Christmas - that single word brings forth so many memories, images, and associations for me. When I hear the word, I immediately see glittering lights and tinsel, hear the sound of bells and carols, smell the fragrance of evergreen and cinnamon, taste freshly-baked cookies and feel the warmth of a fire on a cold, wintry day. To me, the word Christmas is one of the richest, fullest words in the English language. At the very center of it, is its truest meaning - Christ's mass, the celebration of Christ.
In the past month, I have heard and read many opinions of Christmas - what people think of the holiday, how they celebrate it and what it really means to them. Now, it's my turn. I offer this not as a condemnation or a judgement of anyone's beliefs, but simply as an expression of my own. Let me preface it by saying that I am fully aware of the history of Christmas - the winter solstice, the pagan traditions and the fact that Jesus was not actually born on December 25. To these I offer a resounding "I don't care!" Christmas will forever reside in my heart as the day I celebrate the birth of Christ, and all that His birth represents. I celebrate it with lights, a decorated tree, excessive amounts of food (particularly cookies) and gifts for my closest and dearest.
Some of my earliest memories are of Christmas. I absolutely loved Christmas and awaited it every year with passionate, torturous anticipation. As soon as Autumn arrived, the countdown would begin. Halloween was the first milestone. I loved to dress up, watch scary movies and eat massive amounts of candy. Once past that treat-filled day was the month long journey to Thanksgiving with all the attention to pilgrims and turkeys. I could not wait to eat turkey and dressing and chocolate pie. Thanksgiving was a day of family, feasting and giving thanks. But it was also the transition day. I would watch the Macy's parade and await the arrival of Santa Claus. Once he made his appearance, the whole world changed.
With the close of Thanksgiving came the arrival of Christmas. Stores were filled with decorations, toys and Christmas music. The Christmas catalog would arrive and bring with it the promise of brightly colored packages and Christmas morning surprises. The search for the perfect tree began. Decorations came out of closets and cabinets and transformed my parents' home into a wonderland. Lights went on the roof. Secrets were whispered, and closets were deemed off-limits. School days were filled with coloring pictures of Santa and making popsicle stick ornaments. Once discovered, the perfect tree went up in the living room and was covered with lights, garland, tinsel and the most wonderful variety of ornaments in existence. Each ornament got my full attention and was studied down to the smallest detail. I remember spending hours on end just looking at the tree and absorbing all its wonder.
The greatest wonder of all was nestled beneath the tree every year. When I was old enough, I was allowed to set it up myself. It was my favorite of all the decorations. I treated it with the greatest respect and reverence. For me, it summed up Christmas. It was the nativity set. There was a wooden stable with actual hay glued to the roof and floor. It had a hole in the back to insert a Christmas light. It was of the utmost importance to me to be sure we hung one light low enough for the stable. There was an angel affixed to the top of the stable, heralding the miraculous scene below. The figures were beautifully painted, their faces and hands expressive of the wonder of the historical moment they represented. Three wisemen, shepherds, sheep, Mary and Joseph. And at the very center was the baby Jesus, laying in the manger, fresh from heaven. So much of my time was spent in front of that nativity, laying in the floor and imagining that momentous night. I would use the little figures to act out the scene over and over. I would look at that little baby and be amazed that He would grow up to heal the sick, raise the dead and give up His life on the cross, so that I might have eternal life. I understood the miracle of His birth. It filled my heart with wonder, awe and gratitude.
For me, Christ is, always has been, and always will be the center of Christmas. His birth was a miracle, not only that He was born of a virgin, but that love, grace and truth had entered the world in the flesh. His birth was so important that a multitude of angels pierced the veil to appear in this world, filling the sky with rejoicing! Heaven knew the magnitude of His birth! The angels endeavored to make it known to the shepherds. The wise men understood that greatness had entered the earth. The world was forever changed the day Jesus was born. His life began with a miracle, and ended with one too. Like bookends, His birth and resurrection stand at each end of His life, miracles, wonders, and reminders of the greatest gift ever given to mankind.
I don't worry about whether my traditions for celebrating Christmas are "correct" or not. It doesn't matter to me. What does matter is that I celebrate! I share this day with my loved ones. I celebrate the miracle. So what if pagans celebrated the winter solstice or evergreens had some other meaning. I've never worried about Santa becoming more important than Jesus. As a child, I thought Santa worked for Jesus! On my tree, there are ornaments of crosses and nativities hanging right next to Bugs Bunny, a Corvette and a Storm Trooper. Some people may be offended by that. If so, don't come to my house. Here, we celebrate God's gift. We celebrate our lives, our family, our freedom in Christ. We feast, we laugh, we bless each other with gifts, we light our house for the whole neighborhood to see, and we love one another. Today, we celebrate that light, love, grace and truth came into this world with Jesus Christ. What better way to celebrate than with love in hearts and love in our home.
Merry Christmas to all and may God Bless you richly!
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