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December 8, 2000
Dear
Family, Friends, and Subscribers,
Like
many other families across the nation, on Thanksgiving afternoon
we turned off the television (after one final quick look at
the scores--the Florida vote, not the football games) and
headed to the movie theater to watch Ron Howard's new version
of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. There were many elements
to enjoy about this new live-action version: the colorful
set and creative costumes so true to Dr. Seuss's style, Jim
Carrey's earnest enthusiasm for entertaining, and lovely little
Cindy Lou Who. I was moved by the dedication to Howard's mother,
"Who loved Christmas the most." She frequently appeared in
his movies and passed away this year. I'll miss her too.
But I
think Ron Howard, for all his enthusiasm and love for Christmas,
may have missed the point--or maybe he was making a point
more in keeping with today's audiences. While focusing on
his imagined "prequel" of how the Grinch became so Grinchian,
he changed what it was about Whoville that made it so Wholy.
Gone are the trust and innocence that characterized Seuss's
Whos. The inhabitants of Howard's Whoville just don't have
it. We meet numerous stock characters that inhabit successful
holiday movies: the self-serving politician, the mean-spirited
school children, the bickering neighbors, the overzealous
shoppers. Even Cindy Lou Who is a cynic. But we don't see
any of the true Christmas spirit in this Whoville. There isn't
an innocent in the bunch.
I believe
Dr. Seuss used his simple children's story to explore a not-so-simple
question: What would you have if you had nothing left materially?
And will it be enough when you leave this earthly world behind?
It's an important question that deserves more than a stock
answer.
Recently
I reread my favorite Christmas story, Taylor Caldwell's My
Christmas Miracle. Writing in first person, she tells the
story of a divorced mother in the 1920s, jobless, penniless,
about to be evicted, on Christmas Eve. She writes,
"The
stormy air was full of the sounds of Christmas merriment as
I walked from the streetcar to my small apartment. Bells rang
and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and
windows were lighted and everyone was running and laughing.
But there would be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts,
no remembrance whatsoever. As I struggled through the snowdrifts,
I just about reached the lowest point in my life. Unless a
miracle happened I would be homeless in January, foodless,
jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been
no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air,
this abandonment. God and men had completely forgotten me.
I felt old as death, and as lonely. What was to become of
us?"
Caldwell's
agony had nothing to do with gifts or presents. It was a lack
of presence--the presence of One watching over and sustaining
her, the remembrance, not the gifts. She describes the bleakness
of eating their supper of canned food and facing the sheaf
of bills while her child slept. But there is one bright hope,
her little daughter, Peggy. "I put Peggy to bed," she writes,
"... and a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had
some hope again....I opened the two white envelopes. One contained
a check for $30 from a company I had worked for briefly in
the summer. It was, said a note, my 'Christmas bonus.' My
rent! The other envelope was an offer of a permanent position
with the government, to begin two days after Christmas. I
sat with the letter in my hand and the check on the table
before me, and I think that was the most joyful moment of
my life up to that time."
When
Dr. Seuss's Whovillians wake up to an empty Christmas morning,
they meet at the village square to commune with one another
and sing carols. The actual words are nonsensical, but to
me they sound very much like Adoramos, "we adore thee." In
the classic 1966 animated version, a bright star rises up
from the town to fill the sky, symbolizing the fact that the
true spirit of Christmas--Jesus Christ--resides in that community.
When the Grinch realizes that "Maybe Christmas doesn't come
from a store; maybe Christmas, perhaps, is a little bit more!"
his heart bursts within him. He gets it. Christmas isn't about
our gifts to others; it's about God's gift to us.
My youngest
daughter's favorite part is when the circle of villagers opens
to let the Grinch in. I used to think that it was just cheap
animation--the producers didn't want to pay the animators
what it would take to draw the villagers actually stepping
back, so they just moved the five of them as one piece. But
when I watched it on Thanksgiving evening (after the movie
we had to come home and watch the original) I realized that
maybe Dr. Seuss didn't cut corners. Maybe, perhaps, he was
making a statement. The villagers had created a circle that
enveloped each other, but that circle unwittingly formed a
wall that seemed to keep strangers out. As the Grinch comes
to join them, their circle becomes a gate, swinging open to
let him in.
Perhaps
it wasn't just the Grinch whose heart needed to grow a bit.
Even Whos can become Wholier.
This
desire for presence--the presence of others--is ubiquitous.
After her Christmas miracle, Caldwell describes the overwhelming
urge to join with others as she ends her story:
"The
church bells began to ring. ... Everywhere people were walking
to church to celebrate the birth of the Saviour. People smiled
at me and I smiled back. The storm had stopped, the sky was
pure and glittering with stars.
"'The
Lord is born!' sang the bells to the crystal night and the
laughing darkness. Someone began to sing, 'Come all ye faithful!'
I joined in and sang with the strangers all about me.
"I am
not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all.
"And
that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never
alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the
world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time
God chooses."
As one
who loves to orchestrate the joyous surprises for Christmas
morning, even at the expense of some worried pre-Christmas
apprehension on the part of my little ones, I love the thought
of God getting involved too. I imagine Him withholding her
check and job offer until Christmas Eve, a loving Parent anticipating
the joy of the perfect Christmas surprise, knowing how much
more it will mean to her now.
May God
choose the best for you this season, and may you have the
wisdom to recognize His Presence.
-- Jo
Ann Skousen
email: jaskousen@mskousen.com
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