The Telegram
The Rev. Tim Schenck, rector of St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Mass., looks for God amid domestic chaos
O Christmas Tree, O the Indignity
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About this blog
Tim Schenck is an Episcopal priest, husband to Bryna, father to Benedict and Zachary, and \x34master\x34 to Delilah (about 50 in dog years). Since 2009 I've been the rector of the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Mass. (on the ...
Father Tim
Tim Schenck is an Episcopal priest, husband to Bryna, father to Benedict and Zachary, and master to Delilah (about 50 in dog years). Since 2009 I've been the rector of the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Mass. (on the South Shore of Boston). I've also served parishes in Maryland and New York. When I'm not tending to my parish, hanging out with my family, or writing, I can usually be found drinking good coffee -- not that drinking coffee and these other activities are mutually exclusive. I hope you'll visit my website at www.frtim.com to find out more about me, read some excerpts from my book What Size are God's Shoes: Kids, Chaos & the Spiritual Life (Morehouse, 2008), and check out some recent sermons.
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Jan. 6, 2014 6:15 p.m.

ar126262933148733On this Feast of the Epiphany many people are de-trimming their trees, boxing up the nativity sets, and either stowing the fake garland or trashing the real stuff. Today is the traditional (the more liturgically militant among us would argue the mandatory) day that Christmas decorations come down. Why? Because Epiphany marks the end of the 12 days of Christmas (man, those 12 drummers drumming were annoying).
Because everyone’s been so good during these past 12 days, I’m offering (at no charge to you!) an essay from my book Dog in the Manger: Finding God in Christmas Chaos. Since Scott Gunn and the folks at Forward Movement haven’t authorized this sneak peak either a) don’t tell them or b) get your 2014 Christmas shopping done early and order a bunch of copies.
PS. Since this is a bootleg blog post I have taken a picture of Jay Sidebotham’s accompanying illustration with my iPhone.

Post-Christmas Blues

unnamedIs there anything more depressing than de-trimming a Christmas tree? No one ever wants to do this job. Obviously the boys†are nowhere to be seen but†even our dog Delilah makes herself scarce. As yuletide traditionalists, we keep ours up through Epiphany (January 6th), even if every single needle has fallen off. At which point itís unceremoniously stripped and hauled down the driveway where it remains waiting to be picked up by the town sanitation department. O Christmas Tree, O the indignity.
You could argue that hauling a dead tree into your living room and decorating it is an odd way to celebrate the birth of Christ. Now, I love the whole Christmas tree tradition Ė and I refuse to give in and get a fake tree no matter how ďrealĒ they now look. But Iím just saying itís not the first thing that comes to mind. Wouldnít a birthday cake suffice?
This yearís tree removal was like years past. Bryna notes the date and then goes into uber de-trimming mode. I just stand back, speak when spoken to, and do what Iím told. So on cue I wrestle the tree out of the stand while spewing needles all over the place (note to self: haul it out top first next year) and getting covered with sap which Iím still trying to get off my hands (another note to self: use gloves). By the time Iíve done this the boxes of ornaments are sitting in front of the attic door; Brynaís not so subtle hint.
For all the hype and frenzy of the pre-Christmas build-up, itís amazing how quickly it all comes crashing down. You go into a store in the days following Christmas and you wonder if Christmas happened at all. The decorations are down as employees start setting up for the next one. Presidentís Day? Valentineís Day?
The trick is holding onto that Christmas spirit year-round. Christís incarnation, Godís coming into the world in human form, isnít relegated to the twelve days of Christmas. If so, what would be the point? If the Christmas spirit doesnít even have the shelf-life of your average fruit cake, somethingís wrong. Thinking about the real message of Christmas as you haul down the exterior icicle lights isnít a bad spiritual exercise. The sales are over, the lights are off, the kids are back to the normal routine, the threats that theyíll get coal in their stockings if they donít behave are no longer effective, and the extended family has gone home. Hopefully.
As you teeter atop the ladder pulling down colored lights above the front door, you quietly reflect upon what it means to be in relationship with God. Ultimately itís what gives meaning to life. Without this relationship, life is shallow and hopeless, devoid of joy and fullness. Every minute feels like that precise moment when a child realizes heís opened the very last Christmas gift. And itís not pretty.
One thing Iíve noticed in recent years is that the lone holdout to all the post-Christmas de-trimming mania is the front door wreath. Iím not sure if people donít use their front doors or if they neglect them but well into March youíll see browning wreaths adorning doors all around your neighborhood. Call me a stickler but my general rule is that if itís Lent, take down the Christmas wreath! If it makes it until Easter, you may as well just leave it up until next Christmas.
I admit itís sometimes difficult to make smooth seasonal transitions. If weíre not careful, the church year can feel like a liturgical treadmill. But each season brings opportunities to meet God anew and thatís the joy of experiencing our lives through the rhythm of the church year. We see and experience the triumphs and tragedies of life amidst the backdrop of the eternal.
But there is occasionally overlap between the seasons. Just as we may find that long lost shepherd from our crŤche as we vacuum behind the couch for Easter dinner, we may feel particularly penitential during Christmas. Or joyful during Lent. The seasons of our relationship with God are not usually neat and tidy. There is seasonal ďdriftí that takes place. Most important is to be cognizant of our ongoing relationship with God. Even if our current spiritual mood doesnít match the liturgical color of the season.

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