Holy Innocents
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[Sung]
Do you wanna build a snowman?
Come on lets go and play
I never see you anymore
Come out the door
It's like you've gone away-
We used to be best buddies
And now we're not
I wish you would tell me why!-
Do you wanna build a snowman?
It doesn't have to be a snowman.
[from the Disney film Frozen, song written by Robert Lopez, Kristen Anderson-Lopez.]
Anna’s plaintive song to her beloved sister Elsa from the movie Frozen. Just in case you haven’t seen it – Elsa and Anna are loving sisters, royal princesses. The older one, Elsa, has the power to make ice and snow. One day while playing inside in the palace, Elsa has created a winter wonderland of ice. In the fun of it all she accidentally injures Anna her sister. On this occasion it’s healable but only at the expense of Anna’s memory of the playtime – so she no longer knows of her sister’s powers. Elsa becomes more and more anxious about the powers until she is terrified of what she might inadvertently do. To protect herself and others she completely isolates herself, even from Anna.
Eventually Elsa is crowned queen, but at the coronation ball the worst happens and she accidentally reveals her powers and the whole kingdom is shrouded in perpetual winter. Loathing herself and terrified at what she has done, Elsa flees to the mountains.
Elsa cannot bear to return her sister’s love just in case; indeed she cannot give herself to her people, or to anyone, she is so fearful of the freezing hurt that might follow.
Love is just too risky for Elsa – she can’t bear even the thought of the possible cost – best simply to isolate herself; take no chances, in case things get out of hand. Love is too difficult, too hard to manage, too prone to hurt.
This is a theme constantly repeated. We’re familiar with the individual who refuses to love because of the fear of loss and hurt – a broken heart. It’s there again and again in soaps, films, plays and literature – the individual who all too conscious of love’s costliness can’t bear the burden of it. How many times has it been played out on TV in the last couple of days?
This is the constant anxiety of parenthood – this little life is totally dependent and in meeting that dependency parents are changed. How many times do we say to our kids striving for independence, ‘Be careful, won’t you?’ ‘Make sure you don’t ....!’ ‘Don’t do that, it’s dangerous.’ And of course eventually, ‘But make sure you’re back by midnight, I need to know you’re safe.’
In these, and countless other ways, every parent knows something of the Elsa syndrome – the worry that loved shared may end in terrible hurt. Things go wrong – we all know it.
The news tells us of 5.6 million Syrian children facing poverty, malnutrition, displacement, and being shot at. 1.7 million others are refugees in neighbouring lands, struggling one way or another for life every single day. The numbers are beyond us – but when we think on the face of one or two of those children staring at us from a hoarding or TV screen, we appreciate that each and everyone has or had a parent, or grandparent, or sibling with that same Elsa syndrome; that same fear; that same worry; that same concern.
And, of course, it isn’t just about children is it? Our commitment to one another in every circumstance is risky. The hurts of loss, trouble, and malice may strike any of us, in reality at any time.
But that doesn’t mean that living alone on a snowy mountain top like Elsa is a real option. That’s not life – that’s just existence. The chance we must take to be the people we’re meant to be is to take our powers – love, empathy, concern, mutuality, fun and all the rest – and risk them for one another.
There is nothing noble about Elsa’s isolation – in the end it protects no one. Its strength is a sham.
Saint Paul writes that God chooses what appears foolish to shame the wise. How can the loving heart of God be disclosed – indeed be made real – in a prone infant born in poverty? But that is what we believe and declare.
And like despicable tyrants in any age, Herod vents his rage on the innocent – little children are killed to safeguard his position, and the holy child becomes a refugee.
It’s as if God himself knows the Elsa syndrome – but despite it, risks all for love, for his people.
Don’t be trapped by fear like Elsa; take courage like Anna.
As Saint John puts it, ‘There is no fear in love. Perfect love drives away fear’ (1 John 4.18). So take heart in this risky enterprise of love – steadfastness will be rewarded, loss will not have the last word, joy will out.
Do you wanna build a snowman? Come on let’s go and play.
Do you wanna build a snowman?
Come on lets go and play
I never see you anymore
Come out the door
It's like you've gone away-
We used to be best buddies
And now we're not
I wish you would tell me why!-
Do you wanna build a snowman?
It doesn't have to be a snowman.
[from the Disney film Frozen, song written by Robert Lopez, Kristen Anderson-Lopez.]
Anna’s plaintive song to her beloved sister Elsa from the movie Frozen. Just in case you haven’t seen it – Elsa and Anna are loving sisters, royal princesses. The older one, Elsa, has the power to make ice and snow. One day while playing inside in the palace, Elsa has created a winter wonderland of ice. In the fun of it all she accidentally injures Anna her sister. On this occasion it’s healable but only at the expense of Anna’s memory of the playtime – so she no longer knows of her sister’s powers. Elsa becomes more and more anxious about the powers until she is terrified of what she might inadvertently do. To protect herself and others she completely isolates herself, even from Anna.
Eventually Elsa is crowned queen, but at the coronation ball the worst happens and she accidentally reveals her powers and the whole kingdom is shrouded in perpetual winter. Loathing herself and terrified at what she has done, Elsa flees to the mountains.
Elsa cannot bear to return her sister’s love just in case; indeed she cannot give herself to her people, or to anyone, she is so fearful of the freezing hurt that might follow.
Love is just too risky for Elsa – she can’t bear even the thought of the possible cost – best simply to isolate herself; take no chances, in case things get out of hand. Love is too difficult, too hard to manage, too prone to hurt.
This is a theme constantly repeated. We’re familiar with the individual who refuses to love because of the fear of loss and hurt – a broken heart. It’s there again and again in soaps, films, plays and literature – the individual who all too conscious of love’s costliness can’t bear the burden of it. How many times has it been played out on TV in the last couple of days?
This is the constant anxiety of parenthood – this little life is totally dependent and in meeting that dependency parents are changed. How many times do we say to our kids striving for independence, ‘Be careful, won’t you?’ ‘Make sure you don’t ....!’ ‘Don’t do that, it’s dangerous.’ And of course eventually, ‘But make sure you’re back by midnight, I need to know you’re safe.’
In these, and countless other ways, every parent knows something of the Elsa syndrome – the worry that loved shared may end in terrible hurt. Things go wrong – we all know it.
The news tells us of 5.6 million Syrian children facing poverty, malnutrition, displacement, and being shot at. 1.7 million others are refugees in neighbouring lands, struggling one way or another for life every single day. The numbers are beyond us – but when we think on the face of one or two of those children staring at us from a hoarding or TV screen, we appreciate that each and everyone has or had a parent, or grandparent, or sibling with that same Elsa syndrome; that same fear; that same worry; that same concern.
And, of course, it isn’t just about children is it? Our commitment to one another in every circumstance is risky. The hurts of loss, trouble, and malice may strike any of us, in reality at any time.
But that doesn’t mean that living alone on a snowy mountain top like Elsa is a real option. That’s not life – that’s just existence. The chance we must take to be the people we’re meant to be is to take our powers – love, empathy, concern, mutuality, fun and all the rest – and risk them for one another.
There is nothing noble about Elsa’s isolation – in the end it protects no one. Its strength is a sham.
Saint Paul writes that God chooses what appears foolish to shame the wise. How can the loving heart of God be disclosed – indeed be made real – in a prone infant born in poverty? But that is what we believe and declare.
And like despicable tyrants in any age, Herod vents his rage on the innocent – little children are killed to safeguard his position, and the holy child becomes a refugee.
It’s as if God himself knows the Elsa syndrome – but despite it, risks all for love, for his people.
Don’t be trapped by fear like Elsa; take courage like Anna.
As Saint John puts it, ‘There is no fear in love. Perfect love drives away fear’ (1 John 4.18). So take heart in this risky enterprise of love – steadfastness will be rewarded, loss will not have the last word, joy will out.
Do you wanna build a snowman? Come on let’s go and play.
