From Bethlehem to Bedlam[1]
For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority
rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6 NRSV).
After twenty minutes in line I finally arrived
at the cash register, still scolding myself for waiting until the last minute
to finish my Christmas shopping—again. I knew how crowded it always gets; in
fact, crowds and Christmas had become synonymous to me; and I wasn't doing crowds very well that year.
When I took out my checkbook, the clerk stopped ringing up my items,
and asked, "Do you have your SCCC card?"
"My what?"
"Your Speedy Customer Check Cashing Card."
"No."
"Then you'll need to have your check Okayed at the manager's
desk,"
Had it not been so late on Christmas Eve, and had I really thought it
would be less crowded anywhere else, I'd have left in protest. But I was
trapped. So, the cash register was cleared, I lost my place in line and joined
another twenty minute line.
Finally at the desk, I presented my check. The woman behind the desk
said: "I need to see a driver's license and two other forms of identification."
I fumbled in my wallet for my driver's license, and asked, "What
other kinds of identification do you need?"
"Do you have any credit cards?"
"Yes, and I have my dental records and shot card, if that will
help!"
"I'm sorry, sir;" she said, patiently. "I'm just doing
my job."
I knew it wasn't her fault. I just couldn't help myself. Finally, approved
check in hand, still smarting from guilt, frustration, and weariness, I joined
yet another twenty minute line, thinking, "At least Christmas comes only
once a year!"
We really get into the busy-ness of Christmas preparation with its traffic,
crowds, family activities, parties, shopping, wrapping, cooking, programs, concerts,
etc. until many of us reach that same low point: "At least Christmas comes
only once a year!" We may even add, “Bah! Humbug!”
Even in this second week of Advent, whose theme is “Peace,” the bedlam
of Christmas preparation becomes a threat to the way we approach that special
birth in Bethlehem. Bethlehem and Bedlam. Believe it or not, they’re connected.
In medieval London there was a convent called “St. Mary of Bethlehem.” Later
it became a hospital, and eventually a house for the insane. With no known care,
the insane were just locked up and food was shoved under the door twice a day.
The noise and confusion of that place was known throughout England. Over time
the original name, "St. Mary of Bethlehem" was shortened to
"Bethlehem", and, by corruption, "Bedlam." The mother of
the word, bedlam, is Bethlehem; and its father is the screams of the insane.
Bethlehem and bedlam were also related at Jesus’ birth. You know the
story: a crowded, dusty city; vendors hawking their wares in the chaos; Roman
soldiers everywhere; an overcrowded inn; people sleeping on floors and streets;
barnyard smells and sounds, a birthing among animals... Bedlam. And it didn't
end with Jesus' birth. Just a short time later Herod's soldiers murdered all
boy babies under the age of two, and "A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping
and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her babies and refusing to be consoled,
because they are no more." (Matthew 2:18) Bedlam.
"O Little Town of Bethlehem" is not just candles, carols,
shepherds, stars and sentimentality; but neither is it just crowded malls,
depression, suicide, and merchant's associations. The images of scripture
remind us that Jesus was born, not only in Bethlehem, but also in Bedlam! While the two are not identical, neither can they
be separated.
But in the midst of the bedlam of Caesar’s census, in the midst of the
bedlam that was Bethlehem to Mary and Joseph, there came, for them:
One quiet moment in the star-clustered night;
Two weary travelers knew an end was in sight;
So the soon-to-be mother grasped her husband’s strong hand
And paused to
remember where their journey began.
Nine months of yearning filled with joy and with pain.
He almost had left her, but then chose to remain
Close to the woman he had not even kissed,
Who would bear him a
son that would never be his.
They dreamed of the times they would spend with their son
Taking trips through the hillsides and watching him run
And some days the fingers that had fashioned the stars
Would reach out to
hold them when the walk was too far.
They wrestled with knowing that his life would bring change
Their friends would grow distant, and shun them as strange
Though they tried not to think it, in their hearts they were sure
That their baby was
destined to die for the world.
And in one quiet moment a woman and man
Accepted the part they would have in God’s plan
To give up His glory and be born as a man
In one quiet moment.
In one quiet moment, they could suddenly hear
Thousands of angels singing so clear
“Glory to God! His salvation is near”
In this one quiet
moment.[2]
Somehow, no matter how bedraggled we are after weeks of crowds and
shopping malls and overeating and overspending and going home late after
Christmas Eve service to finish wrapping and stuffing and assembling—small
hands dragging us out of bed on Christmas morning after far too little
sleep—spending all morning cooking and all afternoon washing dishes—kids
bouncing off the walls, hyperactive from Christmas stocking candy... Somehow,
no matter how frayed and spent and bedraggled, in some “quiet moment” we still
remember the “real meaning of Christmas”.
And it's really not all that surprising; after all, from Bethlehem to
Bedlam, and back, at Christmas we still celebrate the birth of the Prince of
Peace.
That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.
Together in the Walk,
Jim
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