"Come on ring those bells"
It’s that time of the year: Christmas. The memories flow smoothly like the Amarula in my instant coffee. Ah yes, it is good to sit back and reminisce about the yesteryears and traditions from what seem like a different world. Stepping into the memories I am surrounded by family and friends. I often wondered when I was a child (and I still do) why people become more friendly and were filled with good cheer during the season. Was it the Amy Grant Christmas CD? Was it the Egg Nog and the spiced cookies? There was something more to it.
The days hastened by, the snow levels dropped, leaving a white layer of frosting on the Cheam range. It seemed that without warning it was Christmas Eve. We put on our finest and headed to church. The light from the candles cast flickering shadows on our expectant faces. Sometimes our thoughts would drift to the food that would follow the service. At other moments we would think on the gifts that were to come. But every so often the imagination would entice our minds to the time when emperors ruled the lands and ordinary people were visited by angels. What is Christmas really about? I asked this same question again this year, but in a different climate and with a different flair. Here is what transpired…
(the above two paragraphs were written while listening to Loreena Mckennit. This impacted the writing style).
It all began on December 15, 2005 at 6:30pm. This was the night of our Samaritan’s Purse Christmas Bash. Lauren, the child protection officer, was the planner extraordinaire. She put together a great program complete with a white elephant gift exchange (50 cent t-shirts have never been so popular), a feast (duck, anyone?), and a gift giving to an adopted family (a man with triplets whose wife died in child birth). That was pretty much the deal for the night, but there was one other minor detail: the Christmas skit. What is a Christmas party without a skit? Yes, just a Christmas party. But I could not let that happen. So, I volunteered to put together a skit. Unfortunately, I left it to the night before to do the planning. No dress rehearsel, minimal planning, a script written on the beach – it all equates to a free flowing, fine formed drama. More accurately, it was completely ridiculous.
I was the narrator, complete with an old man’s attire (1950s era grey hat, thick glasses, and a pillow stuffed under the shirt). I began the drama in a hokey British accent (not saying that Brits are hokey, just my attempt at the accent). I quickly turned into a Scotsman and carried on. The best part of the drama was the local talent pulled in at the last minute. There was Rosie Schaack, a Liberian woman who is well respected in the humanitarian community, was our shepherdess who prodded and cajouled her husband, Pa Schaack, who was our sole sheep. The entire crew spoke in Liberian English, which added to the hilarity of the night. Between each scene we would sing some Christmas carols. There is nothing better than Boney M’s Christmas. The last scene was played by Kendell Kaufeldt, my boss. He came on as the man Jesus and taught the disciples about being a light to those around them and that it is only possible for those who are like children in humility can come to God. As I sat there with my thick glasses and old man’s hat, I thought to myself that this is it. This is why the baby Jesus came. It has nothing to do with religion and established systems that we have created. He spoke a message reflected only in his exceptional actions. His compassion changed those he touched; his words pierced the pride of those who were open to truth and his courage led him to his death on beams not unlike the ones he sawed as a carpenter. Regardless of what we think of Christians, church goers or the church in general, the story of Jesus called the Christ is one that gives any of us reason to pause and think deeply.
There is much more that can be said about Christmas, but there is one thing that remains a mystery to me here in Liberia. How did the song, “Come on ring those bells” sung by Evie become so popular here in Liberia? I have concluded that there are some things we will never understand in this life.
The days hastened by, the snow levels dropped, leaving a white layer of frosting on the Cheam range. It seemed that without warning it was Christmas Eve. We put on our finest and headed to church. The light from the candles cast flickering shadows on our expectant faces. Sometimes our thoughts would drift to the food that would follow the service. At other moments we would think on the gifts that were to come. But every so often the imagination would entice our minds to the time when emperors ruled the lands and ordinary people were visited by angels. What is Christmas really about? I asked this same question again this year, but in a different climate and with a different flair. Here is what transpired…
(the above two paragraphs were written while listening to Loreena Mckennit. This impacted the writing style).
It all began on December 15, 2005 at 6:30pm. This was the night of our Samaritan’s Purse Christmas Bash. Lauren, the child protection officer, was the planner extraordinaire. She put together a great program complete with a white elephant gift exchange (50 cent t-shirts have never been so popular), a feast (duck, anyone?), and a gift giving to an adopted family (a man with triplets whose wife died in child birth). That was pretty much the deal for the night, but there was one other minor detail: the Christmas skit. What is a Christmas party without a skit? Yes, just a Christmas party. But I could not let that happen. So, I volunteered to put together a skit. Unfortunately, I left it to the night before to do the planning. No dress rehearsel, minimal planning, a script written on the beach – it all equates to a free flowing, fine formed drama. More accurately, it was completely ridiculous.
I was the narrator, complete with an old man’s attire (1950s era grey hat, thick glasses, and a pillow stuffed under the shirt). I began the drama in a hokey British accent (not saying that Brits are hokey, just my attempt at the accent). I quickly turned into a Scotsman and carried on. The best part of the drama was the local talent pulled in at the last minute. There was Rosie Schaack, a Liberian woman who is well respected in the humanitarian community, was our shepherdess who prodded and cajouled her husband, Pa Schaack, who was our sole sheep. The entire crew spoke in Liberian English, which added to the hilarity of the night. Between each scene we would sing some Christmas carols. There is nothing better than Boney M’s Christmas. The last scene was played by Kendell Kaufeldt, my boss. He came on as the man Jesus and taught the disciples about being a light to those around them and that it is only possible for those who are like children in humility can come to God. As I sat there with my thick glasses and old man’s hat, I thought to myself that this is it. This is why the baby Jesus came. It has nothing to do with religion and established systems that we have created. He spoke a message reflected only in his exceptional actions. His compassion changed those he touched; his words pierced the pride of those who were open to truth and his courage led him to his death on beams not unlike the ones he sawed as a carpenter. Regardless of what we think of Christians, church goers or the church in general, the story of Jesus called the Christ is one that gives any of us reason to pause and think deeply.
There is much more that can be said about Christmas, but there is one thing that remains a mystery to me here in Liberia. How did the song, “Come on ring those bells” sung by Evie become so popular here in Liberia? I have concluded that there are some things we will never understand in this life.
Comments
We are wondering why you do not have any pics on your site, we like your story. Should write a bit more about your life and work.Parents.
Just getting back to your blog and am delighted again and agin by your writing. Your description of your Christmas skit made me laugh and remember your skit at your parents' 40th anniversary dinner. The Koppejans and their skits -- yes, yes, can't go without them.
Glad life in Monrovia is going well for you. God speed, Friend.
Emilie