Waiting for Christmas—from generation to generation

A Reflection for Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent

Find today’s readings here.

This Advent, the “Friends of Windsor Terrace” acquired a permit to erect a Christmas tree in the middle of Bartel-Pritchard Square, a plaza (read: traffic circle) separating the Brooklyn neighborhoods of Park Slope and Windsor Terrace from each other and from Prospect Park. Whether or not the “Friends” are an officially incorporated affinity group is not for me to say, but I can attest that the lighting ceremony moved me.

On a cold Sunday evening many of us gathered to cheer on the lighting of this tree, many more than anyone expected. A number of us received an invitation and showed up promptly; some obviously heard of the matter by word of mouth and wandered over from the bar one block away, beers still in hand. Others emerged from the park with children rosy from the cold, and even more joined by braving a jog across three lanes of traffic for the prospect of free hot chocolate.

Between the limited number of people that could fit around the tree to sing carols, I felt like I was seeing the entire neighborhood all at once. We were huddled together, singing songs led over a wonderfully precarious amplifier setup, spilling our hot chocolate on our hands and dropping candy canes left and right. We were a peculiar bunch, wanting tenderly for Christmas to come. 

Matthew’s genealogy of Christ reminds me of that peculiar bunch.

The litany of 28 generations was mirrored in the sons, fathers and grandfathers around the Christmas tree. Not necessarily historically accurate from leap to leap, Matthew’s genealogy evades easy characterization much like the rest of this strange group making up the “Friends of Windsor Terrace.” And, just as the function of Matthew’s genealogy is not to tell us precisely about Jesus’ immediate ancestors but to connect him to David and Abraham, our strange gathering was not about the details of how exactly we all knew each other. We were gathered in a shared expectance of Christ, in the solace of acknowledging our need for salvation, singing “Silent Night,” waiting in the cold for God’s intervention at the end of this Advent season.

I do not think I can make guesses about what will come in another 14 generations but I hope that the kids who dropped candy canes can clean up after their own children’s broken candy canes soon. Year after year, I pray we might show up in the same cold with the same runny noses waiting for the Son of David, the Son of God.

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