| | I used to hate the constant radio-play of Christmas music, sometimes starting the day after Halloween by the most audacious. But since I've been in Bolivia, I crave Christmas carols.
Bolivians don't sing many Christmas carols.
The few on the radio here resemble the jingly nonsense played on American radio, and have about as much to do with the birth of Jesus as smoked ham.
The other night, a group of English-speaking missionaries got together to celebrate Christmas in our mother tongue. And we sang and sang and sang. Everything from Christmas hymns written in the 1700s to "Happy Birthday to Jesus." They satiated my soul, unconsciously spiritually dehydrated.
I wrote my parents about the experience the next day, and my Dad wrote back that his relationship with Christmas hymns also changed when he moved across the ocean: "I don't know why that the truths of those carols stood out even more there. Maybe because life in Ethiopia looked more like the actual life in the Christmas story."
I cling to the depth of the lyrics these days in Bolivia. For example, the second verse of "O, Holy Night":
Surely he taught us to love one another
His law is love and his gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
The shocking reminder that Christmas is a liberation story takes my breath away. Never when I'm in the middle of a crowded mall, hearing "Jingle Bells" for the forty-sixth time this week. But here, walking passed an alcoholic passed out on the sidewalk and the three year old begging for his own Christmas present. Liberty is suddenly of utmost importance.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.
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| | Posted 12/22/2008 5:39 PM - 55 Views - 4 eProps - 2 comments
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