My biggest reason for disliking (I started to write "hating" but I don't want to be a hater) the Blue Angels is because of my friend Claude. He died of AIDS in 1992 in Bailey-Boushay here in Seattle. I spent a lot of time with Claude at the end of his life. Three days before he died he was going in and out of consciousness like dying people often do. 

I was sitting with him when the Blue Angels flew over Bailey-Boushay. He opened his eyes in terror and cried, "What is that?!" Now Claude was a deeply spiritual person and we had very open and direct conversations about dying, death and the possibility of an afterlife. 

So when I answered, "The Blue Angels," he sat up gasping in horror. 

"Angels? Are you sure? Are they coming for me?" The noise was deafening, frightening. 

I tried to explain but I had to shout over the noise which just upset Claude even more. He grasped my arm with that unexplainable strength of a dying person and shouted, "Why are you screaming?" This would have been funny if he were not so terrified, and drug addled and, well--dying. 

All I could do was lean over and hold his bony body and pat his shoulder blades that stuck out like pancake turners. "It's okay, it's okay. You are safe." 

I was glad he couldn't see me crying. I, too felt scared as if we were under attack--and of course we were--but not by the Blue Angels. 

Now every time I hear or see the Blue Angels I have that same angry/sad/ terrified reaction and have to tell myself, "It's okay, it's okay. You are safe."

Strength For the Journey

Yesterday a friend of mine was grousing about how bad Christmas is—the expectation that we are all supposed to be merry and happy and jolly.

But true followers of Jesus know that Christmas is not about happiness. It’s about waiting. It’s about a long, hard journey.  It’s about fear and being rejected. And ultimately it’s about finding Light.

The Christmas story that’s all about cozy families, caroling and giving gifts? That’s the Madison Avenue story, the retailer’s story. That’s the Target, Macy’s, Amazon story.

If you read the actual Christmas story you know it’s a story about struggle: finding out your fiancée is pregnant (and not by you). It’s about hearing that your son is supposed to bring healing to a broken world (WTF? I just want him to go to college, get married and have kids.). It’s about giving birth in a filthy manger. And it’s about strangers approaching your newborn.

Does any of that sound happy and jolly?

I know, I know, what about the angels? They’re a small part of the story. There’s one at the beginning to say, “Hi, you’re pregnant and God is the father.” And of course Joseph gets one in a dream to say, “Mary is not some slut and you should really marry her.” But that’s it for Joseph and Mary. They don’t get any more angels.

The shepherds get a boatload of angels to give them traveling directions. But that’s it. Those pictures of angels surrounding the manger? I don’t think so. Read the book.

I  really don’t take the Bible literally. The Christmas story is most powerful as a metaphor for a difficult journey at the end of which—impossible though it may seem—we find the Light.

We need Light for our broken lives. For our confusion, our grief, our anger, for all the crap in our lives that makes us say, “It’s just too damn hard.”

Make no mistake: finding the Light isn’t usually happy or jolly or merry. Because sometimes the Light shows us what jerks we’ve been or how we’ve made our own misery.

But as painful as that realization is—what a gift!  Because of the Light we can see a different path. Then we have to make a choice. Choice—another gift!

That means that Christmas happens all year long because we’re constantly embarking on new and difficult journeys. 

So let me end by saying, “Strength to you on your Christmas journey and may it be Light.”

Making It

A couple weeks ago a guy comes to my door and says, "Hi, my name is Gabriel."

"Oh, sure," I think to myself. "Next you'll have some Important Message for me."

But that really was his name and it turned out that he was here to take away our woodpile which we had been trying to give away for months. So he was angel!

He took away all the wood, but accidentally left the rails to his truck in our driveway. I called him to let him know. I got his answering machine which said, "Hi, this is Gabriel. Leave me a message and make it a nice day!"

Make it a nice day. Not have a nice day. Take some responsibility for how you receive what life gives you! Make it, don't just take it. I love that.

So he really was an Angel with an Important Message for me.