Christmas Resolve

Merry Christmas…or is it?

I have been co-teaching an online course this past semester which ended last Friday on a largely successful note. There was evidence of student learning, acceptable-to-promising levels of engagement, and a general acceptance by students that the grades they received fairly reflected their level of effort, commitment, and learning. There were, however, three students from one of our member schools who, in spite of our best efforts, we simply could not get to engage. Each of them showed early promise, but their work tapered off quickly and no amount of cajoling could keep them on board beyond October. The school they attend serves a largely underprivileged student body, many of whom are Hispanic. I know the principal fairly well and  we had been communicating regularly about this situation. In mid-November I reached out one last time to let him know that, though I would continue to include them in regular course communications, I didn’t anticipate that these students would be successfully completing the class. My co-teacher and I weren’t closing the door completely, but the students would need to make the next move if they wanted to continue.

The response I received from the principal was disheartening. After acknowledging our efforts, he reported the difficulties many of their students were having with immigration enforcement efforts in their community. The fear and disruption to families and neighborhoods has made learning untenable. Students were simply shutting down and because so much of learning is about momentum, he worried about their capacity to recover. 

I have visited this school twice previously, and it is one of my favorites. The students are at home there, happy and safe. To hear of this struggle breaks my heart. Last week, I mentioned this to a former colleague who then sent me this article indicating that the issue described is not an isolated case. (Nor is this the first time in our history that this has occurred. Obama-era deportation efforts produced similar outcomes.) I’m not here to debate immigration policy, but this doesn’t sit well with me. We’ve got to do better. The kids deserve it and our country needs it.

This and other world events really have me in a funk this Christmas season. I’ve been feeling neither peaceful nor hope-filled.

In an effort to change things up, I’ve recently been contemplating the Nativity - not just the post-birth manger scene, but imagining the full arc of the experience beginning 8+ months into Mary’s pregnancy. She and Joseph are living a humble, seemingly inconsequential life in Nazareth. The Annunciation and Visitation have long since passed and the realities of full-blown pregnancy have set in. Mary is tired and terribly uncomfortable. Joseph is doing his best as a provider, but there never seems to be enough work.  In small ways both desire more from the other - reassurance, gratitude, acknowledgement - but neither can name it in a way that enables the other to act. Remember that they would have been quite young; scholars suggest 15-19. Every “grown up” experience they encountered is likely the first of its kind for them.

Thus it was when the Roman Empire under Caesar Augustus decreed that all under their rule should return to their district of origin to be enrolled in a census. At their age and as first-time parents, I would have had little capacity to appreciate the demands such a trip would entail or to anticipate the potential obstacles they might encounter upon their arrival in Bethlehem. One would imagine that they were just doing what they were told. They probably didn’t perceive there to be any other option or they likely would have chosen to forestall the journey until after Jesus’ birth. 

Still, here they found themselves, walking for days. They chose a well-traveled road for safety. Perhaps Mary rode on the donkey of a fellow traveller but this would have provided little relief.  They had little money, carried few possessions, and had no set accommodations when they arrived in Bethlehem. They were alone in a manger with livestock, exhausted, sore, and likely scared. Imagine the darkness. The filth. The hard cold ground. The smell. The rodents. Anxiety. Doubt. Despair. Pain. Hardly the scene depicted on the latest Hallmark cards. 

“This is not how things were supposed to go,” thinks Mary. “I’ve let them down,” thinks Joseph.

Then the birth. There’s no reason to believe that Jesus was anything but an ordinary newborn - hungry, shivering, perhaps inconsolable. They want so much for him at that moment. They are overwhelmed. “We can’t do this!” Sadness.

Then the baby sleeps, and in the silence Mary and Joseph are broken open. Sadness mixes with joy. Anxiety with anticipation. Despair with hope. Awashed in a profound, aching love. Light. This is the Silent Night. All of the trepidation remains, but they are armed with new-found resolve. A new day dawns; the next chapter begins.

Despair pulls you close, and when it really has its hooks in you, it makes it hard for you to focus on anything else. In the case of my three students, with the exception of family and the very closest of friends, all of the people, places and activities they have grown to love can no longer be deemed safe. I can only imagine how exhausting it must be to consistently operate on high alert. Like the experience of a sleeping baby, it’s often small, ordinary moments of grace that carry the greatest capacity to alter one’s gaze away from the abyss. Take the time to be that light. Your actions may do nothing to materially change a person’s circumstances, but perhaps you provide the ounce of joy, anticipation, or hope that enables them to face the day anew.

Let us pray for all of those currently overwhelmed by the journey. May they find consolation and light - strength for their next chapters.

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CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President

vol 7 issue 6