A Stronger Tug of Tradition

The holiday season is a time for ritual and marking changes, sometimes for the better. Each family in its own way unpacks the traditions and decorations, sayings, memories and, yes, the foods that bring comfort in their familiarity and in their sensory reminders that time and life are unfolding as they should. That is especially important this jarring year when so much that was unfamiliar unfolded so suddenly and unpredictably.

Americans in general have been a very comfortable, very blessed people for such a very long time that priorities in this part of the year sometimes seem focused less on giving than gimme. There remain persistent pockets of U.S. poverty and hardship, which in the open, earnest, American way we acknowledge and continue to address. But nowhere do we see the kind of universal suffering and depredation that the media portray daily in Afghanistan. For those of us who’ve never been there and do not long to go, the overpowering impression is that every building is roofless, every wall bullet-pocked, the treeless countryside almost devoid of sentient life but strewn with rocks and biblical desperation. Wandering through at times are two groups that know only war: veteran refugees with overburdened donkeys and marauding, hardened fighters who change loyalties as easily as their clothes.

It’s hard, given the tendency of tradition to control life at this time of year, not to recall the story of the journey of Mary and Joseph across another harsh biblical countryside; how they found the inn full one night and stayed in a stable, where Mary’s baby was born. So momentous was this humble birth, according to the enduring story, that a star led wise men to visit the plain barn where that new life began bringing hope and healing to at least the next two millenniums of human existence.

The story will be retold today in many homes and hearts, and once again numerous children will silently wonder what exactly myrrh is anyway.

At this same time one Holy Land group has called for new suicide bomb volunteers and soldiers still stalk the dusty sides of distant mountains led by flares, not stars. As some recall the Bethlehem story this year and as all enact their own hallowed holiday rituals with loved ones, sharing the gifts and moments and missing the missing, maybe we can each add to the refreshed rituals a much stronger dose of appreciation for the health, hearth and happiness we have and have seen taken without warning from many others.