Looks like I'm not alone...

As I've often said I love Simply Simon blog, always wisdom and solace and far better writing than I could ever hope to achieve! He posted this tonight...

just an angel

It’s the day before the day before Christmas, and it’s all ho-hum. To be honest, I feel less prepared for this celebration of Christ’s birth than I have for a long time. The anticipation that’s meant to mark the Advent season has drifted by, unnoticed. Busyness, weariness, lack of intention … despite my pastor’s best efforts to prepare me for the wonder of Incarnation, I’ve been a lousy congregant. Sorry Carolyn.

But then, as I walked home from work this afternoon, I noticed something. In the window of one of the old terrace homes that line my street is a Christmas tree. Nothing unusual about that; such things are a standard feature in house after house--elaborately decorated, colour coordinated, with fairy lights perfectly balanced top to bottom, left to right.

This one is different though. Awkward looking, slanted, no lights and empty apart from one porcelain angel dangling off centre, in solitude. I stared for a moment. It was odd, yet beautiful: no tinsel, no baubles, no flashing lights, just one off-centred angel, alone.

One of the most important books of the late 90s for me was Dale Allison’s The Silence of Angels. It was significant because it helped me to articulate what I had long intuited: that rapid advancements in technology and science have sometimes dulled our ability to discern transcendence and experience wonder in the everyday. Amidst the clutter and rationality of our demystified and explained lives, we’ve silenced the angels.

According to Allison, technological development has (i) eradicated silence, (ii) defeated any concept of darkness, and (iii) proliferated visual stimuli in every corner of our lives. Consequently, we’re losing the ability to hear, to see or to experience transcendence in the ordinariness of our days.

As I sit here at the window, the night before the night before Christmas, I can see a sparrow sifting through the mulch on my garden. From there it flies up into the shrub that fronts our house, with the twilight sky behind it. One bird, one angel, one child: the ho-hum is perhaps more sacred than I thought.