Monday, December 24, 2012

Christmas Eve Sermon From The Church Of The Batshit Crazy

It is Christmas Eve day and there is much to be done but none of it is of utmost importance with the exception of the preparation of the eggnog I suppose, which is taking on an almost totemic importance in my mind.

Mr. Moon seems fine today. That chicken soup settled on his belly just lovely and I made it with some Chinese noodles I had instead of brown rice, which is how I usually make it. He loves the noodles and it was for him, so I did it and now he is well so I am glad. He is already off to town and I really don't know why but he is and I think he's going to go see the boys because he misses them. My mother always asks me, "Does Glen like being a grandfather?" as if she was worried about that. As if she was afraid that he wouldn't settle happily into that role.
"He loves it," I tell her. "He is the best grandfather. He adores those boys."
And it's true.

It really is all about the children, isn't it? Whether you're talking about Christmas or, as President Obama said in his talk at that vigil in Newtown, that our number one job always is keeping the children safe, or whether you're talking about our species or any species for that matter.
Obama said something like, "When you are taking care of the children, you know you are doing right."
There is no wiggle room in that statement. It is just the damn truth.

The story of the baby Jesus being laid in the manger is such a heart-tugger, isn't it? You know what I think? I think that Mary didn't lay baby Jesus in a manger. I think that she and Joseph made a bed of the hay on the floor of the barn and they laid down together on it with their baby between them so that he could suckle and they could worship.
Every couple, if given the chance, worships their newborn baby, stunned in wonder that they have created this new life. And that is a holy moment in time. It is a moment that no parent forgets, that adoration of the baby after the storm and pain of labor has ended, as his eyes go from one parent to another the way new babies do, as if all of the knowledge and wisdom of the world is there behind those eyes and the baby is simply recognizing that which is already implanted there. And then the offering and the taking of the breast and the relaxation of mother and child as that particular and lovely connection is made and formed and begun.
A most holy moment and a moment of miracle, just as all of the newborn moments between mother and child are. After the miracle of life-being-created and the miracle of milk-from-the-breast, why in the world would we feel the need to attribute walking on water or turning water into wine to a man in order to ordain him with holiness?
These seem to me, compared to that moment of birth, to pale in comparison. To be cheap tricks.
Raise the dead?
I don't think so.

As dear Beth Coyote said last night in her post (and you should go and read it here) humans love to make shit up. We love stories. We thrive on them and embellish them and embroider them and repeat them and with each repeating there is more gold, more frankincense, more myrrh, and angels appear before shepherds and a star suddenly appears in the East even if none of it makes much sense. What newborn needs frankincense? I think that a few good women probably heard about the baby being born in a barn (if any of this story is true) and came with food and some old soft blankets and helped tidy up the place a bit and made sure everyone was fed and it wouldn't surprise me one bit to learn that a midwife had been summoned and had helped deliver the child.

Which would all be miraculous enough.

For me.

Good morning. It is the Day of the Eve of Christmas and somewhere right down the road I am sure that a woman is beginning the pangs of labor and tomorrow will deliver a child and that child will be as holy as any other child ever born on this earth. You too, me too, we were all born and were all holy and most likely still are, at least in my definition of the word. It's just that the world gets in the way of it all and we forget what we knew when we were born and looked at our parents with those eyes of knowing and knowledge.

There. That.


Take away all the supernatural and you are left with what is the miracle which is life, pure and simple, and we must take care of the babies and the children and when we do that, we are doing right.

You are one of the babies too. Remember that. And I will try too and no matter what your Christmas rituals are or include and even if you don't acknowledge the day at all just remember that- our holiness, our light. They are present simply because we are alive, today and tomorrow and yesterday and even in our darkest moments, even if we cannot feel them one iota, they are.

Today I am going to break the eggs that my beautiful hens have given me- life, again- and I am going to look at each lovely sun of a yolk and that, too, will be a reminder and we will drink those yolks with cream (holy milk!) and spirits, my babies around me, my miracles, my light, my joy and we will all share the light and the love which are unique to each of us and yet, somehow, the same within all of us, no matter who we are.

One love.



  1. if being born makes us holy, then surviving and having the courage and strength to tell about it makes us sainted.

    merry christmas to you and yours.

  2. Let's get together and feel alright.

  3. One Love. Amen. Beautiful.

  4. No matter the story being born is miraculous. All that comes from a sperm meeting an egg is truly a miracle. What happens after the birth is the real dilemma.

  5. Mrs. A- I will not disagree with you there!

    Sweet Billy Lunsford- Always!

    Anonymous- Thanks.

    Syd- Nor will I disagree with YOU!

  6. Good heavens, Ms. Moon, it's almost enough to make me a believer. I love this homey picture you have painted. Of course it went like that, without all the bells and whistles. Of course it did, but thank you for reminding me.

    Merry Christmas.

  7. Loved your sermon ... especially since I got to move up a pew in the Church of the Batshit Crazy today! All this talk of birth hits home for me since today is MY birthday and Holy Holy it's my 50th and I'm thinking how the hell did that happen??
    So yes, I am glad to be alive to share the light and the love and thanks for reminding me.

  8. Ms. Moon, though I know you don't believe in so much of what the Bible has to say I think you could can preach the best sermons around.

    Merry Christmas. xo

  9. Don't know you but I love you Ms Moon. thanks for the goosebumps. Merry Christmas.

  10. It's St Stephens Day morning here in Ireland and I'm just catching up on your last few days.. Your words here have made me cry, what a beautiful post, you are so connected to the truth life

  11. That was meant to be ..truth of life .. (Dodgy phone !!) I loved that you said to remember we are the babies too.. Such kindness, I think as a mum, especially at this time of year we are soo busy looking after everyone else, we forget about ourselves, your words stopped me in my tracks, and brought childhood memories back of my parents loving looks. Thank you. And a very Merry Christmas and prosperous happy healthy new year to you and yours from Ireland. J in Eire

  12. My dad was born on Christmas day in 1929 Ms Moon, and his name was Noel. A good man, gone too soon. I had no idea that Mr Moon his name was Glen. It went Aha! in my head, and I tasted it a couple of times... Mr Moon, Glen... Mary and Glen. Hmmm, sounds good! Probably a bit silly that I never thought anything of him being calles Mr Moon. -G-


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.