Christmas iignored

 The crib scene was set out at one end of the coffee table, and the magi at the other, ready for them ( the magi) to move a few centimetres each day across the table, and arrive at the crib scene at Epiphany. 

Then the dogs arrived for Christmas, in company with our son. Mayhem ensued with waggy tails causing the magi to land on the floor a good metre away, and the crib scene now virtually hidden behind the cushions the dogs are not allowed to use,  all piled on the foot stool. The retrieved magi have become conflated with the crib scene; it's the only way to keep them safe. 

Thus a scene emerges which encapsulates Christmas in the minds of many, No distinction is made between Christmas and Epiphany, and the birth of Jesus is virtually hidden behind the piles of presents and food, never-mind the discarded boxes, ribbons and wrapping paper. 

Still, Christmas is a season, and not just today. There will be time after son and dogs have left, for the crib scene to be as it should be, out in the open, cushions replaced on the sofa, and the magi now a little closer than before the mayhem. Still time for the real heart of Christmas to be seen.   

Advent

 I'm reading Diana Athill's evocation of her privileged childhood in Norfolk. ( She knew many of the great writers of the 20th century from her long career as literary editor at the publishers Andre Deutsch.)  She writes at one point of how she saw her grandparents' faith- ' .....much more like the conduct of people moved by common sense combined with an ideal of gentlemanly behaviour  than it did like the conduct of people  seeking communion with God .'

This came shortly after my morning devotions, and the thought the what we long for in Advent is the coming of the One who will enable us to be gloriously and fully human. As Irenaeus wrote- 'The glory of God is man fully alive;.'

The two viewpoints stand in stark contrast. One, which seems oh, so dated, so class-bound, so English, and the other so freeing, so universal, so adventuresome. 

I recognise that my own crabbed existence is not the same as that Athill describes, but it does direct my prayers to something wider, bigger, deeper, summed up in the Advent longing 'Come, Lord Jesus;.