“So this is Christmas and what have you done,
Another year over, a new one just begun.”
—John Lennon
Each year Christmas enters my
consciousness with an unrivaled confidence. One brought on by years
of experience and presence. It feels good at first almost
intoxicating with its cacophony of sounds, its sights and its smells.
It even fills me with a sense of purpose. At least it does until it
supplies me with a fair amount of ...well...discomfort. Somewhere
between the humming of carols and the drinking of hot chocolate, the
ether settles and I am overcome with a soft quiet panic. As I have
grown older, this process seems to happen quicker each year. This
irrational stress is bursting with oscillating emotions. Whether
festive and happy or lonely and absent, Christmas evokes an
involuntary emotional response in me. Just a week into the season,
and I am already barraged with little Christmas chants vibrating over
the airwaves. “It's for the children.” “It's better to give.”
“Put Christ back in Christmas.” “Twenty shopping days until
Christmas.” “Free Shipping!” I often wonder what it is I am
reacting to. Why does December put me in such a rush? Is it the
tradition, the shopping, the obligatory giving, the believing or,
perhaps, the mad dash until January 6? Pick your poison, but it all
starts with a party. The party at work, at your partner's work, your
boss's party, church party, school party, friend's party; and, if you
are really lucky, your own party. As these come to an end, you have a
day or two before you must focus on the family. There you have a
Christmas Eve party, a Christmas dinner, and, then, the all important
after-Christmas-with-the-family party. Pause to breath. You work
three more days before the big party or parties of New Year's Eve. In
a few weeks, I will be back at work; it will be January; and I will
be wondering where the year went. Whew! Just with all that, who has
time to worry about anxiety or reasons for something? On a broader
scale, who has time for meaning? Christmas should have meaning, after
all, “It is Christmas!” I hear it all the time, “It's
Christmas,” like just by saying it remedies all the negatives
brought on by this great big machine of seasonal commercialism. You
know, the one hurling us along fueling our need to spend all the
while filling us with heightened anticipation—the anticipation of
me getting something for Christmas. So, I ask myself, “What is my
expectation? What do I hope to get? If I took the time, I might even
ask what does Christmas mean to me?”
When I was a five, it was about Santa
and seeing him fly through the night sky. By seven, eight and nine, I
was staying up late to try and catch him in the act. As a teenager,
it was time off from school. I still liked getting presents, but I
was more concerned with how embarrassing this year's batch might be.
I was worried more about the after Christmas chatter back at school.
“Hey, Man, what did you get? I got this really cool
thing-that-amazes-us!” says my classmate. “Wow! That is cool!
Let's try it out,” I say hoping he does not flip the question on
me. Then I would have to say, “Hey, I got these great boxers from
my grandmother—they are the same kind my grandfather wears.
Awesome! I also got socks, pants and another sweater.” In my
family, the extravagance stopped when we moved from house A to house
B. House A had lots of toys, bikes, sporting equipment, stereos and
music. House B had undergarments, outer garments and other garments.
During those years, though, meaning was mostly left up to a Christmas
play or two and a few seasonal services. “It's about the baby Jesus
anyway! What more do you want to know?”
Luckily my attitude changed as I
grew older. My expectations were intentionally shifted from
wanting stuff to helping others. This had to be the true message of
Christmas, surely. To prove my conclusion, I studied the history and
tradition of Christmas. Looking at the pieces, though, I began to
have doubts. We have Christ being born, and He is the Son of God.
Some even say He was born in December. We also have these pagans who
have this birth-of-the-sun thing, which happens in December on the
winter solstice. All of these are really important, therefore, we
cannot leave one out. So, some historical people took this calendar
and that event, factored in nine months, something, something,
something, a little Yen and Yang for good measure; and, “Voila!,”
*they* successfully merged two holidays and a celestial event. (For
our purposes, we will ignore the Eastern Orthodox Christians who
celebrate in January.) What about the other side of tradition—the
guy in the red suit? How does he fit into all this? Aside from the
original St. Nick story, Santa has become Christ's biggest competitor
for Christmas focus, attention or props. If you think about it, they
should actually work in concert with each other. I suppose they do in
a way. Christmas is about giving, “Right?” Santa brings Christmas
magic and Jesus feeds the hungry. What about our giving? What if you
cannot give? What if I do not want to give at Christmas? Or what if I
want to give you a gift because it is Tuesday or because I happen to
like you as a person. Giving is a personal act. Charity, in general,
should be a part of who you are. If so, you should give year round.
Course, this takes some effort. You have to train yourself to do it.
It does not come easily. Even then, you forget or get behind or let
it slide, that is, until Christmas rolls around, and you feel the
annoying sense of guilt about all you are not doing that you should
be doing. Maybe Christmas is a giving reminder. We give now and
throughout the rest of the year. Oh, I believe I have heard something
about Christmas lasting the whole year. Still, is it just about
giving?
As a father, Christmas has a different
responsibility. The most important being, “How do I share it with
my child?” “What do I say?” The first few years are easy, for
it is about my child's experience. Christmas is these wondrous early
years of discovery. The first one being, “I get presents at
Christmas?”, which morphs into, “Who is Santa Claus and why is he
coming to town?” and “Why is baby Jesus in the barn?” A few
years go by, and you learn you have to reign in the gift giving lest
you spoil the apple. The only problem, though, is I have totally
convinced her Santa Claus exists. Well, me and a dozen other sources
(a masterful conspiracy). Now that she has bought into the lying part
of Christmas, I spend the next few years trying to determine at what
age I should tell her it is all a fantasy? “Should I even tell
her?” If you take away the fantasy, though, you take away the magic
(some of the magic). At some point or by the time she asks, I have to
know what it means. What do I say? “Well, Pumpkin, it's about this
fictitious character, the baby Jesus, the tilting of the Earth,
shopping, traveling, and overeating, which somehow all comes together
preternaturally.” “Do I leave in the magical—Santa magic not
Jesus magic?” Pull away the shimmering red curtain, and what do I
have to give her: Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Purple Wednesday, the
shopping malaise in general and—of course—traffic jams? Should we
have a moment, we might stop and think of the birth of Jesus. Still
it does not matter what I say. For years she has seen stress build up
in me—in the atmosphere around me. It is this penetrating drumbeat
calling me deeper and deeper into the seasonal abyss. I resist and
resist until my breaking point where I humbly accept my embarrassing
defeat and acknowledge I am minutes away from Grandmother's Christmas
Eve party standing in a CVS buying soda, Q-tips, and a Christmas card
for Aunt Bessie. But wait, before I leave the store, I will
instinctively shout, “Oh, look! Here's a little Christmas
knickknack-stuffed-pickle-thingy we can give second cousin Ceasie's
little boy.” At this moment, I am lost. All my goings on about the
meaning or spirit of Christmas are thwarted by my ridiculous actions
at Christmas.
The strength of the Christmas machine
is too great. We all fall under its weight at some point. So, I guess
what I want is for the pressure to abate. “How do we do this?”
“Could we change the tradition a little?” “To what?” Hard to
say. The centuries of Christmases past have generated this garland
giant. How can you even touch such a beast, let alone change it? If
we cannot, then maybe all we can do is hang onto the spirit of the
thing and share that with others. Maybe it is like politics, you have
to take the good with the hypocrisy. Honestly, I find Christmas to be
pleasant and good in spite of its flaws—and mine. How I quantify it
for my daughter is a work in progress. Then again, I could be trying
too hard. Sometimes, the miracle comes when we are looking the other
way. Last week, I was driving home with her. Amidst our chatting, I
turned on the local Christmas station. In a matter of seconds, she
started singing along with the carolers. Hearing her belt out “All
I Want For Christmas Is You,” I began to smile, then laugh, and,
eventually, sing with her. All the way home, we murdered half a dozen
Christmas tunes. It was wonderful! It was the first time all month, I
had thought about Christmas as truly a time of joy. No matter what I,
or anyone, says it means, its true essence is only tangible through
experience. You cannot put it in a stocking or wrap it in a box, you
just have to wade through it yourself. Whether it comes from divine
intervention, animal spirits or cosmology, the illusive nature of
Christmas has the capacity to represent our potential for goodness.
It gives us human beings a chance to be kind, to share what is in our
hearts, and to love all those around us.
Happy Christmas!