TRADITIONS WERE ONCE NOT

Holidays are filled with traditions.  They populate our seasons of remembrances.  They may be around the stories that granddad spins each Christmas.  They may be foods  we eat that represent the season. They may be decorations, ornaments, songs, games.  Somehow, they come to be what we remember and look forward to.

And traditions are important for they give us a sense of comfort and safety.  They help us define what the holiday means.  They remind us of our connection to communities and they bind us to people of the past.  They help us know that there is some continuity in life and that we can count on somethings to be constant.

But, traditons haven't always been what they are.  They started somewhere, sometime, with someone. Most of the time we don't remember when they started.  They have just always been present.

But, life that moves us forward erases some of our practices.  Family members move away.  Children grow up and are not enchanted with the same things.  People die and are represented by empty chairs or are felt in the empty spaces of our hearts.  People make new commitments to new people and all of a sudden there are more people to include in family gatherings.  Things that "we have always done" no longer seem to be possible.

So, remembering that traditions were once not present lures us forward to trying new things.  The absence of some of the people or practices leaves empty space for interesting experiments.  Some of them will stick and we will do them again (isn't a traditon something that we did more than once?).  Others will not be remembered and we will try something new.

I miss some of the things that I used to do at holiday times when my children were growing up, but to discover joy in my life during these days, I grieve what is no longer and embrace the excitement of trying new things with those who share my days and my geographical space.  And I find a quiet and contented joy in the creation of new habits and patterns of celebration.

THANKSGIVING MUSIC?

It was the afternoon before Thanksgiving.  My wife, Deborah, had been cooking in preparation for a holiday dinner at the family gathering.  I joined her to add my hand in the cutting and cleaning.

"How about some music?"

I checked and found some Christmas music on Itunes Radio.  After a couple of Christmas Rock, we said, "What about thanksgiving music?  Is there even such a thing as secular thanksgiving music?"

I checked Pandora and picked Thanksgiving Music Radio.  And sure enough, all Christmas music.

Is there such a thing as secular thanksgiving music?  I know there are hymns of gratitude, but what about the secular holiday of Thanksgiving?  Is there no music to sing our thanks for the gifts of our life?

I am aware that those who grieve well the loss of the world the once knew are grateful people.  They are grateful for the gifts that they had for a season.  They see and acknowledge the daily sustaining resources that keep them living and loving.  As they look at what came to them in the past they are open to seeing the future as a gift as well.  They are even able to see the gift in the losses that made room for the life they are living now.

So, while I can't find much thanksgiving music on my computer, I do find songs of gratitude in my heart for each person who has been part of my blessed life.  I can name some and fill in lots of details about their gifts to me.  There are hundreds of others whose presence has sustained and nurtured me.  

Tomorrow on Thanksgiving,  music will be drumming in my heart as I share a day with some of my family and friends.  And I will be singing gratitude for all those who are not with me. And who knows, I may even write a Thanksgiving carol for next year! 

FALLING FORWARD

I was hiking at the state park near my home.  The naked trees reached their boney fingers to the sky as the icy wind swirled.  Here and there a lingering leaf clung to a limb.  It shuttered in the winter cold.

I looked and thought of how often we try to hang onto that which is already gone.  The life sap has been swallowed in the roots and the leaf desires to delay its falling.

But, underneath, beaconing it, are millions of other kin who have begun their destiny of decay.  The aroma of wet brown humus rises from the soil as the ground is enriched by the summer life of the leaves.  The roots welcome the life of the leaves back into the cycle of renewal and help prepare for new life to emerge in the spring.

So often we desparately hang on to life the way it was, hoping that we can avoid the letting go--hoping we can delay the inevitable. But, when life has moved on, space is created for new life even as the memories of the old nourish our hearts and soften our souls.  We are enriched to welcome new life and discover that love awaits us when we make room for that which we have not yet known.

Holidays are times of tension between the longing for the way things were and the discoveries of the way things will become.  Can your memories fall and become nourishment for your new life? 

(UN)HAPPY HOLIDAYS

I recently led a class on preparing for the holidays.  A dozen of us gathered to share our anticipations and our anxieties.  As we talked we discovered that almost everyone there was struggling.  Most were not really looking forward to the holidays.

  In the stories were shared, most were dreading the holidays because they anticipated the sadness and loneliness that is part of them.  Most experienced the holidays as times when they missed something or someone really important to them:  deceased family members; children away from home; hopes for resources to do more than they were able to do; traditions that were no longer possible because of the changes in life or location.

Holidays are times when we seem to focus on accumulated experiences that can’t be replicated. (Or, more accurately, the memories of experiences that had acquired special meaning but can no longer be duplicated.)  While our life is full of such experiences, holidays seems to be a depository for more focused and special memories.  Hopes for happiness are exploited by a culture that uses our longings for belonging to sell us promises provided by its products.  We experience the stress of trying to be in the holiday spirit.

 But, I think that holidays are more than about what we have had and lost.  I believe they are open times for the welcoming of new and interesting possibilities for the future.  To welcome and embrace that open space for the future that has been given to us by the loss of things the way they were, we have to grieve the losses so they don’t control our way of looking at the holidays.

 Grieving the loss of the world the way it was frees us to embrace the world that is coming.  As you face the holidays and feel dread or sadness overtaking your spirit, take time to look at what has changed, to name that which is no longer a reality, to remember  the good that you have received, to forgive the past for not being permanent, and play with new ways of celebrating, developing new traditions that affirm what you truly believe about the holiday’s meaning.  Holidays are about relationships, loved and lost, and wherever we are, new relationships and new ways of expressing our life together are all around for us to explore.  

CONFLICT AND LOSS

As I have worked through the years with issues of change and loss, I have come to understand that there is a direct relationship between conflict and loss.  Conflict between people is almost always about someone losing something.  When conflict occurs in organizations, some in the group will lose something that matters even as others may gain something that they feel is more important.  The inability to grieve loss contributes to the intensifying of the conflict.  If you would like more on this topic, I have just published a book with my colleague and friend, Bernie Lyon.  It is called, "How to Lead in Church Conflict: Healing Ungrieved Loss" (Nashville: Abingdon, 2012.)  It is available at Abingdon Press or on Amazon.com.  In the book we explore a psycho-dynamic perspective on group life and how a leader's ability to be present with a "heart of flesh" can help a group grieve losses and open themselves to new ways of living life together.