Then also, I've been truly grieved by the miscarriages of justice perpetrated in Missouri, New York, Florida, you name the place. I'm angry. I'm sad, the more so because I know I benefit in some little way from the injustice inherent in our society. I'm not stupid; I know racism is real and unfortunately very much alive, and I also know that however much I sympathize, I can't empathize, because I'll never truly feel the hurt in the same way that others do. That realization is appalling, and just abhorrent.
Naturally, I want to bake cookies.
Cookies and Christmas go together. The entire world could be falling apart at this time of year, and I'd go buy the last pound of butter at the store.
Head in the sand? Nah. I'm not in denial. Christmas cookies are a way to answer, "Yes!" to the eternal "Why?" They are little bundles of fat and sugar and love. Yes, love, handed down from generations past, still alive and remembered and felt today.
The Sunday School lesson I recently taught was the story of Esther, a challenging text in some ways (how do you explain the concept of a harem to a sixth-grader? Someone, please, tell me), and in others it's pretty simple, the story of a heroine saving her people. Our memory verse was "How can I bear to witness the calamity about to befall my people?"
My cookies are Esther's words in edible form. (Come to think of it, hamantaschen are cookies to remember Esther…) They are a way to do something, anything, to stave off the feeling of helplessness that can overcome me when faced with a huge chore list, or a society I can't fix alone. They are a creative product that require no words to produce, nor to appreciate; they are a simple expression of the belief that life is still good, still holy, still meaningful, even at the most stressful times and in the darkest places.
Advent is about waiting, watching, believing that darkness cannot overcome the power of light. Calamities come and go; hope never disappoints us. Peace and cookies to you all!