The Words of God?
by Jon Schildbach
Lights, please.
Rather than going on a rant about the mid-winter pagan festival and the Jewish celebrations that were sabotaged by Christian efforts to hold a birthday party for Jesus several months away from his actual birthday, I admit to getting caught up in Christmas on a few different levels. I have a young daughter who is hyper-excited at the decorating of the tree, the hanging of lights, the visiting with relatives and friends, and of course the prospect of receiving presents. I can't remain jaded in the face of her delight. Nor can I quite come to a satisfactory way to celebrate Christmas. The whole Christian thing has faded for me, and I don't see the point of foisting that on my daughter as more than a lesson in the foundations of the culture, and one aspect of the celebration. The pagan aspects of the holiday--or what they have grown into--the extremes of consumerism often marring the concept of goodwill, are a little too ugly even for me. But still I can't help but be influenced by that spirit of Christmas. And whether or not I want to avoid it, that spirit will always be connected to Christianity for me.
It's a simple part of life that memories are triggered on an almost constant basis. Some of these memories explode on us randomly and with little warning, others are willingly pursued. So it is difficult to wander through a season full of smells, sights, sounds and other reminders of that same time in years past without feeling some of that original December emotion. Regardless of how much we might change over the years, how we shift values or beliefs, there is always that pinch of past occurrences, reminders of who we were and what we still are at least in part.
A few years back, I returned to the church I had attended through most of my childhood and teen years, for Christmas Eve services. I figured it would be kind of cool. It had always been one of my favorite services. There were traditional carols, the mystical telling of the birth of Jesus, all culminating in the singing of "Silent Night" by candlelight. It's effective drama, told with effective words. Or at least it had been in the past.
The service was something like a comparison between my revelation at seeing "Star Wars" for the first time and the pain and boredom of seeing "Star Wars Episode I." The efforts to explain everything to everyone as simply as possible were disheartening. There were a few points where I was pulled in despite myself, but mostly I just wanted it to end. I wanted well-crafted, gripping melodrama. What I got was watered-down, dumbed-down. . .well, melodrama.
I fear that what I wanted was nostalgia. After seeing "Phantom Menace" and complaining at how lame it was, some friends and family members suggested my expectations were too high. They thought that maybe as an adult, a "Star Wars" movie just couldn't have the same impact as it would to a kid. And while that may be true, I should probably be embarrassed to have an emotional reaction to some of the other films that still move me. I sit through animated kids' features with my daughter fairly frequently. I can cry at Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" and "Hunchback of Notre Dame." And I can still feel a surge of emotion and even spirituality at the reading of the King James version of Christian passages. I was required to learn and understand that language as part of myChristian education. With such understanding came a feeling that I finally got something that was maybe beyond a lot of people. I didn't want to feel all exclusive or anything, I just felt that as a member of a religion--not the local bowling league, mind you, but a religion, something that is supposed to be a guiding, shaping force in one's life--one should have to work through this, to come up to a certain level, not to have the meaning brought down to a level where the lazy feel instant spiritual gratification.
Jesus himself spoke in parables, and played numerous word games that were intended to reach believers, while confounding those who took him too literally or made no effort to look beyond the obvious. For the church to make a conscious effort to involve people who do not care enough to invest a significant amount of time in their own salvation seems counterproductive. One shouldn't receive eternal life by skimming the Biblical Cliff Notes. This is supposed to be important. As a lit major in college, I was required to take a term of Chaucer. On the first day of class, the professor handed out a sheet of paper that contained the most important keys to reading and understanding Chaucer. There was a brief explanation of verb conjugation in Middle English, as well as translations of many of the more outdated terms. We were required to read Chaucer out loud, and graded on how well we pronounced the words and hit the proper rhythms. We had frequent quizzes making us explain the events described in the readings, and the meaning behind those events, including the jokes. I cannot claim to be a scholar of Chaucer (I probably got a 'B' in the class) but being presented with a few tools for reading Chaucer made the learning that much easier. It also did not detract from the original poetry and power of the language.
Giving people the proper tools to actually learn, as opposed to telling them the test answers, might be a good idea. There is a sense of power in the more antiquated versions of the Bible that simply does not exist when the words are translated to be more palatable to a modern audience. Shakespeare is not Shakespeare if only the basic meaning is conveyed without the original language. And, hey, even Charles Schultz figured children would be able to understand the King James rendition of Luke's version of the proclamation of Jesus' birth in "A Charlie Brown Christmas." I don't think that little drama was too highbrow for a modern audience. Was It?
Copyright © 1999 Jon Schildbach All Rights Reserved
Jonathan Schildbach is a graduate of the University of Oregon who makes his living as a writer. He lives in Seattle with his wife, Mayumi, and daughter, Jesse Garon. Jonathan is seeking an agent for his writing.