Kids get criticized this time of year for being greedy and materialistic. Part of being a kid at Christmas is excitement about presents, but I think adults are to blame for the commercialization of Christmas--kids just pick it up along the way.

Or not. Consider these Christmas wishes reported in a New York Times Magazine article by Patricia Marx:

--Pearl Mutnick, age 11: "I'd like a donation to a charity in my name, one that is especially meaningful to me. I don't know which charity right now, but I'd go online to find out how much money goes to the cause and how much goes to doughnuts and lounges."
--Max Lane, age 6: "A sandwich, some Halloween toys, and for Santa to live with me."
--Paloma Bryant, almost 2: "A cow."
--Sophie Sonnenfeld, age 3: "For animals to talk to me in English."
--Dylan Marx, age 9: "One more present than my sister."

On this coast, the wishes of the children I know seem similarly imaginative and impossible. When I asked one 3 year-old friend what she wanted, she immediately answered, "A unicorn!"

I explained that a unicorn would require moving to a bigger house, and got her a baby doll--her second choice--instead. I think it was a success--she named it Sammy, took off all its clothes, and insisted it accompany us to the grocery. So much fun for just a few dollars.

I hope each of you received what you really wanted for Christmas this year--time with family, time away from family, peace (and quiet) on your little corner of earth, or even a cow.

I like Paul Williams' editorial in this week's issue; he writes about the "holy terror" of Jesus coming to earth, and he poses an interesting question: "What if I do not want God with me all of the time?"

We celebrate Emmanuel and the traditional Christmas picture of a helpless little baby. But how amazingly strange and scary to think that he actually came here and hung out with us. Jesus, through whom everything was created, deigned to live among all of it for three decades. He could have destroyed us all with a word but he restrained himself and let us kill him instead.

Often small children will cry when their parents leave them with a Sunday school teacher or babysitter, and reassurances that "Daddy will be back soon" fail to comfort them. At my church they sometimes smush their little noses against the glass of the classroom windows and wait impatiently for the first sight of Dad rounding the corner to get them.

At Christmas we remember the generations who waited for the Messiah, and we end another year of smushing our noses against the glass and searching hungrily for signs of his return.
We still don't know quite what to make of him, but how we long for God With Us.

A Holiday Tip

People who should be allowed to sing "O Holy Night" in public:
--Placido Domingo
--Renee Fleming
--Sandi Patty
--The Vienna Boys Choir

People who should not:
--Jessica Simpson
--The Muppets
--Bob Seger
--Boy bands
--Aaron Neville
--Anyone who's competed on American Idol
--You
--Me
--Everyone else in the universe

This week's Christian Standard features an article on "The 12-Stepping Church" by Dan Gilliam, who until recently served as minister of meditation and prayer at LifeBridge Christian Church in CO. He discusses the history of Alcoholics Anonymous and the value of AA and other programs in serving and possibly sharing Jesus with people in recovery.

I'm all for churches adopting the 12 steps, Celebrate Recovery, etc. As Gilliam writes, "Many Christians, having seen remarkable transformations firsthand, believe 12-step fellowships are nothing less than an anonymous arm of Christ's church, exposing agnostics, atheists, and pre-Christians to the life-changing gospel without some of the more religious aspects that could close their minds to God."

As I read, I found myself thinking that while it's now okay to say "I'm an alcoholic" at many churches, it's not okay to say "I'm a moderate drinker." For many Christians, any and all alcohol consumption falls into the "black" side of a black and white world.

There's no question that the best way to avoid substance abuse is to avoid the substance completely. For many people it's less an issue of legalism and more a recognition of weakness. I have friends who struggle with moderation in eating or spending money and have decided not to add drinking as another temptation in life. I respect that.

For others it's generational. Many of my Christian friends drink, but most of their parents do not.

Opinions on the issue also vary geographically. Recently I interviewed for a staff position with a church back in the midwest. To remain above reproach, the church requires all paid staff to completely abstain from alcohol. Again, I respect this--the congregation adopted this policy to protect its staff and to make a statement to the community. Although I enjoy a glass of wine most evenings, I would have happily agreed to this rule if called to this role.

But several of my Christian friends out here expressed surprise at the restriction. "You can't drink at all?" they asked. "What's the big deal?" Californians tend to (often wrongly) consider themselves more progressive than everyone else, but in this area they do seem less conservative. Whether it's the proximity to Napa or to Hollywood, the no-booze-for-good-Christians mindset is much rarer here than in the Bible Belt.

And this can be both good and bad. The line between "social drinker" and "heavy drinker" can be a fine one for some folks, and the mindset that all drinking is bad avoids that line altogether. However, it also creates rules that can alienate sincere seekers like my friend who--when presented with the gospel and asked if he wanted to accept Jesus--said, "I want to be a Christian, but........can I still have a beer with my pizza?"

At the end of the day, (around cocktail hour), it becomes a matter of conscience for every Christian. This isn't as nice and neat as our Evangelical Prohibition, but I think it is more biblical.

Last night I dreamed that Julie Andrews and I went grocery shopping. So it is safe to assume that God was not giving me a message as he did with Joseph.

I think a lot about Joseph this time of year. I wonder about him--other than the short narratives in Luke and Matthew, we don't know much. He was "a good man," according to Matthew, which seems an understatement--he was rewarded for his goodness with gossiping neighbors, a truly horrible road trip to Bethlehem, and having to raise Someone Else's child.

I think about his dreams: both the ones from the angel that most likely did not include Julie Andrews, and his dreams for himself, which most likely did not turn out as he wanted. I think about his quiet willingness to sacrifice one for the other. When he left for Bethlehem did he know he would be gone for years and that the trip would include a detour to Egypt? Did he ever look at Mary in the firelight after they'd put the baby to bed and silently resent her? Did he wish they could have had a precious year or two as newlyweds before having to assume the responsibilities of parenthood? Did a dark part of his soul occasionally wonder what it would have been like if he'd just been a little more passive and let Herod kill the boy?

I think about Mary, too. Was she afraid of losing Joseph? Did she cry herself to sleep at night until he changed his mind and decided to marry her after all? Did she wonder if she'd done something wrong or misunderstood the angel?

I wonder if she knew, when she left for Bethlehem, that the baby would arrive there and if she cried when she hugged her mother goodbye. During the delivery did she wish desperately for her mom and sisters? Did Joseph help with the birth, and was she completely mortified by the experience?

Most of all, I wonder if either one of them ever just got good and mad at God. It's not the kind of thing you talk about in Sunday school, but the whole story seems unnecessarily cruel to me.

God could have arranged for things to be easier on this young couple and still have fulfilled the prophecies. This man and woman sacrificed their reputations and personal plans so they could be part of God's plan--in my limited view, they deserve better than they got.

So I think about them a lot each December, and I think about them other times, too. I don't know why God didn't smooth out some of the details for them. And sometimes I don't understand why God seems to make it so difficult for me when I'm trying so hard.

But when I obey and things still seem to fall apart, or when the journey seems cruel and difficult past the point of "character building," I remember that the story is always bigger than my feelings or my convenience. This Christmas, I remember that the absence of comfort does not equal the absence of God.

When I moved to California and began looking for a church, I had three criteria: a) sound doctrine, b) authentic worship (regardless of "style"), and c) a service in which I didn't look at my watch during the sermon.

I found a wonderful church with a great senior minister. He preaches each week with energy and power and somehow connects with non-, new-, and mature believers all at the same time. He's funny and creative and also actually a good guy.

So this post is not targeted at my current church or any church in particular; it's just to comment on that fact that--despite everything I wrote above--most Sundays I fight the temptation to leave the service before the sermon. Most Sundays I don't, because I value the church and want to obey the Bible's teaching that we should gather together, but most Sundays it's difficult.

I find it interesting that for all of our focus on being "culturally relevant," we still think a 30 minute sermon is the way to connect. (Or, out here, closer to 40 minutes. Californians like to think they're hipper and more in touch than the Bible Belt, but California preachers speak longer than any ministers I listened to in Ohio.)

You could argue that I just have the attention span of a three year old, and I am a member of the generation raised on MTV and 30-second commecials. But I think there's more to it than age.

In his book Emerging Worship, Dan Kimball develops a persuasive argument (based not only on his read of our increasingly postmodern culture but also on Scripture) that the weekend worship service should not be the primary focus of our programming and planning, and the sermon should not be the biggest element of the service. Instead of long messages, he suggests shorter teaching segments interspersed with reading chunks of Scripture (now there's an idea!), prayer and reflection on what's been taught, and worshipful response through singing, giving tithes and offerings, taking communion, journaling, and more.

What I love about the book is that Kimball, and some others who champion this type of service, do so not to be trendy or cutting-edge or generally squirrelly. It's not about making a statement, it's about weekend worship as an intentional outgrowth of a broader theology of church.

So maybe I'm longing for more substance, or maybe I'm just young and impatient. Either way, I spend most Sunday mornings doodling through a sermon. Or, like today, drafting something for my blog on the back of the bulletin.