Christmas is a time of stories. And so, from a ministerial colleague, Clark Dewey Wells, a story that intrigues and inspires; a story about a star on Christmas Eve.
"Several years ago and shortly after twilight our 3 1/2-year-old tried to gain his parents, attention to a shining star. The parents were busy with time and schedules, the irritabilities of the day and other worthy pre-occupations. 'Yes, yes, we see the star - now I'm busy! Don't bother me.'
"On hearing this the young one launched through the porch door, fixed us with a fiery gaze and said, 'You be glad at that star!'"
"I will not forget the incident or his perfect words. It was one of those rare moments when you get everything you need for the good of your soul - reprimand, disclosure and blessing. It was especially good for me, that surprising moment, because I am one who responds automatically and negatively to the usual exhortations to pause-and-be-more-appreciative-of-life-unquote. Fortunately, I was caught grandly off guard.
"There is a notion, with some truth in it, that we cannot command joy, happiness, appreciation, fulfillment. We do not engineer the seasons of the soul or enjoin the quality of mood on another, and yet I do believe there is right and wisdom in that imperative declaration - you be glad at that star!"
What if shepherds on a mythical night 2000 years ago had no time for the star?
What if three proverbial wise men had been too engrossed in their studies and had no time for the star?
What if legendary angels were too busy strumming their heavenly harps and had no time for the star?
What is it about the stars? Why is it the storytellers use the stars to herald the birth of humanity's saints? Is it their timelessness?
We moderns speak of light years,
Know the star we see in the sky really isn't there at all
Long ago it had moved,
Its light only a dim reminder
Of where it was, once upon an eon.
Our lives, by cosmic contrast, are shooting stars
A quick blaze across the heavens
And then gone forever in the dark void of space.
So the stars outlive us and we lose track of our time in their timelessness.
We are liberated from the finite moment by the glow of the Infinite.
The stars appear to be in no hurry
While we scurry
On our time bound way.
They are timeless to remind us of eternal things.
Be glad at that star!
There is an imperative voice in the words,
Insisting on celebration,
Demanding recognition of that which is timeless.
The stars do not insist,
Do not mandate.
They do compel our spirits
By the sheer power of beauty,
By the inexorable steadiness of their light.
They do compel awe
In the most secular heart,
In the most cynical mind,
In the most troubled spirit,
"You be glad at that star"
Becomes more than the voice of a single child,
It becomes a cosmic categorical imperative!
There is gladness in the stars
Why, I do not know.
I only sense - I cannot be totally bereft
When I bask in their illumination.
Even when hidden by dark of cloud at night
Or brightness of sun by day.
They do their cosmic dance
Across the heavens
To some celestial rhythm
I do not hear, but feel.
And it is a celebrative beat,
It has the tempo of life
Which not even extinction can overcome.
Such a star illumined a birth long ago and far away
From this time and place.
In those days it was a miracle - it still is - in a way -
Though we cut through layers of myth and legend
To the kernel of truth about a simple carpenter's son,
A man for others.
That shepherds and wise men saw the star
And set their lives by it
Is the fruitful imagination
Of first century poets.
They knew, and so do we,
How a star can capture the heart
And fill the spirit.
The star,
That bright and amazing star -
We never tire of it -
As we never tire of birth
And angel voices
And shepherds abiding in the fields,
And wise ones coming from the east,
And an innocent baby,
With gentle mother knowing just what to do.
And awe-struck father not knowing what to do.
It may even be we see the sacred Star of Bethlehem
In our secular, scientific night.
Generations come and go
But the stars seem to endure forever.
It is a thought to ponder on a cold Christmas Eve
In the stillness of a starry night.
At Christmas there is the "dear sameness"
Year after year -
The same carols,
The familiar words,
The ever-present star in the East.
Why does the story never wear out?.
Appoint a commission!
Select a committee!
Do a study!
Discover why the story never wears out!
No, we do not really wish to know.
We really wish to immerse ourselves
In the timelessness of stories and stars
And be glad.
It is Christmas. Take time to enjoy. Take time to enjoy.
Take time to enjoy. "You be glad at that star!"
Note: Story from Clark Dewey Wells, The Strangeness of This Business: A Meditation Manual for 1976, UUA, Boston.
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