“Go, tell it on the mountain!”
I sat at the kitchen table with my mom, rolling out strips of red and white dough to be twisted into our family’s special candy cane-shaped cookies. It was the late ‘90s; I was 9, maybe 10 years old, and excitedly anticipating this annual Christmas baking affair. I also had a big responsibility: picking the background music. Nestled on the shelf between the classic hits CDs and Kenny G instrumentals was Dolly Parton’s album “Home for Christmas.”
I inspected the cover. Who was this sparkly woman, wrapped in white fur and sitting in a sleigh? I had never heard of her before (my parents weren’t exactly country music fans), but her bold outfit alone compelled me to select it. After a passionate rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” and a honky-tonk take on “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” came the next track: “Go Tell It on the Mountain.”
The song starts off on a muted note: Dolly, singing slowly and intentionally, but halfway through, the tempo picks up, the drums begin, and the blended voices of a large gospel choir belt out the refrain. Before long, there is enthusiastic clapping, chanting and rhythmic calls to “Go, go tell it! Go, go tell it!” I leapt up from the table, joining my mom in an enthusiastic clap-and-jump-off for the remaining minute of the song until we both collapsed on the couch, giggling and out of breath.
Today, I still blast Dolly’s spirited version of “Go Tell It On the Mountain” every time I make Christmas cookies. When I put the cookies in the oven, sit down from the inevitable dance break, and take time to contemplate the message of the song, I realize its clear challenge: Go, tell everyone the good news of Jesus’ birth. And don’t just talk about it; shout it from the mountaintops! Over the hills and everywhere!
My attempts at evangelization and spreading the joy of our Catholic faith tend to be a little more, well, subtle. I write and edit essays that share personal stories of faith. I go to Mass. I have occasional spiritual conversations with friends and family. You certainly won’t find me with a megaphone on a New York City street, and to be honest, I still get a little intimidated about sharing my faith with others, especially in situations where I’m not sure how it will be received.
But I realize that Advent presents me with an invitation — to be bold about what’s coming. Waiting in line at the store or post office is an opportunity to put my phone away and strike up a conversation with someone. The Advent candles in the window of my home allow me to share the prayerfulness of this time of waiting with my neighbors and guests. And the next time someone asks me about my favorite Christmas traditions, I can mention cookies and Dolly, while also sharing the true hope of Advent: the coming of he who we have been waiting for.
