Refugees and Advent and Second Graders, oh my!

The news has been filled lately with refugees.  I've been involved in a few intense conversations about it, both in person and on line. (My main frustration being the misuse of the word 'refugee' - and the resulting misunderstanding of the reality of the violence these folks are fleeing, and the process of entering the US as a refugee.  Followed by how we can let fear restrict our compassion.  But that's a whole other conversation.....)

In any case, during prayer I was reflecting that perhaps these conversations aren't the best use of my passion about it -maybe I should be DOING something.  I started wondering HOW I could get involved, and how it (whatever it is) could involve my family.

Then the holidays hit.  We traveled long and far for Thanksgiving week, and I kept offering up any discomforts for refugee families.  Baby crying because he's strapped in a car seat too long? Awkward family conversations?  Not enough time to visit everyone I'd like?  All seriously first world problems.  And so very different from what's happening around the world.  And what happened 2000 years ago...

Which brings us to Christmas.  Or Advent, actually.  We're still "in transition" from a move, and have most of our personal stuff in storage.  (I thought we'd be unpacked by now, but not so.)  We've got nuttin' for the season.  I've been thinking about all the Advent/Christmas traditions in light of what's happening in the world. I know we need to do something, but I'd like to keep it more subdued, in a tiny show of solidarity with refugees.

While I'v been praying about it, I recently heard a song about a mom needing a break and a reminder about the season:  I need a Silent Night.   Perfect reminder to scale back.  Make room for something else.  It reminded me of one of my favorites:  An African Christmas.... it's both beautiful and sad that 20 years later, the lyrics are still appropriate.

What are we making room for?  Jesus.  Not a baby Jesus we expect, made out of white plastic and ready to bless whatever we do... but a Divine Person, who surprises us by being present in the most unlikely places...  I became determined to have a GREAT Advent, focusing on all sorts of activities to point us toward the *real* meaning of the season....

Then I ran across this post, about "unrealistic expectations" during Advent.  And this one about puzzles and Adoration.  And I remember reading a wise priest who said that real Christianity isn't about merit badges, but allowing God to work within us.

Today's problem with Advent is a bit like everyday life:  too much to do/see/be.  An overwhelming number of choices are before us:  which is the best?  If I commit to this, do I miss out on something better?  Yes, there are Advent calendars and wreaths and songs and events and... all sorts of holy stuff.  But in the end, it's just more stuff.  Tools, if you will.  What we really want to be focused on is Jesus... his call to love our family, our neighbors, our enemies.  And once again, I feel inadequate about explaining something I barely grasp to my kids.

Part of our preparations for Christmas involve remembering past holidays.   The 7 year old stopped me one afternoon:  "hey, Mom, remember that Christmas that Uncle Steve drove his motorcycle for 2 days to visit us?"  I said yes, with a lump in my throat since my brother died almost 3 years ago.  K had a far off look in his eyes for a moment, nodded and said "those were good times" before turning to go play.  And as I stood in the middle of the kitchen, watching his back disappear into the hallway, I thought:  I don't have to explain anything at all to him.  By the grace of God, he knows all about Love.

The Last Shall be First

As part of our church's Sacramental preparation, the kids get a subscription to "Magnifikids."  I wasn't sure what to think about that, but my little guy was excited:  "So, this tells me *everything* that's going on and what the priest says?"  He was a little disappointed that he couldn't do the word search during Mass, but with a toddler in the family, it's not a good idea for us to introduce pens into the pews!

Though I'm blogging about the highlights (mostly) of this whole process, I don't want to give the impression we're a scrubbed up, modern holy family.   First of all, I missed most of Mass because I was outside with a screaming toddler.  (Which brings up a whole lot of questions about Communion and when it's okay to receive.  I didn't, because it didn't feel right since I wasn't in the building.  My husband thought it would've been fine in the sense of home visits and that I honestly tried to attend.)

Secondly, here's how our preparation went.   After K. read today's Gospel, he asked me:

"Hey, Mom, do you want to be great?"   Yes, I replied with a smile. 
He laughed, "All right, then, you get to be MY SERVANT." A bigger smile and more laughter. 

So I asked him: well, do YOU want to be great? 
He thought about it for a moment (with a heart breakingly cute far off stare).  

Then he says, "I want to be good, Mom, but not great.  Just good."  A small smile.

+++

He's been interested in money lately:  earning, getting as gifts, saving, spending on toys.  Last week, I was very interested to hear what he thought about the Rich Young Man Gospel.  The priest had a great homily that told about how a monkey will grab something shiny in a small neck bottle, and be trapped there because he won't let go of his shiny treasure.  It seemed to capture K's imagination, but I didn't push the issue about giving up everything for Jesus.

+++

These are hard teachings, in familiar stories.  Am I ready to give up everything I think I "own" or "control" for Jesus?  Do I really want to be great, or will I settle for "good enough"?  And how do we raise a family, balancing safety and stability, with the Gospel, which calls us to continually give up what we've worked to build in order to rely more on God?  Tough questions for me, let alone my 7 year old.  So I'm not pushing him to be great.  I'm not even joking about already being his servant.  I am praying more, and more, for each of us to have the desire to be great (like the sons of Thunder) or perfect (like the Rich Young Man).