"What's All This Fuss About...?" (A Tribute to Emily Litella)

by Kyle Wiseley

My favorite sketches from the early years of “Saturday Night Live” were the ones that featured Gilda Radner as the perpetually misguided Emily Litella who always started her rant with the phrase “What’s all this fuss about . . .?” focusing on some ludicrously misunderstood issue of the day – hilariously funny and almost guaranteed to be as racy as contemporary television censorship then allowed. Emily misunderstood the most obvious of contemporary concepts and at the end of each of her screeds, when she was corrected, obviously miffed, would concede, “Well, that’s different. Never mind!”

So, as I consider the issues that contemporary Christian organizations agonize, and unfortunately, fight over, I am tempted to say with Emily: “What’s all this fuss about . . . ?” (Fill in the blank with whatever the controversy of the day may be.)

I think we overcomplicate what it means to be a Christian or to try to live a Christian life in our contemporary world. If I were to attempt to explain Judeo-Christian theology to one who had absolutely no knowledge of it, I would begin, not with a creation story, or a story of a Messiah, but with a simple verse from the words of a prophet by the name of Micah, who spoke to his people in a time of both significant economic and political prosperity which was threatened by the mighty strength of the Assyrian Empire. He pointed out the obvious injustices practiced by the people, both individually and as a nation, and particularly emphasized the ongoing disputes and conflicts regarding proper ways of being faithful to Israel’s covenant with Yahweh, He said simply:

“He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8 NRSV)

For me, those simple words succinctly state the entire requirements for righteous living:

• To do my best to understand the story that both the scriptures and the tradition has passed down through the millennia
• To practice and advocate for justice for all people
• To make kindness the prime intent of all my actions
• And to practice humility in all things and with all people

So, what’s all this fuss about anyway? We are a diverse people – created so by the Divine. How dare any of us say that, because God has revealed God’s self differently to others, that I can no longer relate to them in brotherly love? Because all of us, like Emily, can woefully misunderstand even the simplest of things.

The Hopes and Fears of All Our Years

by Kathy Douglass

I was just meandering along this Advent, Christmas season, spending my days, minding my own business, when it seemed a few times, my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t tell, by how I felt, whether I was meant to laugh or cry.

The old woman in period garb, hammering out an ancient carol on her dulcimer. My breath caught as she played in the cast of a million tiny lights on a windy night at The Grotto.

The young students of the St. Olaf choir, singing “Beautiful Savior” in brilliant, gentle harmony. My breath caught as they sang : “Truly I'd love Thee, truly I'd serve Thee, light of my soul, my joy, my crown.”

The little kids, walking the ceramic Mary and Joseph statues a bit closer to Bethlehem each Sunday morning at St. Luke’s. One Sunday I arrived early, and found Mary and Joseph set on a small table near the back, with a shiny nickel lying between them. My breath caught as I smiled and wondered which child had left an early gift for the baby Jesus.

As we worshipped together the Sunday after Christmas, we sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem”. I sang along as I played the piano, and got as far as the last phrase, when my breath caught again: “the hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight.” I couldn’t sing, but could only mouth those words, sure that if I sang it would sound like a cry.

The hopes and fears of all our years. Sometimes they shout, sometimes they whimper, making their presence known. And when they do, our breath can catch as we consider what they bring along with them, what they uncover: what we’re afraid of, what we regret, what we long for, why we laugh, where it hurts, how we’d do it differently, who we miss, why we still believe.

I can’t manage my hopes and fears on my own. Given the time, the day, the circumstance, I may handle things with grace and openness, with a hopeful heart. Or, I may be a mess and shut down, over-react, or simply take my ball and go home.

To find that I have a companion in Jesus, in whom all of my hopes and fears are “met”, is breath to me. A deep, life-giving breath.

In her book, “Listening to Love”, Jan Meyers writes that responding to Christ, responding to His voice in our lives can often come as a simple question... “is that you, Jesus?” A few years ago some friends and I read through this book together, and began to ask ourselves this question as the “hopes and fears” of daily-ness came knocking: a disappointment, a surprise, a loss. A change, a tension, an ache. A disruption, a joy. “Is that you, Jesus?”

Jan Meyers goes on to write that every longing, wrapped up in hope, wrapped up in fear, is actually, at its center, a longing for God. I want to live with that kind of Presence, with that understanding that I am never alone, never unknown, and that what makes me catch my breath sometimes could very well be the Spirit of God.

An ancient carol at the Grotto... a tune recognized by saints and angels that I long to sing in chorus with them.

Beautiful Savior... an ache and a hope to see Him with my own eyes.

The journey of Mary and Joseph that reminds me of my own... will I find my way, will I have what I need, will promises made be promises kept?

There’s a reason, I know, that I couldn’t sing that last “O Little Town” phrase on the Sunday after Christmas.

There are hopes, there are fears. Moments when things catch in our throats and we don’t know whether to laugh or cry. What we can know, is that we are met. In every hope. In every fear. In every breath.

The "Gift of Limits"

by Judy Bevilacqua

I just read an article in our local paper about “the worst Christmas gifts ever received.” It got me thinking. In this season of giving and receiving gifts, it might be a good idea to unwrap some of those unwanted gifts in our life -- the less obvious ones that may still be lurking under the tree, or thrown out with the fruitcake from Aunt Thelma. For New Year’s I’m going to try and look at one gift in my life that often remains unopened...unused…unwanted. That is, until I’m in deep trouble!

One of my most neglected and unacknowledged gifts is the "gift of limits." I don’t want this gift, but I need it. When I don’t pull it out of the back of my underwear drawer and wear it, I suffer -- and so do others. This gift is a bit binding, a bit restricting and not immediately comfortable. It hampers all my wild, impulsive and frankly addictive tendencies. Whether it is over-spending or overeating, or over-anything! Saying "yes" when I should be saying "no." It whispers to me when I’m being the indispensable workaholic whose body is really crying for a nap. I should be in Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. I make a great martyr!

Jesus received the “gift of limits” for Christmas. He left eternity to be birthed into the restricting confines of time and space. He left inexhaustible riches to experience our exhausting poverty. He set aside limitless power and freedom to put on flesh and bone, emotions, pain, weakness, and narrow social and cultural identity. He became a vulnerable diapered baby in a cheap hotel - dependant on the likes of us! Yes, “He was in every way tempted – just like we are.” The Master became the servant and the Lord became the serf. This is what I mean by the gift of limits. God appears to do his best work through human limitations. (A quick survey of the personal weaknesses of the prophets, apostles and Holy Fathers would certainly prove this point!)

So where’s the “gift” in the gift of limits? Surprisingly it seems to be in the very DNA of “limits.” This was brought to my attention the other day, as Jack and I helped a friend prepare for a songwriting assignment that had him baffled and overwhelmed. We suggested he narrow down his choices to only a few notes, and then to give himself a short deadline to complete it. He shared with us later how miraculously that worked! Amazing. Less became more. Limits brought freedom. How many times have I experienced a surge of creativity when I only had limited time or resources to complete a project. All the juices get going! This is not to praise procrastination. But hey, we all know it works!

What other limits have I experienced as a “gift?” Steve, the grotesquely handicapped man at the gym, hobbling through a huge room of buff strangers, approaches me to share about his upcoming surgery and make me feel loved and privileged to learn of his hopes and fears. How many more amazing gifts have I received from those with very limited education, advantage or opportunity. No wonder Jesus loved the children. They were so comfortable with their limits.

The limits of age are becoming all too apparent. I’m slowing down in every way. My memory seems laced with molasses and I can’t seem to care about multi-tasking anymore. But what a gift to have arrived at the age where I value nothing more than to be “idle” with my grandkids, or my aging parents, or a friend. Or to stop and acknowledge the finches at the thistle-sock, or weep with my neighbor who only stopped by to bring me the eggs. These are but homely examples of a much deeper awareness. The reality that we are mortal after all, (sigh.) My struggles and weaknesses bind me to my human family and keep me awake to my own hunger, weakness, poverty, and blindness. Yes, like that church in Laodicea in the book of Revelation. They forgot too! I need God, and I need others.

The gift of limits is, in fact, the BEST gift I could ask for. Hmmm, so why don’t I ask?

O God, turn your Spirit loose now,

and me with it,

that I may go to where the edge is

to face with you the shape of my mortality:

the inescapable struggle and loneliness and pain

which remind me

that I am less than god after all,

that you have made me with hard limits,

limits to my strength,

my knowledge,

my days.

Facing those limits, Lord,

grant me grace to live to the limit

of being unflinchingly alive,

irrepressibly alive, fully alive

of experiencing every fragile, miraculous, bloody, juicy, aching, beautiful ounce

of being a human being……

from a poem by Ted Loder

Celebration of Christmas

by Julia Graves

Here I sit in my favorite chair wrapped in a warm blanket sipping on my soy late. I consider this a small piece of Heaven. I look forward to this daily ritual of luxury. As I sit my mind wonders over yesterdays events.

After Church I went home and readied the holiday meal. A simple meal prepared with love. The desserts that were hand made and loving prepared by the children were set out to thaw; chocolate covered cheese cake, chocolate cookie cream cheese truffles, cheery and apricot breakfast braids.

Next I brought out the everyday dishes chipped and warn from years of daily use. Basic white Corelle, it is amazing how it can bounce off the floor. If dishes could talk these would be filled with many, many exciting stories. This is and will be the only set of dishes I will ever own. They are loved dearly because of all the memories attached to them.

Then I finished off the preparation of the Christmas Stockings. These stockings are filled with an assortment of chocolate kisses, rice paper candy, maple syrup Santa’s, flavored coffee and hot chocolate samples, corn nuts, etc…. food items the children learned to love while growing up. Each brings up a memory of some past wonderful childhood experience. I look forward each year to traveling to different stores to collect these items. They are small, however the memories are rich. When the children dig into the stockings the experiences are discussed with smiles and laughter. These small items are inexpensive, the experience is priceless.

The chairs are placed around the living room, just enough to accommodate the number of guests. The aroma of the holiday meal fills the air. Every thing is ready, my excitement grows. The door bell rings. The guests enter who have traveled from many different locations, the meal is served, and the home fills with laughter and conversation. Empty dishes are gathered and put to soak to be dealt with later. Dishes can wait, moments with family and friends are more important.

Our attention turns to the gifts we have brought to share with one and other. Pickles organically grown and canned, hand print chocolate chip and thumb print cookies (these are gigantic because they are made by adult children’s hands!), and the deserts, truffles, coffee and cheese cake. My mother brought a note book entitled her memories. It is the beginning of her memoir. It shows her humble beginnings in the Deep South. There is a picture of the three room shack she grew up in, the outhouse, and the well where she drew water as a child. Her first set of shoes for school were made out of old truck inner tubes. I read her history and am in awe of how far my mother has come from such humble beginnings.

Desert is served and the conversation changes to our plans for the upcoming week. Leftovers are packaged to be sent home with the children to be enjoyed later. Coats are retrieved, hugs given, goodbyes said. The door is close and the house is once again quiet.

My mind wonders to the Holy Family. I think of the similarities of the Christmas story and my family experience. Mary and Joseph traveled many miles to be counted and taxed; Christ started his life sleeping in a trough designed for feeding livestock. I think of the Epiphany and the Wise Men that came bearing gifts. Gold, a gift fit for a King; Frankincense, some believe carries prayers to heaven; and Myrrh used for treating wounds and also used in the preparation of the dead.

For many churches the Epiphany marks the end of the Christmas celebration and the beginning of Ordinary Time. The colors of celebration, white and gold are packed away and exchanged for green. Similar to what we do with our Christmas decorations. They are put in a box and stuck in the attic or garage for next year. We sit and wait for the change of the seasons to spring and the greening of the landscape. And await celebration of Lent.

Challenge the ordinary and continue the celebration of Christmas. Don’t pack Christ’s humble beginnings into a box. May we continue to celebrate the birth and revealing of our Lord, Jesus Christ, God among us!