God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen
Circumstances are somehow mitigated and actually corrected, although I could be missing something.
Coming home for Christmas has been a great experience. I still don't want to hear most of the Christmas music people keep playing; fortunately our house is quiet. I still don't care too much for the tradition, but it means something now.
The Christmas Eve service last night was uplifting, to say the least. When I come home from school, I'm coming home to a community where everyone knows me and everyone wants to know how I'm doing and everyone seems to care. Most of them do care. The others are using me to get to my father, hoping I'll put in a good word for them at the dinner table. I considered offering this service for cash, but decided that would be rude.
Aside from all the social interaction, which I crave while I'm at school because that place is full of cold-hearted progressives, just hearing Pastor O'Leary's voice again over the microphone made me feel home. Going to church at school just isn't the same; it doesn't have the community that we have here. I've never experienced anything like it. Singing my heart out with the rest of the congregation is a unifying experience I have always taken for granted, but there's meaning in it now. Even the tunes I don't care for are bearable.
I've never seen the Christmas Eve service so full, either. Pushing my way through a crowd of several hundred people, most of whom I can name or at least recognize, is a good time. I love the crowds when they're not anonymous. Everyone has an identity and a connection to the community, and I exploit that connection as I weave through people. I'm sure I could have made it through an anonymous crowd much quicker because I wouldn't stop at every person to greet them, but I had no destination—my intent was to mingle.
Compounded on all this, somebody loves me! The general feeling of warmth from community increases dramatically, exponentially, to shivers down my spine and I can't get my mind away from it because it's so wonderful it consumes every thought. My heart leaps on contact and interaction makes me giddy. I crave the next moment we speak and spent most of my day dreaming, imagining, compensating for the vacancy. It's a painful but beautiful tension. I enjoy the longing nearly as much as the satisfied excitement.
I'll never understand it, so I'm resigned to enjoying every moment of it.
Coming home for Christmas has been a great experience. I still don't want to hear most of the Christmas music people keep playing; fortunately our house is quiet. I still don't care too much for the tradition, but it means something now.
The Christmas Eve service last night was uplifting, to say the least. When I come home from school, I'm coming home to a community where everyone knows me and everyone wants to know how I'm doing and everyone seems to care. Most of them do care. The others are using me to get to my father, hoping I'll put in a good word for them at the dinner table. I considered offering this service for cash, but decided that would be rude.
Aside from all the social interaction, which I crave while I'm at school because that place is full of cold-hearted progressives, just hearing Pastor O'Leary's voice again over the microphone made me feel home. Going to church at school just isn't the same; it doesn't have the community that we have here. I've never experienced anything like it. Singing my heart out with the rest of the congregation is a unifying experience I have always taken for granted, but there's meaning in it now. Even the tunes I don't care for are bearable.
I've never seen the Christmas Eve service so full, either. Pushing my way through a crowd of several hundred people, most of whom I can name or at least recognize, is a good time. I love the crowds when they're not anonymous. Everyone has an identity and a connection to the community, and I exploit that connection as I weave through people. I'm sure I could have made it through an anonymous crowd much quicker because I wouldn't stop at every person to greet them, but I had no destination—my intent was to mingle.
Compounded on all this, somebody loves me! The general feeling of warmth from community increases dramatically, exponentially, to shivers down my spine and I can't get my mind away from it because it's so wonderful it consumes every thought. My heart leaps on contact and interaction makes me giddy. I crave the next moment we speak and spent most of my day dreaming, imagining, compensating for the vacancy. It's a painful but beautiful tension. I enjoy the longing nearly as much as the satisfied excitement.
I'll never understand it, so I'm resigned to enjoying every moment of it.
posted by Andrew Hills at 11:49 AM
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