Writers Note: This should have gone out on Christmas Eve to stick with my Thursday blogs. But, life got in the way and in an effort to be present, I didn’t get on the computer. But, here we are celebrating a modifided 12 Days of Christmas with gifts (hopefully) rolling in all week due to shipping delays, so Merry Christmas! Even a week late.
I love the word Jubilee.
- It’s fun to say. Ju-BIL-EE
- Any word with duel definitions of a joyous celebration and a dessert, obviously, gets a special place in my heart.
I also love it in the verse in Angels We Have Heard On High asking “Shepards why this jubilee?” Slower Christmas music was my companion this season in my pursuit of less “‘Holly Jolly’ and more ‘Silent Night.'”
On more than one occasion this season, before the news of Taylor Swift’s evermore, I searched for “Sad Christmas” music on Spotify.
I told myself that it’s not that I am sad (per se…). It’s that I wanted slower, softer, pretty and even melancholy. Things like “River,” Merry Christmas, Darling,” “If We Make It Through December” and even hymns– with the right beat– like, “O Holy Night” and “Angels We Have Heard On High.”
I like the sound, often paired with powerhouse vocals, and I love the lyrics in both of these.
That line of questions with “jubilee” in Angels We Have Heard On High is so earnest.
Shepherds, why this jubilee?
Why your joyous strains prolong?
What the gladsome tidings be
Which inspire your heavenly song?
What and why are you celebrating? And, how are you able to find reason for celebration?
I felt that way this year. About many things, not just Christmas.
Why celebrate? Why do the things and traditions this year if there is no one to enjoy them with?
Is it right or fair to even be happy? How could we be?
What does a “jubilee” even look like in the midst of a pandemic?
No offense to all those trying who worked hard to make things cute this year; but, masks and social distances are not the right accessories for a jubilant celebration. I feel like a true jubilee warrants wrinkle creating smiles, big laughter and lots of hugs. Dancing and cheers-ing, too. These things feel like relics of past already.
In the past, my mom would cry every year on Christmas Eve. Every year, like clockwork, as our church dimmed the lights and everyone passed a small flame from candle to candle, filling the room with soft light and the sounds of “Silent Night” my mom would cry.
As kids, bursting with excitement for the 24 hours to come and knowing this was the first sign the service was wrapping up, we didn’t understand.
“Why are you crying, mom?” we would ask.
“How could you cry right now, mom?” we would wonder.
It’s Christmas! We are about to go to a party! Santa is coming tonight! And, Jesus was born! That’s good news. And… uh, hello?! We are just ONE sleep away from presents!
Through soft tears and whispers she would tell us that it was because she was happy. And, then she would just cry more and the tears would return year after year, so we were not convinced.
We asked the same question each year and– regretfully– as we grew into teenagers, with more and more attitude and embarrassment.
“Why and how are you crying right now? And, why and how are you crying when you are happy?”
Like many things about my mother, I didn’t get it until I was one too. And, I get this now.
That church filled with the glow of individual candles, the sweet hymn sung in community, her family around her– excited and all– and the promise of hope in the messed up, wild and uncertain millennium era that she raised children? That’s a jubilee.
It doesn’t look always look like a family wedding. It doesn’t need the crowds and big laughter and dancing. Sometimes it’s softer. Sometimes it even looks like sadness, but it’s not.
It’s a jubilee.
But, why?
And, how?
Because even now, finding happiness even in tears is one of the strongest things we can do because it means there is still hope.
When Christ is reborn in individual hearts, their is always hope. That’s Christmas every day.