“Silent night, Holy night; all is calm, all is bright …”
The ancient carol floated over the stiff-backed seats of the school’s team bus after the game, and weary players turned to look at two sisters singing quietly together.
“It was beautiful,” the coach told me later. “Their voices were so perfectly clear.” He marveled at other students on the bus who, one by one, joined in the ageless song.
No mocking, he said. No joking, but rather an instinctive knowing that the pure beauty of the simple song far surpassed any social mores and prohibitions.
But not everyone agreed.
The sisters learned two days later that their well-rehearsed number would not be sung the next evening at the elementary school’s holiday program. Though invited to perform, and their song earlier approved, “Silent Night” was suddenly banned as “too religious” for the school’s “Jingle Jam.”
This in a rural, predominantly Catholic community.
I wonder what Father Josef Mohr would have said, he who penned the words nearly two hundred years ago?
My middle school girl’s chorus was also invited to sing in the “Jam,” and we presented “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Evidently program planners did not know the history of our song.
But they know about Santa Claus. And Rudolph. And Frosty the Snowman. No problem singing about fictional beings. Just no singing about real people.
In a misguided effort to offend no one and avoid touting religion in the public school, too many people have allowed fear to distort history. They have forgotten a key premise upon which this country was founded – freedom of religion – and they have also forgotten a more modern American adage: “Take it or leave it.” Instead, they cry Foul! when anyone stands up to mention his God – especially the Christian God.
In 2004 the principal of a Kirkland, Wash. high school cancelled a theatre group’s production of Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol on school property. It was against district policy to charge admission, he said. And the play’s religious overtone blurred the line between church and state.
After all, as a leading character, Tiny Tim does say, “God bless us, everyone.”
Atheists are complaining more and more loudly that they are tired of having Christian beliefs and holidays crammed down their throats, and weak-kneed school board members and administrators are bowing to their complaints. But plays and Christmas programs are not the purveyors of propaganda here. Take a look at commercial retailers. (Have you seen the Valentine end-cap display in Target? Yes, I know, it’s still December.)
Christmas is one of the biggest moneymaking opportunities for retailers in our nation. Too bad Mohr and Dickens couldn’t have started a trend of their own.
It takes only one generation for history to be distorted, and from the comments of children in my classroom, I can see they haven’t learned much about the founding of this nation and the rich, multi-cultural history behind the Christmas holiday.
Twenty centuries ago a handful of Palestinian Jews believed a Galilean named Jesus was their promised Messiah or anointed one. As a Jew, he no doubt celebrated Hanukah, Judaism’s winter “Festival of Lights.” Yet he said of himself, “I am the light of the world.”
The Greeks translated Messiah into Christos or Christ, and took up the belief of those early Jews. And as is the way with words, Christ’s Mass from the Greek and Latin of the early church slipped off the tongue as “Christmas” and into the hearts of people around the world.
Yes, it coincides with other ancient cultural observances involving trees and gift-giving, but it is unique in its etymology as pertaining to or observing the birth of the Christ child.
So take your choice this Christmas: an imaginary fat man in a red suit, or a historical figure who gave himself instead of toys.
No preaching here, you really do have a choice. It’s still America.
I already know which one the schools are choosing.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
That for which we seek
Last week during a literature lesson on “theme,” my students and I discussed “The Midas Touch,” a short story based on the Greek myth of King Midas.
In the story, one of the Greek gods tells Midas that he may have one wish – anything in the world. Consumed by his greed for gold, the king requests that everything he touches be turned into the glittering prize. Though warned by the god to reconsider, he insists.
As a class we stopped there and I asked my readers what they would choose if they could have anything imaginable. What would they pick?
“More wishes” was of course the first request, and I felt like the Robin-Genie-Williams- in “Aladdin” as I said, “No wishing for more wishes.” Arms popped up across the room and eager voices shouted, “All the money in the world!” “A mansion!” “All the video games in the world!” “I want to own all the stores that sell technological gadgets!”
Maybe it was a loaded question I shot their way, for every wish centered precisely on the wisher.
As we continued with the story of Midas, they learned that the god granted his request. What a gift! Everything the king touched turned to gold! Everything – including his necessary food and beloved daughter. And as with every generation that reads the myth, they recognized the cold and empty life of poor miserable Midas who got exactly what he asked for.
“Now, consider again,” I told them. “Ask for something that would affect others instead of only yourself.”
I expected them to benevolently include siblings in their electronics store ownerships, or to provide matching mansions for all the family, or a wide-screen TV for a sister’s bedroom as well as their own. But they did not.
“Food for the hungry,” said one.
“Cures for diseases in Africa,” another added.
“World peace.”
How quickly they looked beyond themselves, their families and their community when given the opportunity.
Later that day I wrote each student’s name on a slip of paper, folded it twice and dropped it into a basket from which those who wanted could draw a name for our upcoming Christmas gift exchange. Their eyes gleamed with anticipation over whose name they might get and how much money they could spend, and, “Oh, Mrs. Spencer – here, I got my own name. Let me pick again.” It wasn’t the getting that excited them; it was the anticipation, the planning, the giving.
In years past, I told those participating to bring a gift for their gender: boys bring gifts for boys and girls bring gifts for girls, and they were all marked accordingly and numbered for exchange on the day of the party. But this year’s name choosing made it more personal. They giggled and whispered and hinted and guessed what that other specific person might like to receive. It was bigger than just thinking of something they would like while hoping another boy/girl would like it, too.
I noticed more excitement this year, more sparkle in their eyes, more careful consideration. This year, because of the personal touch, there was a little more merriment and a lot less Midas.
As Christmas approaches, I wonder if it’s that personal touch that makes the season so exciting, and if maybe that’s why the messengers of millennia past told those who wondered then that the thing they sought was not golden treasure, but a very personal, specific little Child.
(This column first appeared in the Porterville Recorder in December 2007. It is reprinted here with permission from the author - me.)
In the story, one of the Greek gods tells Midas that he may have one wish – anything in the world. Consumed by his greed for gold, the king requests that everything he touches be turned into the glittering prize. Though warned by the god to reconsider, he insists.
As a class we stopped there and I asked my readers what they would choose if they could have anything imaginable. What would they pick?
“More wishes” was of course the first request, and I felt like the Robin-Genie-Williams- in “Aladdin” as I said, “No wishing for more wishes.” Arms popped up across the room and eager voices shouted, “All the money in the world!” “A mansion!” “All the video games in the world!” “I want to own all the stores that sell technological gadgets!”
Maybe it was a loaded question I shot their way, for every wish centered precisely on the wisher.
As we continued with the story of Midas, they learned that the god granted his request. What a gift! Everything the king touched turned to gold! Everything – including his necessary food and beloved daughter. And as with every generation that reads the myth, they recognized the cold and empty life of poor miserable Midas who got exactly what he asked for.
“Now, consider again,” I told them. “Ask for something that would affect others instead of only yourself.”
I expected them to benevolently include siblings in their electronics store ownerships, or to provide matching mansions for all the family, or a wide-screen TV for a sister’s bedroom as well as their own. But they did not.
“Food for the hungry,” said one.
“Cures for diseases in Africa,” another added.
“World peace.”
How quickly they looked beyond themselves, their families and their community when given the opportunity.
Later that day I wrote each student’s name on a slip of paper, folded it twice and dropped it into a basket from which those who wanted could draw a name for our upcoming Christmas gift exchange. Their eyes gleamed with anticipation over whose name they might get and how much money they could spend, and, “Oh, Mrs. Spencer – here, I got my own name. Let me pick again.” It wasn’t the getting that excited them; it was the anticipation, the planning, the giving.
In years past, I told those participating to bring a gift for their gender: boys bring gifts for boys and girls bring gifts for girls, and they were all marked accordingly and numbered for exchange on the day of the party. But this year’s name choosing made it more personal. They giggled and whispered and hinted and guessed what that other specific person might like to receive. It was bigger than just thinking of something they would like while hoping another boy/girl would like it, too.
I noticed more excitement this year, more sparkle in their eyes, more careful consideration. This year, because of the personal touch, there was a little more merriment and a lot less Midas.
As Christmas approaches, I wonder if it’s that personal touch that makes the season so exciting, and if maybe that’s why the messengers of millennia past told those who wondered then that the thing they sought was not golden treasure, but a very personal, specific little Child.
(This column first appeared in the Porterville Recorder in December 2007. It is reprinted here with permission from the author - me.)
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