For example, I remember my mother taking my sister and me downtown so we could watch the parade the Saturday before Christmas. I have the clearest mental picture of getting out of the car and looking up to see my Dad happily waving to us from the third story window of his office (he was a Chiropractor in those days) near the corner of 7th and Broadway. We felt so special to be able to watch everything from so far above everyone else. And, I remember the passing of Santa’s sleigh at some point, and the man himself pointing up at us, and waving, as we leaned as far out that window as adults would allow.
The most enduring memory of that season comes a few nights later. We went for our annual Christmas shopping night in downtown Paducah. My parents dressed us carefully (both for appearance and the weather), and put on their good clothes, as well. My Dad wore a suit and tie; my Mother wore a dress usually reserved for work (she was an operator at the phone company). This was a time, long gone now, when people dressed up when they went about in public. We went to Paducah Dry Goods Store; four stories of merchandise that, today, might occupy a shopping mall, a sort of midwest version of Macy's.
Paducah Dry Goods was located at the corner of 4th and Broadway, undoubtedly the coldest corner in Paducah. Because of the way Paducah was positioned against the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers, both 4th Street and Broadway brought cold air up from the rivers to chill us as we disembarked from the car. Dad, being a good Dad, dropped the three of us off at the store, parked the car a few blocks away, and then rejoined us inside the store. My parents, being parents, forced us to endure shopping on each floor in turn; making our way with agonizing slowness toward all that really mattered: the fourth floor, location of toys and home of Santa’s red velvet throne.
[The first time I saw “A Christmas Story” (based on Jean Shepherd’s delightful semi-autobiographical stories), I was struck by how familiar it all seemed. And the more I watched the movie, the more that thought was confirmed. The locations in the film looked exactly like those I grew up around. The school could easily be the one I attended as a child. Ralphie’s house was a great deal like some my relatives lived in: the yard walls and fences, the out-buildings behind the houses, the streets, the neighborhoods, even the store in which Ralphie begged Santa for his BB gun. It was Paducah Dry Goods all over again!]
The highlight of this Christmastime memory is sitting on Santa’s lap and telling him something, though I can't recall what, and realizing that his beard was real. That beard convinced me he was the real thing (and I had always been a bit skeptical, even at that tender age).
Eventually, after what seemed like ages, but was probably no longer than an hour—after all, we were small children—my parents bundled us up and moved us down four floors and to the front of the store. Things get a little hazy after that. I have a vibrant memory of my Mother holding my hand as the three of us stood on the curb waiting for my Dad to return with the car, to pick us up and drive us home. I remember waiting to the point that I was actually cold.
My Dad never returned that night.
And, in my memory, that is the end; the three of us standing there, getting colder . . . watching, waiting, wondering . . . an unfinished Christmas.
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Of course, there's more to this memoir. But what if there wasn't? What if that was all we would ever know? How strange to know there must be more, but be unable to know how things turned out.
That, partly, is what's going on in this week's Lectionary selection from Isaiah. God tells King Ahaz that when the Messiah arrives, someday, the nation would still be there, that He would live a normal childhood; in short, Ahaz need not worry about the nations aligned against Israel. God was not going to let their plans succeed.
It must have seemed odd to hear the part about the virgin conceiving a son whose name would mean "God with us" . . . and then . . . nothing.
Ahaz lived and died without ever experiencing the fulfillment of that prophecy.
This is what it was like for all the people of Israel year in and year out, century after century, as they waited for the Messiah, waited to learn the rest of the story. All they had heard was the beginning. Prophet after Prophet delivered a cliff-hanger, but never finished the story.
Watching ... waiting ... wondering ...
An unfinished Christmas, indeed.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 18, 2016)
First reading
Isaiah 7:10-16
Psalm
Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19
Second reading
Romans 1:1-7
Gospel
Matthew 1:18-25
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I hope you can join us for Lectionary Breakfast Friday morning. We meet at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. We start at 8:00 and wrap it up around 9:00. I keep saying it's an hour like no other, and each time we meet I am confirmed in that thought; scripture, discussion, laughter ... where do you find all that?
If you don't see us, ask at the Hostess stand. We're somewhere in the back. We won't keep you waiting.
Blessings,
Steve
