The Christmas Spirit

It's been many years since I have actually enjoyed Christmas. It bothers my conscience. I love the idea of Christmas, think the cookie baking and the present giving are fun. But I struggle because Christmas is about a small baby born in Bethlehem who forever changed the relationship we can have with God. Supposedly. So why do celebrate in such a way that encourages my children to be greedy? Why does almost everyone, regardless of their beliefs, celebrate Christmas in the same way in this country? So every year I struggle. How do I make this meaningful? Can I redeem the the value of this holiday or is it too entrenched in American lore and materialism?

I've read books like Lisa Whelchel's ADVENTure of Christmas which gives history of all the the little things we do and tries to bring meaning to them. Each year we package shoe boxes for kids in impoverished countries. We usually adopt a family or individual off the United Way list and bring them gifts. Still, in my heart, I doubt the once a year show of generosity or the lavish decorations pleases God at all. I suspect that the mad rush to the mall in the name of Christmas sickens Him since we claim it is done in His honor. Much Christmas giving is an excuse to acquire more stuff and to keep up with the neighbors.

Last week I finished Marjorie Holmes' book Two from Galilee. It's a fictional book first published more than 30 years ago about Mary and Joseph. Using historical research she tells the story of their lives, how they came together, their thoughts as each had a messenger from God appear and deliver the news of Jesus's coming. I don't always love these Biblical fiction books. I forge the Biblical account and the fictional account together, more in my thinking than in my action. The fiction forever shapes my ideas, though I will it not to. All the same, this book delivered peace to my Christmas-wary heart this season. I can't stop thinking about Mary, as a mother, the incredible scriptures about the messiah weighing in her heart and wondering how this precious, nursing baby could be destined for so much pain. About birthing a baby in a stable and then, days later having wise men come to worship the infant and then advise us to flee, from all that is familiar, to Egypt. I am able to relax, find awe in those once-dreaded-for-their-over-use carols, and worship. A calmness has replaced my usual Christmas tension. The way Christmas is celebrated hasn't changed, but somehow, incredibly, I have.

We try to decorate our tree with ornaments that relate to the Christmas story: stars, hearts (since Jesus was indication of God's love), angels, donkeys, etc. The girls were gleeful decorating this year, captivated by the sparkling lights and the shimmery glass angels (which they keep breaking because they won't stop fingering them). I had to remind myself as grabby fingers made chaos of my neatly organized Christmas box that the decorations are not for a magazine cover shoot, but for meaning. So if my organization is lost as the girls grab ornamnents and imagine angels blowing tumpets for the shepherds, so be it. So if that means foregoing the usual placement of the nativity scene on the mantle, for an awkward corner chosen by my young girls who are eagerly looking for the baby, so be it. This year, my greedy, object-loving H is beginning to demonstrate some of the Christmas war herself as she marvels at the baby and animal slaughter his birth stopped but still can't wait for the presents. I am thankful for the struggle.

May your Christmas activites remind you of the wonder.