Mission Accomplished. Happily I managed to do all the Christmas shopping in one go.
Inspired by the fact that my brother was visiting from overseas, I decided to buy some gifts from the Sydney Opera House shop.
Then I decided everyone would get something from there. It’s good to remind people where they’re from. (Well, my mother just happened to be born in England, but everyone else in Australia).
It was a success. The only issue was the SOH Monopoly was sold out. Seems I’m not the only person who thinks it’s a great present.
The Sydney Opera House – despite its Danish designer – is iconic to Sydney and Australia. When I was teaching lots of International Students a few years ago, we would take them to these iconic places around Sydney, like the Opera House and the Blue Mountains. Because you just can’t visit the country without a trip there.
They’re as iconic as the Prime Minister at Parliament House and the ridiculous rabbit warren internal design.
It was an Italian on that one. Not sure if he designed the interior though.
But as I’m in the national capital for Christmas, I’m drawn to think of not just what is iconic to Australia, but also what is iconic to Christmas.
Giving Gifts. Writing Cards. Eating Pudding and Gingerbread (if you’re me).
Decorating the Christmas Tree. Going on a walk to see the Christmas lights.
Visiting a Christmas market or listening to some carollers singing.
Yet none of it means anything without Jesus.
Jesus isn’t just iconic to Christmas. He is Christmas. It’s about him. It’s about what he came to do and the message that God sent to earth through him.
Through Jesus, God said – You matter.
He didn’t say you’re perfect. That’s why he sent Jesus. But he did say ‘You matter’.
Christmas is a message to you and to me, and to the entire world, that humanity matters. God wouldn’t have stepped off his throne and come to earth if we didn’t.
Because Jesus is God.
Sometimes we don’t realise how iconic (or important) something is until it’s missing and then we get a slight taste of it.
Like the other week when I made a few batches of gingerbread dough, and then realised I’d left the ginger (and bicarb soda and milk) out of one of them. It was only when I smelt the ginger going into the next batch that I realised.
Or when I went into the city to do my shopping. I caught the ferry into Circular Quay and there was someone busking with a trumpet, playing Christmas carols. I realised that I hadn’t heard anyone else busking carols yet this December. I told him that and to keep going, as I gave him a fiver.
How much more so if we leave Jesus Christ out of our Christmas?
That just leaves nothing other than a – hopefully – pleasant day to eat good food and see your nearest and dearest.
Sure, it might be nice. But ultimately it’s Hollow.
My favourite book in the Narnia Chronicles has always been The Silver Chair.
Spiritually, the connection to Christian living was always meaningful to me. More superficially, I think the 1990 BBC’s tele series casting of the Narnian prince was well done. I was always rescuing that guy.
(It’s just a shame he didn’t take a razor down into the underworld with him)
When Jill, Eustace and Puddleglum arrive at the final destination of their quest, in the Green Lady’s underworld, she psychically attacks and tries to manipulate them into believing that everything they have done and stand for is a lie.
In his boldest move yet, Puddleglum gives some of the best oratory you’ll ever read in a children’s classic.
“One word, Ma’am,” he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. “One word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one more thing to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things-trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real-world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.”
That’s how I think about Christmas.
Even if you think the whole thing is far-fetched (it’s not) and that it’s a childish game (it’s not), well then, I’m going to play that game.
I won’t have Christmas without Christ, because anything else is just a vapour in the wind.
I’m with Puddleglum. I think he’s got a lot to say that we would do well to hear.
So this Christmas, if you’ve left Christ out of it, let him lick your festivities hollow. Only then can the true light of God’s overworld come flooding in.
May you have a truly Happy Christmas.
Yours living like a Narnian, as usual,
Alison
