Christmas, The Bishop's Wife, and True Service

Hello there, and Merrrrrrry Christmas!

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In case you were wondering, dear reader (if, in fact, there is any dear reader out there to be wondering), the seemingly unintelligible jumble of symbols above is my patented new Santa Smiley (all rights reserved, of course!). If you're puzzled by this moniker, look at it sideways and everything will make sense. Ho-ho-ho!

Today I just watched the wonderful Christmas film The Bishop's Wife, starring Cary Grant, David Niven, and Loretta Young. It's a wonderful movie that could be best characterized with a single word: charm. The actors are charmingly entertaining—funny when they're supposed to be funny, touching when they're supposed to be touching, and at all times quite convincing in the clever little plot the movie relates.

It is a great film from a great era of film-making, but this is not what puts it over the top. On the contrary, the greatest charm of this movie comes in its superb and enlivening message.

I firmly contend that the best entertainment is the kind that makes us want to be better people. The best book is the book that, upon its finishing, causes the reader to throw it to the ground, jump up in a fit of ecstasy, and embark on some great adventure that will somehow better the world. The best song is that which grants its listeners a supernatural sort of energy upon hearing it or even thinking of it, the kind of song that galvanizes the dazed denizens of the doldrums (we've all been there) and renders them ready for righteous battle on some unknown front in the war of their own life. And the best movie is the kind that gives us a larger view of life—one that, by means of its broadness and great perspective, provides us with creative new solutions to old problems...as well as the hope and inspiration to carry out such ambitious endeavors.

The Bishop's Wife is just such a movie. Its headlining actor, Cary Grant, plays the role of the angel Dudley (what a great name for an angel!) with a paradoxical mix of vivacity and restraint—two typically contrasting traits effectively united by a peaceful air of sheer goodness—showing us a character who has an overwhelmingly positive effect on everyone he encounters. We can't help but be won over by Dudley as we see him in action, spreading faith and honesty with every word he utters and every move he makes. And there's a part of each one of us that longs to be like him—to be connected to God with such a firm bond as to walk each day with supreme confidence as we do good work.

Of course, there is more to this movie than merely an inspiring character (which is easily enough to carry a movie on its own—see Jimmy Stewart's Harvey if you need some convincing). The greatest message of the movie arrives in its final scene, as David Niven's Bishop Henry delivers one of the most poignant, effective, and spot-on Christmas messages Hollywood has ever produced. Here it is, in its entirety:

Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.

Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child's cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.

But especially with gifts. You give me a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. We forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled—all, that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the Child born in a manger. It's His birthday we're celebrating. Don't let us ever forget that.

Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share: loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched-out hand of tolerance. All the shining gifts that make peace on earth.

What we see here is a call to action, in the greatest of spirits. It is a call to service, but not the kind of service we typically think of. The sermon does not explicitly tell us to go to Africa and feed the starving children (although many do, and render the world a great gift in doing so). It does not exhort us to go and build homes for disaster victims (although many do, and can joyfully make an irreplaceable difference in the life of a fellow human being in doing so). It does not command us to spend our every moment engaged in feeding the hungy at soup kitchens (although many do, and help provide a chance at success to countless souls in doing so). No, the sermon does not call us to anything that the world would call "great." It calls us to a different kind of service, a more fundamental one that can begin anywhere and continue into eternity—and, if put into practice, will change the world in a truer way than any work of human hands ever could.

This type of service begins in the heart, and consists of one simple step: Conduct yourself with love. Love for God, love for other people, and love for yourself. Mother Teresa summed it up quite well when she told us to Do small things with great love. If we conduct ourselves with love, then we will always produce good fruit in the world. Love the people you have contact with. Have faith that God made them and put them in your life for you to love them, as He Himself loves them. Love the places you frequent, the vehicle that transports you, the work that sustains your life. Love your church and your God, and don't ever forget to love yourself. If you find yourself looking in the mirror and finding that there isn't much to love, do two things:

1. Realize that as a creation of God, you are fundamentally worthy of love, no matter how bad a person you have been. St. Paul wasn't lying when he said that Nothing can separate us from the love of God. You deserve to be loved by yourself, because you are already loved by God—no matter what! Right the wrongs and move forward in confidence.

2. If there are flaws in your character that seem unlovable, change them! Resolve to change them, out of love for Him Who created you, out of love for those who must deal with your flaws, and out of love for you, who deserve to enjoy a higher, more successful existence. Choose to be dynamic.

"Conduct yourself with love." Of course, this is not a new message. Certainly it appears countless times in the New Testament. But seeing a movie like The Bishop's Wife is a great modern wrapping of this timeless message, a message that seems all too forgotten in the world.

This Christmas, and all the time, I commit myself to doing this kind of service as much as my fractured human awareness permits me—and I hope that you will do the same, dear reader.

I would like to invite you to join me in renewing a little Yuletide tradition that I previously kept in my personal journal, but sadly neglected to continue last year. The tradition, which I'm glad to have you aboard for, is that of writing and reading a prayer at Christmastime. Regardless of whether or not you are "a praying man," to quote George Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life (it's a wonderful movie), I invite you to read through this. If you believe in God, then you know that praying this will do good things for the world. If you don't believe, then what's the harm in saying a few words? It would mean a lot to me. Here, let's begin:

Dear Father in Heaven,

On behalf of humanity, thanks for the awesome Christmas present! You came to us as a man, entering this world by the same way that all of us enter, coming as a baby. In the beautiful birth of that baby, You were and are the greatest Christmas present of all. Help us to realize that. Help us to listen deeply to the carols that tell of your birth, and grant us insight into what your coming really means for all of us and for our salvation.

We pray that you will not let us forget the small changes of mind and heart and hand that can make the world's difference for the person next to us—the smiles on our lips, the warmth in our tone of voice, and the fire of love in our hearts. May Your spirit ignite and rekindle that fire in our hearts, and may we be open to this nourishing flow that connects our human hearts with Your sacred heart.

And may we never forget the sacrifices of those who make us happy at Christmas and throughout the year—sacrifices that imitate the ultimate sacrifice you made for us up on Calvary hill. That was the final act of the life that began on the first Christmas night. Let us not forget that, either.

But most of all let us not forget that the life that began on that first Christmas still continues to this day—and the jolliest Christmas spirit is merely a reflection of that original Gift, the Gift Who changed the world. Let our faith in You nurture a servant's heart in all of us, that we may serve the world each in our own way, and help our fellow humans to have a Merry Christmas and the Happiest of New Years!

We ask all of this in Your name, Jesus.

AMEN.

Merry Christmas, and here's to the best New Year yet!

With Christmas Love,

Joezilla

Open Happiness

Has your joy ever been stifled by someone else's pain? Have you ever been tempted (or pressured by another) to be less happy than you feel because of the sadness in someone else's life?

Recently I was enjoying a pleasant, snowy December morning working at the church office when I learned of the death of a young parishioner's mother. A college-age person like me, he was far too young, it seemed, to have to deal with the death of a parent.

Before receiving this news, my thoughs had been focused on preparing for a church Christmas concert I was performing in. It had the potential to be a great concert, and I wanted to make my contributions as wholehearted and satisfying as possible. But how, I now wondered, could I think about and enjoy something so frivolous and carefree as a concert while someone else was going through a tragic period of suffering?

My ruminations continued, pushing the issue even further—at any given moment, I realized, millions of people around the world (and right outside my door) are enduring unspeakable pain, suffering, and tragedy. How can someone who is not experiencing such hurt possibly be happy (and try to make others happy) when his very happiness might increase their pain?

Well, read the previous sentence once more. Since when does one person's happiness increase another's pain? The only situation in which this could occur would be if the unhappy person became jealous of the happy one. This is a personal decision on the part of the unhappy person, and has nothing to do with the happy person.

There is no obligation to decrease your spirit because of another's pain.

When the bluebird of happiness chooses to perch on our shoulder, we are given a gift, and it is our mission to use the dynamic energy of happiness to help those around us.

If you are happy, your positive mood will often affect those around you in a discernibly good way—they will be warmed and uplifted by your presence. In fact, you may make more of a difference than you think. Your happiness could actually help prevent an unspeakable sort of tragedy in someone else's life, merely because of the effect you had on them. It has been said that a smile can stop a suicide. I believe those stories when I hear them. You truly never know whose life you might help change.

If someone reacts negatively to your happiness—if they lash out at you, mock you, or by any other method make you feel inferior or wrong for being happy—take heart. You have done nothing but reach out to them. Instead of letting their reaction get you down, you should resolve to stay in a mindset of peacefulness and thanks. And pray for the person as soon as you part ways.

Happily,
Joezilla

P.S.: "It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air." ~W.T. Ellis