dancingthroughchaos

As we prepare for another Christmas here in the UK, there seems to be a fairly gloomy cloud of resignation hovering above our heads rather than any suggestion of a heavenly host.  This one is significantly more discordant.  

The Covid restrictions of last year saw plans in tatters for many people, and even more of us wishing we’d invested in Zoom back in 2011 when it was first launched.  Is 2021 going to be a re-run of 2020, I wonder?

We’re all waiting for a governmental dictate that will very probably preclude travel, fraternising beyond a circle of x number of people, closures in the hospitality and entertainment industries, and the unwelcome news that Christmas is to be another restrained and sombre affair.

Not only that, but we’ve already been subject to the semi-hysterical headlines that, not only will little Jimmy/Jemima’s coveted popular toy quite probably be unavailable this year [https://inews.co.uk/news/consumer/christmas-2021-toy-shortage-hamleys-top-10-children-gifts-supply-chains-1248937], but that – shock, horror – we may not have access to the usual giddy array of culinary choices either [https://news.sky.com/story/choice-of-food-for-christmas-could-be-limited-and-turkeys-may-have-to-come-from-europe-expert-says-12425679].

Oh, the suffering!  Frankly, apart from the fact that such reports seem absolutely designed to engender a frenzy of panic buying, this leaves me highly embarrassed at the entitled and spoilt nature of the western world.  Are we really so shallow?  While my friends in Zimbabwe struggle with an inflation rate which reached an all time high of 837.53% in July 2020 [https://tradingeconomics.com/zimbabwe/inflation-cpi] and struggle to obtain both power and fuel, the fact that we can’t nip to the shops for the full festive range of comestibles leaves me less than bothered.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m no Ebenezer Scrooge when it comes to Christmas.  I’ve always been a big fan.  On reflection, my childhood experiences look like a rose-tinted TV ad campaign, albeit with significantly simpler gifts.  The resources were not vast but we had a quantity of cousins, aunts and uncles who, along with one set of grand parents, pitched up to our annual family feast on the night of Christmas Eve, during which the general household rules relaxed somewhat – a treat in itself. 

I vividly remember the invigorating sights and sounds of it all: the seductive smells of roast turkey, the escalating noise as loud and hearty laughter echoed through the house.  The whole affair was one of joyous expectation and conviviality for which I have my Granny to thank.  She instituted the tradition in the 1930s with the aim of stuffing small children with enough food to render them sufficiently tired to retire to bed in a semi-food coma and thus reduce the possibilities of any staying-up-to-see-Father-Christmas nonsense.  

Childhood memories aside, these days I am just glad to have a selection of the family together.  The older they get, the more complex the logistics become, even before Boris puts in his tuppence worth.  

I would gladly forego all the treats and sparkle for the simple joy of having time together and I think a good proportion of the British public are feeling the same way.  

Separation from others has been one of the biggest challenges of the past two years.  It’s given us the briefest of glimpses into the brutal effectiveness of solitary confinement as a severe punishment for the incarcerated.  We are not meant to be alone.  We were designed to be part of well functioning families and communities.  Sure, not everyone does get to enjoy that pleasure, and a lot of us (especially the introverts) need time and space alone to regroup mentally and process life at our own pace; but all of us need the companionship, stimulation, encouragement, camaraderie and laughter of other people – preferably those who love us and who, despite knowing our flaws, faults and foibles, persist in unconditionally accepting, embracing and honouring us.  

So, I am unconcerned at the hysterical newspaper column inches that bawled so loudly about the potential lack of food and toy choices on our shelves this December, and mortified that we are so spoilt as a nation that this might be an issue, 

Unlike the impecunious Scrooge, I am neither breathing “Bah; humbug”, nor turning my back on this, the best of seasons.  Instead, like Oliver Twist, I will be asking (Santa?) for more – not more food, gadgets or stuff, but more of the things that really matter: more appreciation of the unique creation that is each member of my family; more delight in the beauty of the natural world and more understanding of the focus of Christmas.  

How can it be that the God of the universe, who spoke light into being with a simple word, who set planets spinning in space and yet designed the most minute organisms in their complex ecosystems, could possibly fit into a rough animal feeding trough?  

This is the mystery of Christmas and a mind-bending truth.  I plan to take some moments to reflect on this again and hope to hear once more that heavenly host of whom Edmund Hamilton Sears wrote in his 1849 carol  It Came upon A Midnight Clear.

I leave you with his time-defying verses 3 and 4 which seem especially appropriate this year, and wish you all a very merry Christmas.

3. But with the woes of sin and strife
    The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
    Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
    The love song which they bring; –
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
    And hear the angels sing!

4. And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
    Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
    With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
    Come swiftly on the wing; –
Oh, rest beside the weary road
    And hear the angels sing!