Dear Finn,
As an 8-month-old puppy, you are about to experience your first Christmas.
You will notice things that are different.
Like that big tree in the lounge that doesn't smell like a tree.
It
Dear Finn,
As an 8-month-old puppy, you are about to experience your first Christmas.
You will notice things that are different.
Like that big tree in the lounge that doesn't smell like a tree.
It is festooned with figurines, tinsel, and twinkling lights. At night we turn the main lights off and the twinkles glow. It is called a Christmas tree, and it's not to be chewed.
The purpose of Christmas trees is that they have no purpose. They are just pretty. Beautiful. And beauty, like love, doesn't have to have a reason.
Christmas trees appeal to that part of us, that heart of us, that yearns to be transported away from our ordinary ways, away from work and worries, into an extraordinary imaginary fairyland. A place, where dreams are good even if not true, but can come true when goodness catches on.
What's underneath the Christmas tree is the next thing to know.
Hidden under the wrapping paper and ribbons are all sorts of nice things – like toys, books, food, and little things we never knew we needed or wanted. They are presents, gifts for others.
A present is kind of like a sign that says, 'I like you', or 'I care about you'. So, if the present is a box of chocolates say, the chocolates are really a message saying you're cared for and liked. Not that dogs should know anything about chocolates mind you.
Most people as they get older like the other kind of presents – the one spelled with a 'c' and an 'e' at the end. As we get older most of us prefer some companionship rather than more stuff to stuff our lives with. In dog language – and this might sound very strange to you – as you get older it's not what or how much you eat that's important, but who you are eating with.
Such presence is the next thing you need to know about Christmas.
You can't really do Christmas on your own. Christmas is a together thing. A together with family. Or a together with friends. Or a together with those who have no family or friends. It is a time for doing things for others. Mostly little things. Like a smile and a chat. Little kindnesses.
Christmas is about a belief in community. It says that no matter how poor or rich or needy you are, you belong. It says that no matter how bad or good or weird you are, you belong. It says no matter what you believe about God or Santa or politics, you belong. There's enough room for everyone. There's enough love and goodness to include everyone.
But this of course depends on us. For we know people are left behind. People are discriminated against. Bad things happen. 'Peace on earth, goodwill to all' is up to us. Believing in Christmas is a commitment to making it happen.
Some of us like to go to church at Christmas.
There we are together with other people, and we sing and pray and ponder. We even go in the middle of the night when every good dog should be sound asleep.
It's hard to explain why we go to church at Christmas. In the old, old days we had to. Now we just like to. We like how the church looks with candles. We like singing the old hymns even if the lyrics are ancient. We like being with each other. But most of all we just the like feeling. A holy night.
Christmas is also a time for stories.
The same story actually. Told and re-told every year. A story about a baby, a mum, a dad, a journey, and visitors, stars, angels, and danger.
A story where an unmarried mother is a hero, where gifts are given by strangers of a strange religion, and songs of unrealistic hope are sung. A story where class divisions seem to collapse, where owning a house doesn't matter, and finding room for a needy family does.
Christmas is a big story that tells us that goodness works, and works on us. Even when we can't see it. It tells us that bad things, like violence, greed, and loss, don't have the final word. Even when they seem to.
And it tells us that even when we're alone and wandering aimlessly, something strange like a singing angel can appear, and turn our usual upside-down. We believe these stories, even if the details are unbelievable. For these stories call us to be our best selves.
Singing is also a thing at Christmas.
Some very beautiful music has been written especially for this time of year. This music is a language all of its own. It affects our mood in ways that words don't. It makes us receptive to wonder. It is a way the holy gets into the night.
There's even a Christmas song about a dog. Snoopy. Flying an aeroplane. You don't want to take too much of Christmas literally. For that song isn't really about a real dog in a real Sopwith Camel in a real dogfight. Instead, it's about the belief that there are things stronger and more powerful than war and hate. Things like friendship, honour, and humour. Things that depend on us making them happen.
And lastly, there is food.
Canine heart language. There are all sorts of Christmas food to enjoy. Rich pudding, stollen, and mince pies. Chicken, salads, and kaimoana. Turkey, ham, and lamb. You can really get stuffed at Christmas.
As you get older you realise that the food is indeed a language. It is a language of hospitality that says although the physical pleasure of eating is good, the physical pleasure of seeing others have pleasure is even better.
And somehow the smorgasbord of it all – good company, good food, good feelings – served alongside the belief that doing and being good can actually triumph over all that rails against it - is very, very good indeed.
And this, Finn, is Christmas.
- The Reverend Glynn Cardy is Minister of St Luke's Presbyterian Church, Remuera.
The report will be released publicly this afternoon.