Then We Forgot It

January 7, 2006

     With the New Year a week old, we're getting back into our old routines. The mad rush of "THE HOLIDAYS" is behind us.

     And now we face January, statistically the most depressing month of the year. Why is that? Haven't we just partied hearty, exchanged presents, taken a little break from the humdrum? At the very least, aren't the days getting longer? We should be happy. Shouldn't we?

     Apparently not. Not only is January the most depressing month, the third Monday of January is supposedly the most depressing day of the year. Dr. Arnalls, the British researcher who came up with the formula to calculate this, says that it doesn't have to be a Monday. But I doubt if a weekend could compete with it as the most depressing don't you? Dr. Arnalls' formula factors in, among other things, the arrival of credit card bills, our recognition that we've failed to keep our new year's resolutions, and long stretches of dull cloudy winter skies.

     Unless of course, you live in one of the numerous places on the planet that don't experience dull cloudy winter skies.

     Personally, I've always wanted to visit Australia.

     There is, however, another element to this seasonal depression stuff that the good doctor doesn't include in his calculations. Faith.

     During the Christmas season, we think less about the denominational differences that separate us, and more about the faith that binds us together. People who would seldom attend worship in each other's churches the rest of the year merge their choirs to make a resounding chorus of praise. People who never drop a quarter in a homeless person's tin cup stuff a twenty into the Salvation Army's kettle.

     In short, we act in an ecumenical and interfaith way that doesn't care about dogma or denominational rivalry. Without naming it, we begin to practice the Golden Rule, looking on friend and stranger alike as people who have value simply because they exist.

     And then comes January.

     Old habits reassert themselves. Instead of finding the positive in each other, we go back to finding the faults. We remember why we don't like the neighbour down the street, we think that those homeless people are just lazy, and we convince ourselves that nothing really changed at Christmas. The Miracle on 34^th Street was never more than a nice old man with whiskers, as Natalie Wood's young character says.

     Forget about credit card bills, Dr. Arnalls. The fact that the world in January is pretty much the same as it was in November is reason enough to be depressed.

     In science, it's taken for granted that to reproduce an effect you must understand the underlying cause of that effect. Our faith tells us that the underlying cause of our goodwill at Christmas is the presence of the Holy Spirit and the coming of Christ. But then when we try to understand what that means, our religion, instead of illuminating, obstructs our understanding. We see division where recently we saw unity. The harmony of our combined voices raised in praise is replaced by the raucous noise of our dogmatic debates.

     We somehow overlook the fact that it was our willingness to set aside routine and ritual that allowed us to reach out to each other in fellowship.

     The birth of Christ is the symbol of change. But the response to that symbol is up to us.

     Mahatma Gandhi said that we must be the change we want to see in the world. That's the message of Christmas.

     January seems like a good time to start.