Ding-Dong

Photo by Fadi Xd on Unsplash

Rev. Kaaren Solveig Anderson tells a story about going Christmas shopping with her family as a child and being given dimes to hold in the palm of her mittens to drop into Salvation Army buckets as the family traversed the busy city streets. It was, as she recalls, a way her family chose to help the homeless and destitute. Remembering how, as a child, she loved those Salvation Army bell ringers, one Christmas she decided to volunteer to be one of them. She was given two assignments.

She writes. “I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that little tinkly bell.” The first assignment, “on a busy street with a bookstore and coffee shop on either side,” went much as you might expect. Anderson rang her bell, stamped her feet to keep warm, and thanked people as they brought her warm drinks and dropped their coins into the bucket.

But when she showed up for her second assignment, at a mall across from J. C. Penney’s, the experience turned unexpectedly on its head. She writes,

The lieutenant arrived to set up my bucket. My hands reached for the bell. No bell. He explained, “The mall owners have complained, no bells, only this.” He handed me a sign.

The sign was attached to a long dowel. On the top of the dowel, two pieces of paper were stapled together over the center of the stick. One side read “DING,” the other “DONG.” Instead of ringing, I now had to flip a sign that read “DING-DONG.” My little bucket instantly lost its ting-a-ling. My enthusiasm waned. I flipped in silent motion. It seemed absurd, but I went to work. People pushed past each other, mired in that Christmas hubbub that leans toward frustration, not joy. Then they’d spot me. Their faces would contort, scrunching up into laughter and that uncomfortable feeling when you’re embarrassed and humored by someone at the same time. They would often throw in some dimes and say, “Happy Holidays,” barely able to stifle an awkward yet justifiable smirk. I fought hard not to feel like the sign was projecting my mental state to the mall community.

For four hours I flipped – the sign, that is. Then minutes before I was to quit, this fellow in black cowboy boots and a ten-gallon hat walked up to me and laughed. He was full out chuckles, bent over, hysterically laughing. I stood taller, flipping the sign with increased vigor. I couldn’t tell where he was going with this. When he finally stood up for air, his eyes were smiling, so I hoped for no malicious intent. But I also was ready to kick him in the shins for his reaction to me and my now stupid sign.

Then he said, “I must say, I’ve never seen a sign like that before. Anybody that stands with a sign that says ‘Ding-Dong’ must be duly rewarded.” He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. Crisp bills lay neatly in uniform order. He ran through the fives, tens, and twenties, and got to a row of fifties. He pulled one out. A fifty. He neatly folded the bill and squeezed it into the bucket designed for coin donors. Nodding, he smiled right into my eyes and muttered, “Well, I never.” Then he continued on through the mall with laughter that hung captive in the air like lingering pipe smoke.

I, on the other hand, began to turn that sign with a renewed vigor. I looked at each passerby with a new attitude, whether they snickered or smiled, donated or not. I now felt strangely in awe of my DING-DONG sign. I was unabashedly proud that I was stupid enough to stand in a mall tenaciously flipping a sign, waiting for humor and generosity to awaken someone’s humdrum spirit...”

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

People, I just love that story. I love the way it pushes back against holiday expectations. You expect a bell ringer; you get someone silently flipping her ding-dong sign. You expect someone to say something or do something rude enough to want to haul off and kick him, and he straightens up and fishes a fifty out of his wallet.

What are we to do with a season so laden with expectations, so ripe for disappointments yet so imbued with potential for meaning? A season that promises joy, yet mires so many in frustration? A season that promotes happy families . . . and we know so many families struggle with complex and sometimes painful relationships and realities . . . and we know so many people are lonely.

Perhaps we ourselves are lonely.

A season that speaks of the birth of love, when we live in a culture of rapidly increasing incivility; when we know so many feel unloved? Perhaps we ourselves feel unloved.

A season that ballyhoos peace on earth and good will, and we know how far humanity continues to fall short of the mark. Lord, how we know it.

A season that promises happiness if you can afford the crass price tag of your holiday shopping . . . and we know happiness is not for sale. Besides, these days, who can afford the price tags anyway?

In my life, the holidays that drew me up short – the holidays with their own surprising ding-dong signs – have brought me some of the biggest gifts of all. Like the Christmas after my mother died. We weren’t feeling much of a holiday spirit, but, because we had little children, we felt we had to do something to celebrate. Our family decided to simplify our gathering by eliminating gifts to extended family and joining together for a simple meal of soup and sandwiches.

What a relief that Christmas was. No one trudged through shopping malls, looking for gifts and trying to latch onto some elusive cheer when we were feeling sad. No one spent hours in the kitchen. Instead, we spent the whole day sledding together, reveling in new snow that had miraculously fallen on Christmas Eve. And when we were finally tired and cold enough to come in, a hot bowl of soup was the perfect Christmas dinner. That Christmas, we may as well have stood on a street corner with a sign that said Simplify.

Or like the Christmas after September 11, when I was in seminary and my spouse had been laid off from his high-tech job. We couldn’t afford a Christmas tree or, really, anything much else. We explained to our son that he shouldn’t expect much. We thought those sacrifices would be hard. Instead, we found ourselves freed from holiday trappings that bring stress and often disappointment. We may as well have stood on a corner holding up a sign that said Let Christmas Go, for, indeed, that year, only by letting Christmas go could we allow it to come.

Maybe on a larger scale, it is up to us to hold up our little signs — our signs that push back against disillusionment and isolation, that declare dreams still can come true, that make people bend over laughing and inspire them to generosity beyond our imagining.

Our signs that say Community, as we gather with family, friends, and neighbors to witness the things that are hard and challenging while also celebrating those who hold us in their hearts.

Our signs that say Resist, even when, especially when, the world dishes up violence and hatred that threatens to plummet our hearts into despair.

Our signs that say Compassion, as we gather warm things for the poor and help to fill the shelves of our local food banks.

Our signs that say Love, as we, day after day, week after week, do our respective parts to build a world of peace and justice.

More often than I can even begin to count, I have heard the expression that something is “a sign of the times.” Probably all of us can think of things that exemplify various epochs of human history — people lining up at soup kitchens during the Great Depression; people going to hospital parking lots to receive Covid tests administered by technicians suited up as though conducting a moon landing, for example. Yet, while I want to recognize changes and trends, I also want to remember that I have agency. My words and deeds can contribute to creating the signs of my times.

People, we have the power to declare what we know to be worthy and true. Some of my signs of the times are noted above: Simply, Let Christmas Go, Community, Resist, Compassion, Love. What are the signs you hold up to the world? What are your signs of the times?

Love,

Sylvia

(Note: Kaaren Solveig Anderson’s full accounting of her Salvation Army “ding-dong” experience can be found at Ding-a-ling-a-ling! | WorshipWeb | UUA.org)