Got any coffee?

When I was a kid, my parents would make us wait until some terrible hour like 6 or 7 am to open presents. They would come out of their room in their bathrobes, rubbing their eyes, and lurch toward the coffee pot.

We - who had been up for an hour at least, having gobbled our stocking chocolates and the orange in the toe - would almost die with waiting. Dee and Uncle Ken would sit with us in the living room, teasing Mom and Dad about needing their coffee. Mom usually had some sort of hot breakfast prepared to cook - cinnamon rolls she had prepped the night before, or a Christmas casserole waiting in the fridge, ready to put in the oven to cook while we opened presents. The coffee maker never dripped so slowly. The oven never preheated so slowly. The wait (which was maybe 5 minutes?) felt endless. 

And then the presents. One at a time, round and round the room, Dad rejoicing over each dollar-store chocolate covered cherry we had wrapped for him, mom opening a notebook full of poems I had written as if it was the one book she truly wanted.

And then, when presents were all done, we would sit down to eat Christmas breakfast. Which was delicious.

And at some point in the morning, the door would usually open and a friend of my dad's would pop his head in the door. "Got any coffee?" he'd ask. And my parents would welcome him in and he'd sit and talk with my dad while we disappeared to read our new books and try on new clothes and eat giant tins of flavoured popcorn.

When his coffee cup was empty, Mom and Dad would send him home with a bundle of fresh cinnamon rolls, a box of chocolates, and a packet or two of the fancy cheeses they had received. (Does Farmers still make Christmas gift boxes filled with Easter grass and an assortment of cheese?)

And when I look back on my childhood Christmases, this kindness, this unfancy unplanned unphotographed segment of the day is the true holiday. Feeding others is how we feast, welcoming others is how we come home, clothing others is how we knit warmth into the world.  It's how we carry God's infinite heart in our hearts, it's how the Christ is born into the world again and again.

 The description is in the book of Isaiah, chapter 58, verses 6-12.

“This is the kind of fast day I’m after:
    to break the chains of injustice,
    get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
    free the oppressed,
    cancel debts.
What I’m interested in seeing you do is:
    sharing your food with the hungry,
    inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
    putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
    being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
    and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
    The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
    You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am.’

  Carols and cookies, gift-wrap and twinkly lights look like Christmas on the outside. But true Christmas is advocating for the vulnerable. Donating to a shelter. Buying groceries for the hungry, inviting a neighbour over for a meal.

Let's fast from selfishness and oppression, from closing our eyes to the needy and cold. Let our Christmas breakfasts be an outpouring of love, of warmth, of welcome, with the front door swinging open - it's the best way to make the holiday beautiful. 

This is the kind of fast day I'm after ... 

 Merry Christmas, friends. xo.