Smart Little Monkey

So I was just giving Owen lunch, and I walked over to hand him a bottle of juice. He was sitting in a booster chair with a feeding tray, holding one saltine in each hand. He didn't even feign an attempt to give up the crackers -- he just opened his mouth and looked at me pleadingly, like the most newly hatched of baby birds. I gave in for a second and held his juice bottle to his mouth. Then I left go and let it slide down to the tray, believing if he was thirsty, he'd figure it out. And so he did.

Owen's bottle was standing upright between his two outstretched arms. He went to grab it in his right hand but found it slipped out, what with a handful of awkward, pointy saltine blocking his gripping fingers. So put down the cracker. And he picked up the bottle. Then he put down the bottle and picked up the cracker.

Dilemma! "But how can I have them BOTH?" I could almost see him thinking.

He kept the cracker in his hand and wrapped his full, greedy little paw around the bottle. He braced the bottle against his torso and put his chin down to his chest, looking to make contact with the bottle nipple. Once he secured the top of the bottle in his mouth, he used his head muscles -- along with his limited range of motion fingers -- to lift the bottle and the cracker, still in one hand, high enough to tip the liquid down.

Success! Triumph! When I shook my head at him, and then laughed, I got another easily readable expression out of Owen. "I am very smart," his face said. "And I am VERY well pleased with me."

Ah, well, I guess that's how it should be, when one is 13 months old and the apple of one's family's eye. We're pretty well pleased with you, too, Owen. (You greedy, impatient little mess-maker! You know that cracker is going to pulverize into tiny crumbs I will later have to pick off your booster seat, the floor, your clothes, your bottle, and out of your hair. You know that, right? Right?)

Hallmark Jesus

I saw a sign in a Christian bookstore this morning. A very tasteful sign, with a beige scroll background and flowing type, all pleasingly matched and laid out to echo many a modern home. It was a very nice sign. And it just pissed me off.

The sign asked, "Do you know Christ's story?" It was a promo for a new product line of little objects -- tchotckes, I call them -- that serve as memory aids for events in Christ's earthly life. Like, for instance, there's a burgundy glass heart, a polished river stone in blue, a metal cross, etc. etc.

Look, I know it's just a sign. And they're just things. Little things that some people may embrace. And who am I to judge, right? Because some people may be completely moved by this collection of objects. Some may happily buy the slick, processed, perfectly marketed set of knick-knacky things, may receive them as a gift, may delight in them and ruminate upon them and use them to better understand eternal truths. Some people may rub them like rosaries every day and feel their burdens lifted due to these items of comfort.

This is all true. And, still, I've got a good head of steam on this rant and I can't say it's misplaced. This feels -- a lot -- like righteous indignation. Because stop and consider here. The idea that launched this "product line" ... and pretty clearly the marketing of it ... is all about consumerism and hubris. Which is worse, I'm not sure. But let's dwell a moment on the absolute, misplaced pride that leads to a burgundy glass paperweight to "tell Jesus' story."

This is JESUS we're talking about: Jesus The Word. Who was with God, and was God, and was and is and is to come. Jesus Messiah. Jesus Christ. Emmanuel. ...I'm supposed to KNOW Jesus because I buy a boxed set of factory-minted trinkets?

"Do I know?" Really, they're asking me that? Me? Do I know Jesus' story?

What I KNOW -- really KNOW -- is only what I have experienced. This I know. And I've experienced Jesus. And there's no way He fits into a box!

I am SO angry right now.

As the season of Packaged Jesus rolls around, I have to announce that My Lord & Savior is a lot bigger than a marketing campaign to sell needless junk to a privileged class of people who waste more resources than the rest of the world duly uses.

Jesus is not to be reduced to a ploy or a plot or a jot or a tiddle when His is an entire language not completely known or knowable to man.

The Franklin Mint does not own Jesus' story.

"How do you define what you can't compare?"

...OK, the fiery pitch of my fury must be fading because those were no longer my words right there. They belong to the Newsboys'. From a song I initially hated because of its -- wait for it -- commercialism. :)

Argh! The irony. The irony!

Dammit.

Look, I still don't think I'm wrong about this cock-a-mamie paperweight crap. Nobody NEEDS that to know Jesus' story. But we all need something. A starting place. I'll give us that. And maybe, if I can internalize something provoking and powerful from a song that quotes the "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" catchphrase, then just MAYBE, even the Hallmark version of Jesus can speak Truth and become More in seeking hands.

I'm doubting it. And I'm still pissed about it. But I'm begrudgingly accepting this as a POSSIBLE path to the one, great, vast, personal and personable God-in-three-persons whom I see as Jesus Christ.

Advent, indeed. It's shaping up to be a trying season. ...But I need to let it come!