on Christmas morning has now become the expectation of knowing that something remarkable is about to happen. This way I don’t know when the next present is going to come.

In many ways our expectations illuminate our path. I think the light is brightest around the holidays. And so I walked from my truck to the sidewalk on a cool afternoon when I saw a Salvation Army kettle hanging from the traditional red chain and tripod.  The woman sitting next to it wore a Santa hat and was rummaging through her purse as I approached. I collected a few coins from my pocket and dropped them in the slot. “Merry Christmas, how are you today?” the woman asked.

“Merry Christmas, I’m well, how are you?” I said.

She stopped fishing inside her purse for an instant, looked up and said “Oh, I’m blessed.”

There it was, a moment I knew would come. I have this theory, that we are surrounded by countless, thin little cracks that are just beyond our perception, and that every once in a while true beauty makes us accessible to those cracks. Everyone has their own unique way being summoned by those moments; for some it’s music, or a baby’s laugh or a perfect double-play. Think of it as a spark that renders us available to what lies beyond what we perceive with our ordinary senses. We put our guard down, and something reaches us through the cracks and suspends time and thought, and for a moment we are not what we believe ourselves to be. And for that moment we understand that we are remarkable.

A middle school band rendition of Stars and Stripes Forever can do it to a proud parent. The squeaky clarinets and off-beat drum are as close to truth as children can take us. And then there we are, momentarily suspended. A teacher can tell you that the cracks open-up when the eyes of their students are suddenly lighted with understanding.

In many places across Latin America the tradition of gift-giving is reserved for children only, and only the feast of the Epiphany. That’s when the Magi are said to have visited the baby Jesus in the manger. The Kings of Orient, Melchior, Gaspar and Balthazar, brought gifts to the baby, and the act is replicated by leaving gifts in the shoes of the children on the morning of January 6th.

Tradition and Christian scripture tell us that the three Kings followed a star to the place where they found the infant Jesus. Were I to have been a camel boy on that expedition I would have been in a foul mood, grudgingly doing my job for the sake of doing it and nothing else. But the Magi followed an expectation. And when their particular truth appeared in their lives the moment was suspended. We call it epiphany.

And it’s supposed to be the culminating end to the season.

Epiphanies are moments when truth pierces our many layers of invented beliefs. We can’t predict them, or call ahead to reserve a table, they just happen. But they seem to happen more often if you walk through life knowing that they will. Suddenly, a woman sitting by a red kettle will say “I’m blessed” and for a fraction of a moment you’ll find yourself with no response. And you’ll think, if she can say so, then she must be. And you’ll realize that by saying that she has offered you her gift, and you’ll accept it because you have no choice, and in that instant you’ll make it your own and you will offer it back. “So am I,” you’ll say. And it will be beautiful because it will be true, and it will be true not because you did anything to make it so, but because it was a gift.