By Wayne Allensworth
Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed wife, who was with child. So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Luke 2:4-7
…behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying “where is He who has been born King of the Jews?” For we have seen His star in the east and have come to worship him…” From Matthew 2
The plane’s ascent was smooth, and I watched from the window along the broad sweep of one of its wings. And below, the ground was dotted with patches of snow, and a thin veil of mist lifted as we rose. The sun was white as its rays cut through the morning mist, and we were on our way home on a December journey with Christmas approaching. A return trip. A small gathering of friends, friendship and life bonds reaffirmed.
As we rose, the clouds enveloped us. Cottony balls that reminded me of Christmas decorations, the long, puffy beards of Santa Claus figures my mother had once collected. We bring them out every Christmas and hang them on a special tree in our home, a reminder of Christmases past and of the warmth of a home now gone. My grandchildren help us hang the ornaments. My mother would place the decorations in echelons along the limbs of a tree, until it was as bright and gleaming with light and festive trinkets as could possibly be. Hundreds and hundreds of them.
When I was a boy, on Christmas eve we would journey to church to watch the annual Christmas pageant. As always, it was a retelling of the Christmas story from Matthew and Luke. The Sunday school children would dress up as Joseph and Mary and the shepherds and the wise men, and angels were hung in the background as offstage voices called to the shepherds. And they all came to worship the child.
I remember.
Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying:
“Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!” Luke 2 8-14
As we left church on Christmas eve, the elders would hand out paper bags to the departing children, bags filled with fruit or Christmas candy. A simple gift from people whose lives had been shaped by the depression and shortages of the war years. We would leave the old neighborhood that had been that of my parents and grandparents and great grandparents, people who had come to Houston from all over to find work during the lean years. And many of them worked in the shipyards at the port of Houston and lived in simple wooden houses that sat on cinder blocks. So that a gift to the children of such simplicity took on the air of a reminder and a hope. Of a gift from the heart.
I remember.
They departed; and behold, the star which they had seen in the East went before them, till it came and stood over where the young Child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceedingly great joy. And when they had come into the house, they saw the young Child with Mary His mother, and fell down and worshiped Him. And when they had opened their treasures, they presented gifts to Him: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Matthew 2: 9-10
Back at home, we gathered, my parents and their children and my grandparents, and we ate and drank and visited with one another. We dodged each other in the narrow confines of the little house and the small kitchen which never seemed small to me, for I had never known any other way for things to be. My father and the grandfathers might have a drink or two of libations I otherwise never saw them indulge in. And we children would eye the gifts under the tree and await our time to open them. When that time came, one of us would take the gifts one at a time from under the tree and announce whose gift it was, and we would tear at the wrapping—which seems a bit inconsiderate given how carefully they had been wrapped and packed for us—and we would open the packages and show everyone what we had been given. It was a time of great joy.
But what I remember most was the sense of deep connection to one another, of ties that were as strong as any I would ever have. It was good then, and there was still a sense of sacredness about it. I didn’t understand as a boy just how precious those bonds were. Or how fragile. I think of that feeling often now and keep it close to me.
I remember.
So it was, when the angels had gone away from them into heaven, that the shepherds said to one another, “Let us now go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they came with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the Babe lying in a manger. Now when they had seen Him, they made widely known the saying which was told them concerning this Child. And all those who heard it marveled at those things which were told them by the shepherds. But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. Luke 2:15-19
We flew through the morning sky with the hum of the air rushing around us. And time, as it will in closed spaces as one follows a trajectory across a vast expanse, seemed to slow down. But for an occasional wave of turbulence, it seemed as though we were not moving but standing still. And I watched the plane’s wings float through the sky as though they were not moving at all, never wavering in their flight. And in that stillness, reels of memory pictures of December journeys flashed by me, and I closed my eyes and let them pass in peace.
I remember.
When we arrived at our home at journey’s end, I walked through the neighborhood and cast my eyes on the reds and oranges and yellows and purples of the leaves that, as they will in this part of the world, turn in fall colors only in December. That’s if the rain has been sufficient so that the leaves take on a healthy glow even as they die and flicker off the trees in the wind. I turn a corner and see our house bathed in the soft December sunlight. It was quite beautiful.
That night, I took an evening stroll as is my habit. I looked overhead to find the moon. It’s at half-moon phase as it marks a path across the dark firmament. A glowing lunar surface is half visible, the other half cloaked in darkness. As the clouds had dissipated, I could see stars twinkling in the sky, which I imagine as a deep and cavernous dome above me. And beyond that, realms of endless day. All of the stars, like the moon itself, and every living thing, on their December journeys. And I pause to look at Christmas lights and remember those December drives around the neighborhoods that boasted the most elaborate and striking decorations. A trip to see the lights. Another simple joy of that time.
I remember.
Merry Christmas.
Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly-minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.
Chronicles contributor Wayne Allensworth is the author of The Russian Question: Nationalism, Modernization, and Post-Communist Russia, and a novel, Field of Blood. For thirty-two years, he worked as an analyst and Russia area expert in the US intelligence community.
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