Every year, on the Friday after Thanksgiving, my family and I would travel to the mountains of North Carolina to seek out and cut down the perfect Christmas tree. Once the tree was acquired, we would eat stuffed-crust pizza from Pizza Hut, and then we would return home to decorate the tree while watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Our yearly tradition was never without its hiccups and challenges, but that’s what made it wonderful. That is what made it ours.Our tradition became bit more challenging once my mom’s health and mobility declined due to her battle with cancer. But the tradition was important to all of us, and we were not going to let cancer slow us down. So, in 2005, we journeyed up the mountain for what would be mom’s final trip to the tree farm. And on this particular day, the snow was falling and the ground was icy.
The cancer, in addition to the winter conditions, made it nearly impossible for mom to climb the mountain. Although her mobility was limited, we searched high and low for the perfect tree as she would point off into the distance and say “what about that one?” After analyzing her selection, I would trek up the mountain, and shout back, “this one!?” “No? How about this one?!” The search went on and on.
After an extended and fruitless search, my mom turned around and gazed across to the mountain on the other side of the road. We had never ventured there before. Mom raised her finger and pointed off into the distance and said, “I think I see it. That one. Over there.” The road was icy and steep. It would not be a welcomed journey down one hillside and up another. But it was our tradition, and if cancer was not going to stop us, then neither was a steep, iced-over road to the perfect tree.
My mom had a deep affection for the holidays, and if I had to guess, I think her love for Advent and Christmas was rooted in the many traditions of the holidays, of the church, and of our family.
Advent and Christmas, more than any other liturgical season, are rich with tradition. Some families decorate Christmas trees, bake cookies, and hang stockings. Some families travel to distant relatives, exchange gifts, go Christmas caroling, or volunteer. Some families traverse treacherous winter conditions in their Dodge Caravan to secure the “perfect tree,” eat pizza and watch their favorite holiday movie.
What makes these traditions wonderful and special are the stories that accompany them. Traditions create experiences, and experiences make memories. These memories, good or bad become the stories we share with one another.
This is the power of the Advent and Christmas season. We tell the story of a virgin teenager receiving word from an angel that she will give birth to the son of God. We tell the story of shepherds in the field keeping watch over their sheep by night. We tell the story of Wise Men from the East. We tell the story of a scared, vulnerable, young couple trying to find a place to stay for the night. We tell the story of God shining a light in the darkest moments.
After mom died, my dad, brother, and I journeyed back out to that mountain to find the biggest and healthiest tree we could justify fitting in our house. Although mom was no longer with us, the tradition continued and the story was told. It may seem trivial, but in the darkness of her cancer and death, our 12’ Christmas tree towered as a symbol of promise and hope. It was a full of life and growth. It was our story, our tradition, our tree, and I have no doubt that mom would have approved.
We tell these stories and share in the tradition because they are our story, gifted to us by God in a baby boy-- Emmanuel. We tell these stories, not just as distant memories, but as proclamations of hope. Proclamations of life. What’s your tradition? What’s your story? © Originally published in St. Mark's Lutheran Church Jax, FL, Dec. Messenger
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