Christmas Weight Loss

“You guide me in your divine counsel; and once I have been grasped by it, 

I can finally know your glory.”  From Psalm 73,  A Psalm of Asaph

“The Word became flesh and lived among us; and we have seen his glory, 

the glory of the unique one from the Father, full of grace and truth…

He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, 

the world did not recognize him.”  John 1:14,10

What do you do when your second unborn baby has just died; and no encouragement, nor empathy offered to your supposed best friend seem to matter; and all your “I love yous” are met with dejecting silence; and in hope of reclaiming some meaning in life, you’ve emptied what’s left of yourself into projects at work only to realize it’s been for nothing; and at the close of the day, even the prospect of a restful night’s sleep is a tease of the end you wish was possible?...

…You make important life decisions.  You end up making choices that may dominate whatever time and remnants of energy you have left.  Choices you secretly trust will eventually bring the opposite effect of the numbing one they create most immediately.  Up late on that hopeless weekday night, you turn to the light.  Standing there, illuminated at the sight of what comforting gifts your old friend offers, you scavenge the fridge for a suitable late night snack.  But it still feels too dark, so your brilliance leads you further, toward an even brighter light.  Balancing your plate of microwavable promises atop your drink, you make your way through another dark room guided only by the light pulling you forward.  Finally, with a deep sigh you plop in front of the TV with that not so healthy snack in hand.  Once there, you decide you might as well begin watching LOST. You know, the TV series from a few years ago, which for many of us is probably as addicting as crack! Okay…well…this is what I did some time ago. 

It wasn’t long before the only place I found myself was somewhere inside the story of these fascinating people crashed and lost on a deserted island.  While I took another bite, they searched desperately for food and my mind wandered off with them.  Their island seemed just as mysterious as mine, where I sat alone and numb, waiting for my mind to desert my body long enough to finally fall asleep. 

I’m pretty well through the anxious spells from back then.  The ones where simply surviving another night, another week or month seemed like an accomplishment.  It’s a matter of years now, thankfully.  I’ve been relieved of the pathogen causing my prior disease, yet an all too familiar sickness still lingers.  Lately it’s symptoms are most apparent in the great contrast brought forth within the Christmas season. 

I really love Christmas time. Whether one is particularly religious or not, the Christmas season has a unique way of inviting joy and excitement into our hearts.  There are fanciful stories and family traditions.  Cheerful carols and children’s concerts, gift giving and getting, dark things set to life with color and light, everything seems to warm winter’s chill with long awaited feelings of peace and harmony.  But, it never seems to last very long.  A few weeks ago, I couldn’t take it anymore.  Or maybe I couldn’t take myself anymore.  To begin, I almost always end up eating way too much in all the gatherings and festivities.  The music eventually gives me a headache; and if I saw another jewelry commercial or heard “Every kiss begins with Kay” one more time I was going to swear at the TV!  Then, about the time those smaller things threatened to ruin my Christmas spirit, innocent children and other beautiful people are shot to death. What are we left to do? 

In the annoying irony that is my life, I recently found myself up late again, mindlessly wandering through the fridge and soon after, my Netflix library.  I couldn’t stomach any of the cute Christmas movies, so I kept browsing.  Somehow, without actually intending to, I realized I had committed myself to watching the entire series of LOST over again.  Of course, my poor habit of eating too much too late has accompanied this repeat LOST addiction.  Now, I’m in the middle of season four seriously pondering what’s wrong with me! 

In addition to the shame of occasionally eating myself into a food coma, I hate how I find myself relating with those lost characters again.  After fighting to survive and finally recovering some of me from the wreckage, I’ve trusted there would eventually be more finding than losing.  So, I hate it when time turns an otherwise pleasant and uneventful day into an anniversary of pain.  When something moveable and possible in life suddenly feels tethered and unlikely again it seems disappointment calls forth the subtle need for anesthesia.  Then, when more signs of sorrow appear than stars of great promise, it almost feels artificial, even impossible, to enjoy the joy supposedly arriving with Christ at Christmas. In fact, simply recognizing him here with us often seems far too heavy a task, which presents those tried and true weight loss plans as hopelessly attractive solutions. 

It’s strange how the symptoms of our sickness have the power to initiate a response reflective of our anxiety rather than the way to a cure.  The dream of new conditions and hope come to stay seems real enough that not being able to claim its actuality in our lives only awakens a response which pushes it further away.  We’d like to say “it is well,” and “plans will bring success and security,” and live at peace in all our relationships, yet our stretch for that awesome state may leave us more awfully estranged than when we had first begun. We’re even provided with a whole season to remind us of the healing cure and still, whenever we feel the weight of humanity’s sickness pressing down we can’t wait shed the pounds and box up the decorations.  Meanwhile, in the Creation-Christmas story from John, we’re reminded of something that changes everything and so our response must also change!  Glory has been made visible.  Glory—the transforming presence of the One whose weight and profound value transcend the very humble nature which he took on in order to display its fullness.

What if this whole struggle is meant to be part of Christmas? What if my not so secret ways of achieving this illusory weightlessness when there’s more grief than glory actually expose the space God most desires to heal within me?  Have I been missing you, Jesus?  How long have you gone unrecognized?  While I try to leave, you come to stay.  While I curse the weight of my humanity, you bless it and take it on once and for all.  I’m afraid I’ve spent so many years treating Christmas as some temporary pause for my spiritual restlessness I wonder if I’ve somehow interrupted the story you’ve meant to continue within me all along!  When did I, like Asaph, confuse my passionate reach for the kavod of YHWH with my desire to be someone other than the human you created in the sanctuary full of your divine glory?  When did I start confusing the weight of your image within me with that of the sickness distorting it? 

It’s impossible to fully celebrate Christmas if we refuse to live and love in the bodies Christ celebrated here and now.  After all, God chose a body and a home on the Earth, knowing a full display of glory could only be experienced if our humanness was recovered here.  So, it’s not enough to pass through life here in the world naming the struggle as why we’re not meant to be here.  Nor are we pointlessly enduring ourselves or others now, only to leave it all behind as though it was some test to see if we can handle being something other than human later. There’s something about this glory that both reveals the extent of estrangement and awakens its cure within us, even in spite of all temptations to be rid of it. 

And I wonder if it’s impossible to authentically live and love in any other day of the year, if our sickness guides us to reach for the condition which is not solely ours to grasp.  Perhaps, this is why we are in need of such a Holy Other.  We cannot lose the weight of our humanity because it’s not all meant to be lost.  We cannot ultimately heal our sickness on our own without also becoming less human through our desperate attempts. 

So, while the season, past or present, stalls us somewhere between hope of knowing the glory come to restore us and anxiety of not wanting to face what may need to be restored, there’s probably a humble prayer waiting to be lived…

Jesus, ground of all existence, you have chosen a mysterious way to heal and re-create.  I confess it is more involved than I prefer to be sometimes.  Please restore my interest in being me here and now, in spite of all else pulling me away.  Empower me to stop grasping for glory while wanting to be rid of it.  Guide me by your gracing presence and counsel me in your divine wisdom until I find myself grasped entirely by you. Recognize me until I recognize me as the one you so lovingly created.