"’Tis The Season to Be Jolly"

A Sermon by the Rev. Daniel Charles Davis

For the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Winston-Salem

December 10, 2006

’Tis the season of anticipation – the season of over-expectation. The Christmas list grows longer as greed grows stronger. Presents on the tree have been replaced by larger presents under the tree…or still larger presents around the tree. Or maybe in the driveway, with a big red bow on top.

What will I get? What joy will I unwrap, what rapture of joy awaits? What favorite things will make my life complete? What electronic stimulation will fill my void of boredom, what simulation of love is contained in the huggable teddy bear? The heady anticipation is unbearable! Are the latest fashions wearable by a person shaped like me? I hope I don’t get socks and underwear.

My stocking is hung by the chimney with care. It is expensively embroidered and is a size that only a giant could wear. I want it stuffed with stuff, filled with fulfillment. Will my witless wishes whisk me off to wonderland? I wonder as I wander through the mall. Is there any way I can enjoy it all? Will I get more than I give? Will I love the gift I get? Will I get the gift of love? Do I want to spend so much on this person? It’s the thought that counts! Hmm, I thought they would buy me a more expensive gift. Does the value of the present indicate how much they value my presence?

’Tis the season to celebrate! The party starts at eight; I have brought the holiday plates, with miraculous dancing snowmen – though outside it’s only raining, a puddle of expectations drizzling down the drain. The pudding grows cold as the party guests fail to show. Nuts in bowls and finger food scattered on every flat surface…will there be enough? How much will be left over? How much will be ground into the carpet that I just had cleaned? Who will drink too much this year? Eggnog, wine, and beer are a form of cheer as artificial as the plastic mistletoe that induces reluctant kisses from the misses who are unsure about where they stand. Are kisses sweeter than wine? What sweets will I find in the chocolate box of life? What nastiness is hidden under a tempting chocolate veneer, and can I steer clear of disappointment this year?

’Tis the season to be disappointed. Songs of the anointed king ring through the stinging wind. What happens to democracy during an annual songfest that celebrates one that will reign forever? Yes, he shall reign forever and ever, selected not by people but heralded by angels glorying the newborn king.

Those three kings from the Orient are disappointed. Their star has led them to no princely court, no royal reception – just a baby born in a barn and two travel-weary peasants who have little use for two-thirds of the gifts. The frankincense might improve the smell of the stable, but the fire is liable to ignite the straw in the manger – far too dangerous for this midnight hour. Myrrh is a burial spice…not so nice for a baby shower. (What was Balthazar thinking? Did he wait until the last minute and grab the only item left on the shelf?) Even the gold was of little use that night, when all the parents wanted was to rent a room. No room was available at any price.

Disappointment reigns; the poor babe awakes, no crying he makes. I asked my mother if that was true. She said, "Of course not! All babies cry."

’Tis the season of depression. All babies cry. Babies grow older, and still they cry. When we are born we lose the comfort of the womb; we long for love to surround us. And all the love that is found will someday be lost. Grief is a human condition, as inevitable and inexorable as fate. The holidays are a magnification of all the people who are no longer here. The empty spaces resonate in the chambers of our minds, echoing down halls we deck with boughs of hallowed memories. Each year ends with thoughts of what could have been. We are cut down like trees and forced to stand alone in an unfamiliar room, lonely in the midst of celebration, festooned with decorations, distractions from our mortality and the day when we will be discarded on the curb.

Life is disturbing, urging the unnerving question: "Where is the hope in these darkest days?" With all that has been lost and all that will be lost, we may as well give it all away.

Give it all away – ’tis the season to be generous, generating warmth and goodwill. Giving is understanding living, understanding that things are temporary. Hoarding aborts the joy that comes from sharing. When we lock our lives away, fearing that they will be taken, we are forsaking the lives we could be living today. May we give it all away! Nothing can steal what we freely give; no one can con us out of things we know we do not own. We are temporary, and we can either hold on to things until death removes us, or we can let all things pass through us. Sharing with those less fortunate is the greatest fortune we have, and time is our greatest gift. Spending time is more important than spending money. Time is precious, the gift of life itself. To give a good life, we must give a good time.

The choir sang the words of John Masefield:

"Laugh and be merry

Better the world with a song,

Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.

Laugh for the time is brief….

So, we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky.

Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by.

Laugh and battle and work and drink of the wine outpoured in the dear green earth.

The Sign of Joy, the Joy of the Lord

Laugh and be merry together like brothers akin.

Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn

Glad till the dancing stops.

And the lilt of the music ends.

Laugh until the game is played:

And be you merry, my friends."*

’Tis the season to be jolly: This is more than a hedonistic response to nihilism; this is more than "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." This is more than "I am going to make sure I get mine." This is not selfish pleasure. Selfish pleasure is tainted with fear – fear that the pleasure will be taken away. This is Epicurean sharing, the most pleasure for the most people. "Jolly" is derived from the celebration of Yule, the determination to light a fire at the darkest time. Being jolly reveals a deep belief that life was made for joy. For even those who say that this life is made for sorrow, promise joy in another life. If life was made for fear, then our purpose would be to hide. If life was made for anger, then we would live to punish others. Those who seem to believe this seem to be seeking sadistic pleasure.

Being jolly is sharing joy, being jolly is a protest against all that conspires to let us down.

Being jolly is an act of courage, it is laughing in the face of death, it is an assault against loneliness, it is a light in the darkness. Being jolly is a choice: Turning anger into satire, turning fear into Devil-may-care, happy-go-lucky freedom. If we are not jolly, then the terrorists really do win. Being jolly is an antidote to sadness.

My dad would say you have to laugh to keep from crying. Here’s an example of my dad’s wisdom.

The Christmas after my mom died, my oldest sister Micki and I went to the church of our childhood. My mother’s memory was so strong that all we could do was cry. We did this about three times over the years, and finally one Christmas we thought we were strong enough to go without crying. At the last minute, my other sister, Suzie, decided to go along. Micki and I knew what was going to happen, but we did not tell Suzie. Suzie began to cry; Micki and I began to laugh; Suzie began to laugh through her tears. Micki and I laughed until we cried.

Even our grief was a source of joy. Grief simply means that something or someone in our life mattered. What could be more joyous than knowing life is important? Despite all the theoretical and theological arguments of insignificance, everyone is important. Life matters. We know this when we gather with each other.

’Tis the season to be jolly. Jolliness is not frivolity. It is the core of our being. Join together in joy, celebrate birth and death and rebirth, celebrate light and darkness.

’Tis the season to be jolly!

*Laugh and Be Merry, text by John Masefield, music by James Mullholand, Colla Voce Music, Inc., 4600 Sunset Ave., #83, Indianapolis, IN 46208, 2003.