“It is not enough to win a war; it is more important to organize the peace.” ― Aristotle
Peace. Holidays are supposed to be the season of peace—a time when we gather in gratitude with friends and family; when we celebrate love, goodness, abundance; when we make memories to savor for the inevitable dark times ahead. How do we organize peace when so many are at war?
We have military wars in Ukraine and the Middle East. We have wars within our own neighborhoods, in the halls of congress, across college campuses. Over and over we fight without resolving. Many of these wars are remnants of the past we drag forward like a tattered, moldy blanket muddying the present and miring the future.
Old hurts linger. Resentments build. Russia claims Ukraine is theirs. Hamas denies Israel’s right to exist. Segments of our political world want to return to those halcyon days of strict gender roles and genteel manners, a perfect past that never existed.
In my own life, I, too, wonder, why can it not be like it was? Why can’t we forget the hurts and ignore the rudeness? Why can’t we just be the way we were?
The truth is, we have changed and they have changed. We cannot go back to a simpler life. The way of evolution is to move toward complexity. The world is evolving and has been since the big bang. We have advanced from single cell life to human beings with our multiplicity of integrated systems. How far back do we want to go?
Our problems are more complex, our answers are more complex, each new iteration of our smartphones is an increase in complexity—though they always promise a simpler interface!
If we cannot return to simpler times, what can we do as we negotiate the holidays and highlight the underlying love we share?
First, we can look at our rituals and traditions to decide which we want to update, which we want to end, and which we want to keep.
A new holiday season is here. Perhaps refreshing our rituals is in order.Perhaps it’s time to rotate hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe Mom or Aunt Sue or Uncle George is ready to pass the baton (or the turkey leg as the case may be). Or maybe it’s time to change the date. Especially for younger families, pinched for time and space, might we consider blending holidays—picking a date where a meal can be shared with more people.
I remember my dear aunt who for years invited our family for dinner to celebrate her November birthday, often just days before Thanksgiving. As our families grew, her small house was stretched beyond capacity. One year I offered to host it and she graciously let go. We gathered the Sunday before Thanksgiving for turkey and the trimmings. The move freed everyone on Thanksgiving Day to celebrate with another branch of their family or friends. It was a simple change that opened possibilities.
We all got a taste of doing things differently during the pandemic. We drew on our creativity to connect in ways we’d never before considered—outdoors, Zoom gatherings, shared food without shared company. While I don’t want to go back there, knowing we can adapt gives me confidence to consider new ways for old traditions.
A second thing we can do is notice that we matter and that others matter. Our life is enhanced when we matter to someone. How I behave matters. How I engage matters. That I am there matters. Psychologist Gordon Fleet says, “mattering is essentially the feeling of being valued and having personal significance to others.”
A recent article in the New York Times spoke to our need for mattering, “Want to Believe in Yourself? ‘Mattering’ is Key” by Gail Cornwall. Cornwall quotes Isaac Prilleltensky, “To matter, people must feel valued — heard, appreciated and cared for — and they must feel like they add value in ways that make them feel capable, important and trusted.”
Mattering is also something we can share with those that matter to us. We can let them know they are important, that when they are not there, they are missed. It is why those calls to distant parents or siblings or children on holidays are so important. You are missed. You are valued. Your absence leaves a hole.
Third, we can invite peace into our holidays. That might look like setting aside differences for the six weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. It might be agreeing to leave politics in Washington DC for the holiday time. It might mean agreeing to disagree and acknowledging that I don’t have all the answers.
If our tradition includes gift giving what if we include a sign of peace, an apology, a hope for a fresh start. Maybe there is room around our holiday table for someone without family nearby––an aging neighbor, a new immigrant, a mourning member of our community.
Often in our family wars, we harbor grievances we think justify our withdrawal or our anger or our passive aggressive swipes. The problem is it’s often a cascade of grievances, mine and theirs. Trying to get to the origin grievance is like trying to eradicate creeping Charlie from our lawns. There are a myriad of tentacles with no beginning and no end.
I recently listened to a podcast of a person from Northern Ireland talking about how their country has been coming to terms with seemingly unending violence. He spoke of a person who is often quoted as saying “I forgive them” when in fact what he said was “I bear them no ill will.” To bear no will means I will not retaliate. I will not return hurt for hurt. While there may be people I cannot yet forgive, I can sit at table with them and bear them no ill will.
A new holiday season is here. Perhaps refreshing our rituals is in order. Or a personal reminder of what and who matters. Or maybe peace is the honored guest. However you come to your holidays, I hope it is a time graced by gratitude, a spirit of kindness, and the confidence that you matter, because you do. We all do.
Mary Lou Logsdon is a Spiritual Director in the Twin Cities. She can be reached at logsdon.marylou@gmail.com.
Last Updated on November 12, 2023