As I’ve grown older and maybe a little wiser, I recognize that everyone in that room wanted the same thing, but they were going about it all wrong. They each wanted everyone else to experience the Holy Spirit, but they were so dead set on having the only right answer as to how to experience the Holy Spirit that I don’t think they would have recognized the Spirit if it had become a human and walked into the room. See, we spent way too much time in our church talking about the things we had to do to receive the Holy Spirit, but we didn’t talk about the guidance of or even the Spirit itself. It was almost as if we were taught that receiving the Spirit was enough–that was what was going to save us. The irony of this is that isn’t how Jesus approached the Spirit at all.
The tale of when I made Lobster Thermidor for my mother-in-law!
When I was a kid, I knew what to expect every Christmas. We had very specific traditions that followed me into adulthood: On Christmas Eve, we went to my grandparents’ house on my mom’s side with my mom’s entire family. We had pizza, read the Christmas story, Santa came with gifts, and my mom passed out pans of cinnamon rolls to each family. On Christmas Day, we woke up, opened presents, and ate cinnamon rolls before going to my grandparents’ house on my dad’s side for lunch and presents. On Christmas evening, we went to my aunt’s house to celebrate with her family (the same family we had just spent Christmas Eve with!) There was little to no deviation in these Christmas Eve and Christmas Day traditions throughout my adolescence and into my early adulthood. There was comfort in these traditions–comfort in the fact that my family seemed to genuinely get along, liked spending time together, and was committed to continuing these long-established rituals.
When I was growing up, the Christmas traditions ran rampant. The Christmas season wasn’t complete without the candlelight service, the Christmas Cantata, the obligatory Christmas Carols, and the little boxes of candy each of us would receive after said Christmas Cantata and singing of those obligatory Christmas Carols. Because it was standard practice in my house to attend church every time the doors were opened, we were all part of all of the festivities–my brother and I were forced to be in the kids’ Christmas program, my mom sang in the choir, and my dad ran sound because he sang in the choir one time and says they asked him to run sound after that…allegedly. I don’t remember having much choice in any of these commitments, and I would venture so far as to say my parents probably didn’t feel like they had much of a choice either. That was the world we lived in then–a world of unspoken rules and heavy expectations.