She wears a flouncy red polka dot blouse. He wears thick glasses. Another guy went to divinity school to dodge the draft. Over yonder is the hardware store owner and the fireman. John Irving offers superficial descriptions of the locals who gather in the town hall for the annual Christmas party. Irving’s short story called “The Carol Sing” features the story of the guy who usually led the carols. His name was Mr. Burley and a few weeks before the party Mr. Burley passed away from “a long illness”. But everyone knows it was from heartache. Having earned degrees from the finest prep schools and Ivy League schools, Mr Burley did nothing for 30 years and then poisoned himself. This year, they all miss his voice. And it’s his absence that enables them to look beyond the surface of each other. This year they “stop seeing their faces and start seeing their lives”.
This line has stayed with me for decades. It reminds me of what a mentor used to say to me. “Everyone is carrying something heavy. You just don’t know what it is.” During Christmas, we recall that the fullness of God’s love was revealed in human flesh. The challenge before each of us is to “stop seeing their faces and start seeing their lives”. How do we see the deep joy alive in each person? How do we honor the raw pain inside the soul of each person? Christmas prompts us again to see one another in God’s holy radiant light.
At the dinner table as you pass the roast to your cousins, aunts and uncles you stop seeing their faces and start seeing their lives. At the children’s school program as the toddlers belt out a tune that’s a bit off-key, you stop seeing their faces and start seeing their lives. On Christmas Eve we take our place in the pews to sing “the hopes and fears of all the years” and “sleep in heavenly peace” and we see each other anew. In the candlelight, we stop seeing their faces and start seeing their lives.
Merry Christmas!
