Annual Christmas Card Results

Annual Christmas Card Results

Christmas 2013 delivered 58 cards to our house, not including family photos and letters. Several couples of friends took this season to announce their marriages—after years or decades of living together in faithful, committed relationships—made possible by an increasing number of states in the good ole U.S. of A. legalizing same-gender marriage.

This year secular cards (34) outnumbered religiously-themed cards (24). Only one robin—usually ubiquitous here in Britain—slipped through our letter box. Also down were cards displaying dogs or cats or both, while deer increased. Just two Santas showed up; one was riding a bicycle, which along with several other biking illustrations paid homage to our general mode of transportation. There was a thin smattering of Christmas trees, red post boxes, snowscapes, snow people, “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” and various seasonal greetings, including “God Jul” from friends in Norway. But topping the secular batch was a 1920’s flapper wishing us “Merry Christmas” from none other than a Church of Scotland Elder.

Less than a dozen cards had any glitter, and only two of them were religious: a snow angel, and a church in some woods with its windows lit up for Christmas Eve and a horse-drawn sleigh approaching. Real-world churches included the Lincoln Cathedral, down south in England, and the First United Methodist Church of Shreveport, Louisiana, also down south.

Among the religious cards, several don’t pass the scriptural litmus test: one card—from a Presbyterian minister no less—specifically mentions “innkeepers,” and that one and three others contain “stables.” (See the November 26, 2012, blog article, “The house where Jesus was born.”) Four cards portray the Holy Family as white Northern Europeans, while only two of the four sets of magi—all non-Biblically trios—are persons of color. The true colors are the other way around: The Holy Family is dark-skinned (like in traditional Orthodox icons) with Middle-Eastern features, and the “foreigners” are, say, Japanese Buddhists, Korean Methodists, Nigerian Catholics, Pakistani Muslims, Californian New-Agers, and British Humanists.

Every card depicts an image, and sometimes the artist gets her or his due credit. A colorful collage of the wise people “Bearing Gifts” by Barbara Prout adorns a card, the proceeds of which support WaterAid, “a charity working with some of the poorest people in Africa and Asia to improve their own water supplies and sanitation, using practical and low cost technologies.”

Rainbow-colored angels fill the outside and inside of a card produced by Minnesota artist Kevyn K. Riley, one of many cards printed with vegetable-base ink. Among the deer cards from dear friends is a print of an Illauliutit (Caribou Herd) by Meelia Kelly, an Inuit artist in Canada. And a tandem-bike-riding couple sending us best wishes for Christmas and the New Year is from an original painting by Josef Habeler, Mouth Painter, and produced by Mouth and Foot Painting Artists, based in London.

While the number of cards received this year is significantly down from past years, the number of charities supported by the purchase of these cards is way up, including Barbardo’s, “helping change children’s lives”; The British Kidney Patient Association, “improving life for kidney patients”; Cancer Research UK; Focus Ireland, “creating homes together”; The Leprosy Mission, which “seeks to provide medical care, community-based rehabilitation and employment for people affected by leprosy and other disabilities”; Macmillan Cancer Support; The Marie Keating Foundation, “making cancer less frightening by enlightening”; The Royal National Lifeboat Institution, “saving lives since 1824”; Shelter, a housing charity in the UK; the Woodland Trust, which conserves forests in the UK; and Save the Children and other charitable organizations to help children. One particular card—portraying ethnically-authentic shepherds, although the sheep appear suspiciously white-washed—is jointly produced by 31 different charities.

Several cards issue alerts as well as glad tidings. On the back of one card it says, “Warning: This card is not a toy and is unsuitable for children under 36 months. Contains small parts.” Yet on the front is an Edwardian snow scene featuring a Post Office vehicle driving dangerously close to a boy on a bicycle who is not wearing a helmet.

Another sparkling design offering “Christmas Wishes” stipulates: “WARNING! Not suitable for small children under 36 months due to small parts. Please retain for future reference.” I am never throwing away this card.

Finally, Perfect Moments produces a card “to someone special at Christmas” that states on the back—in rather small print—“Warning: This product is not a toy. Not suitable for under three years unless supervised, due to small parts and/or sharp points which may constitute a choking hazard and/or risk of laceration.” I’ll make sure I’m properly supervised and wearing a face mask and rubber gloves if I recycle this card anytime within the next three years.

A man walks into a nail salon

A man walks into a nail salon

A man walks into a nail salon. He’s in his 80’s, is legally blind, and shares a house with one of his children in my parish area of Glasgow.

This man has long since retired as an engineer. His career started in the early years of the Second World War, and his job was on the list of reserved occupations. But later in the war he was called up for active service in the air force, and he was given the choice of either training for six months to become a pilot or six weeks to become a gun operator on a bomber plane. Young and eager to get going, he chose the latter—although he told me he wished he had learned to fly because then after the war he could have secured a well-paying job as a civilian airline pilot. Instead he stayed on the ground, or rather underneath it as a mine surveyor.

Now a widower with great-grandchildren, this man is pretty self-sufficient given his age and visual impairment. He takes care of most things around the house whenever his son is away on business, and he gets help for the few things he can’t see to do by himself.

One of the tasks he needs assistance with but doesn’t want to bother his children about is cutting his nails. And so he goes to a nail salon.

The first nail salon he went into, years ago, he noticed all the other clients were women. So he asked the receptionist, a young Korean man, if they did men’s nails. The receptionist assured him that they did and after giving him a seat proceeded to trim his nails and buff them.

The man then saw an older gentleman come out from the back of the salon and speak to the young man in a loud authoritarian voice. The man didn’t have a clue as to what was being said because they were speaking what he assumed was Korean. But he realized the older gentleman was the young mans’ father and clearly adamant about something, something involving the son who had just finished doing the man’s nails.

The man figured he was not supposed to be in this place after all and got up to pay for his nail job before leaving. When he went to the reception counter, the young man said to him, “There is no charge. Elderly people do not pay.”

The man has been going there to have his nails done ever since. He’s never paid any money, but each time he walks into that nail salon he brings a container of chocolate or cookies for the staff to enjoy on their tea breaks.

Women who begat Jesus: Mary

Women who begat Jesus: Mary

The genealogy of Jesus, according to the gospel of Matthew, continues:

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man and his brothers,

at the time of the deportation to Babylon.

And after the deportation to Babylon:

that man was the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man,

and that man the father of a man the husband of Mary, a woman,

of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah.

Something you may not know about my name, Mary: when Ruth’s mother-in-law Naomi returned home to Bethlehem after losing her husband and sons, her grief made her so unrecognizable that the women of Bethlehem had to ask, “Is this Naomi?!” 

She responded, “No longer call me Naomi”—which means “pleasant.” “Call me Mara”—which means “bitter”—“for God has dealt bitterly with me. I went away full, but God has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi when God has dealt harshly with me and brought calamity upon me?” (Ruth 1:19-21)

Well, my name, Mary, in the Hebrew language is the same as Naomi’s new name, Mara. It means “bitter” or “grieved.”  And yes, I was very bitter when I first discovered I was pregnant, without a husband.  Joseph, my betrothed, had every right to have me put to death. Like all the women before me, and many after me, I had no rights or protection anywhere on this earth.

According to one gospel community’s version of my story (Matthew 1), an angel of God came to Joseph in a dream and said, “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

God is still saving us from the sins of patriarchy.

Women who begat Jesus: Bathsheba

Women who begat Jesus: Bathsheba

The genealogy of Jesus, according to the gospel of Matthew, continues: and that man the father of a man, and that man the father of a man, and that man was the father of a man by the wife of Uriah.

My story, remembered in 2 Samuel 11 and 12, is so shameful—I am not even mentioned by name, much less have a book named after me like Ruth.

My husband was Uriah the Hittite. He was away fighting in a war when the king David spied me taking a bath and decided he had to have me. So the king ordered my husband Uriah to be sent to the front of the battle where he was killed. The king then took me to be his wife.

From that point on the family of King David turned into a soap opera, with siblings conspiring against and killing each other, one tragedy after another. But there are good reasons why these terrible stories exist in the Bible:

1. They reveal the way people really lived and how folks were just as bad or helpless and in need of divine intervention back then as they are now.

2. These stories of abuse and its horrible consequences—they indict all persons in positions of power who have ever committed evil, including powerful individuals today.

3. And these remembrances—as tragic as they are—serve as memorials for every un-named person in them.

But God knows who I am.

Women who begat Jesus: Ruth

Women who begat Jesus: Ruth

The genealogy of Jesus, according to the gospel of Matthew, continues: and that man the father of a man by Ruth, a woman.

Tamar’s story is found in the book of Genesis (Chapter 38).  Rahab’s story is in the book of Joshua (Chapters 2 and 6). My story is recorded in the book named after me, the book of Ruth (New Revised Standard Version).

Like Tamar, I too lost my first husband. He had come with his father and mother and brother from the country of Judah, to my country called Moab, to escape a great famine. The father died, and then, after both of the sons had married Moabite women, they also died. That left me and my mother-in-law Naomi and my sister-in-law Orpah (whose claim to fame is her namesake, Oprah Winfrey—called “Oprah” because that’s how it was spelled at her birth. But that’s another story).

And like Tamar, we women were considered nothing without husbands or sons. So our mother-in-law Naomi begged each of us to return to our families—since we were Moabites, not Israelites—and start over. Orpah went, but I would not. I told my mother-in-law:

            “Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you!

            Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge;

            your people shall be my people, and your God my God. 

            Where you die, I will die—there will I be buried.

            May God do thus and so to me, and more as well,

            if even death parts me from you!”

  

So Naomi and I traveled together to her homeland Judah, to the town of Bethlehem, which means “house of bread.”  We arrived just at the beginning of the barley feast. Many people were working in the fields, and I asked if I could work behind those doing the reaping and glean among the ears of grain, that is, take the leftovers. I was allowed, and I worked from sunup until sundown without even taking a break.

Well, the owner of one field was a relative of my mother-in-law; his name was Boaz. He saw me working hard and allowed me to work in his field—in fact, he pretty much ordered me not to work in any other field or leave his field. He also said he had ordered the young men working in the fields not to bother me. And I was given permission to drink water whenever I was thirsty.

When I asked this generous man why he found favor in me, especially since I was a foreigner, he said he had heard all that I had done for my mother-in-law, and he hoped my deeds would be rewarded by the God of Israel under whose wings I had come for refuge. He then invited me to eat with him.

When I told Naomi this, she was delighted. She had me wash and anoint myself and put on my best clothes and go to Boaz. After he had finished eating he laid down. I then quietly went and uncovered his feet (a euphemism for genitals in the Hebrew language) and also laid down.

In the middle of the night he awoke with a start and discovered me lying “down there.” He asked who I was. I reminded him I was Ruth, Naomi’s foreign daughter-in-law. He then blessed me and before dawn sent me back to Naomi with much barley.

Boaz then arranged to buy the land which Naomi was selling, and with it he acquired me—even though I was a Moabite woman—and made me his wife. And when we had a child, Naomi was its nurse.