In my pastor's Christmas sermon this year, he brought up the “Christmas Cult” that exists today, the one we are surrounded by in all of its manifestations in the west, and one that is slowly but surely being exported here, to the east. Christmas pervades in movies, in consumer culture, in music, parties, gift exchanges, and general merriment and good will. I admit, I am a faithful adherent to the Christmas Cult. I love the tree, I love my music, I love the parties, and even appreciate the commercial side, buying cool gifts, and—oh yeah… receiving them. Christmas as a holiday is deeply rooted in the fabric of my being, and I have only good memories of past Christmases, from childhood until now. I get very excited during Christmas, and I try and infect Jina, who has a somewhat more sober attitude to the holiday than I, with the Christmas “Spirit”. My over-zealousness may even become offensive: This year, she woke up feeling sick, and I replied with, “You can’t be sick on Christmas!” and told her to buck up. At my house, perhaps I will better be known as the Christmas Gestapo.
Christmas is a time of hope, of giving and receiving, of forgiveness and renewal. And most people get that. But as beautiful as this holiday is to me, I know that it is but a watered-down celebration of Jesus’s birth, one made palatable to the world. I remember hearing once that Christmas is like holding a giant, worldwide birthday party, and then forgetting or refusing to invite the honoree, the person whose birth we are celebrating. We take all of the great things that His birth means—hope, forgiveness, and renewal—and we conveniently leave out the Christ. We ignore that, in fact, much of the world rejects the gift that is Christ come into the world. We celebrate and we have fun, and we try and love one another during this magical time, and for a moment, it seems to take. For a moment, the possibilities seem attainable.
After the glow of Christmas fades into cold January, the world returns to its previous state of feuding, hatred, uncertainty, and fear (perhaps it never really was any different). The sagacious observer sees that Christmas is a shiny chimera, fantastic to behold, but of little substance. It is a shadow of the real thing. It may even try to substitute the real thing, filling my heart for a moment with that sweet taste of grace. But like a drug it wears off and I am left chasing the Christmas high; as the calendar clicks forward, the law of diminishing returns sets in. The Christmas Spirit disperses, and I am back to the relatively more mundane approach to life.
Remember Bill Murray playing Frank Cross at the end of Scrooged? It was a 1980’s modern film take on Dicken’s A Christmas Carol, where Murray plays a wretched TV executive millionaire who gives his own brother a company towel for Christmas, fires another employee for making a suggestion on Christmas Eve, and is unaware of the hardships that his faithful secretary endures with a sick son at home, due in part, to the pathetic wage that he pays her. We all know the story—the Ghosts of Christmas visit respectively through the night until our Scrooge is shown the error of his ways. Frank Cross, redeemed, cries, “It's Christmas Eve! It's... it's the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we... we... we smile a little easier, we... w-w-we... we... we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year, we are the people that we always hoped we would be!” I love this story because I see a man transformed, a man who loves his neighbor, a man who realizes that a precious gift has been given him. And I want to believe that Scrooge, or Frank Cross, is permanently transformed, beyond the final pages of A Christmas Carol or beyond the rolling credits of Scrooged. I want so desperately to believe that Christmas will carry me, too, that it will sustain my spirit, feed my soul, and give me the strength to love others. For me, it is no wonder then that my New Years resolutions are so high-minded—be patient, be slow to anger, work on procrastination, grow in faith, cut out sin, open my heart and home to my neighbors. My spirit is still fueled by Christmas steam, but I don’t realize that the fire will soon go out.
How did Christmas become what it is today? Especially, what is the gift thing all about? Is there, in fact, anything biblical about it? Well, yes, we all know that the shepherds and the wise men brought gifts of Frankincense and Myrrh to the Christ child, precious gifts. But we learn in the biblical story that there is only one gift that lasts on Christmas—that is Christ himself. The angels in Luke 2 speak of the “good news” that is for all mankind. But in the bible, we realize that just because Christ was born that the world wasn’t instantly redeemed. In fact, his birth went unnoticed by all except for the chosen cast to receive the good news on that very night. The world continued on in its vicissitudes, unaware that a Savior had been born.
As a very imperfect Christian, I am still very much in a learning process of how to truly put my trust in God. I really want to believe that Christ’s gift is my salvation. And when I earnestly and deeply reflect on this, I must confront the fact that ultimately it wasn’t his birth, but his death, that is what the Christmas story leads to. Christmas is a premature celebration if I stop there. I am constantly learning to understand that this good news came at a much steeper price than being born in a manger; it required death on a cross.
There is something inside of me that doesn’t like this aspect of the good news so much. I am way more into Christmas than I am Good Friday. Jina, for what its worth, needn’t fear the words: “You can’t be sick! Jesus died on this day!” Yet, I am missing something vastly more important to my soul than Christmas alone can ever nourish it with. I am a premature celebrator, like a reveler who drinks too much wine at a New Year’s Eve party and passes out before the clock strikes twelve and the kiss is exchanged. The problem with this premature celebration is that I don’t get the true fruits of the Christmas story. I want Christmas to continue in my heart, but when the tree goes down and the music and the parties are over, so too does Christmas fade from my heart and mind. I want Christmas without Christ’s whole story. More to the point: I want Christmas without the Cross.
How can the Scrooge in my heart continue Christmas through the year? The answer lies in the whole story of the Gospel. It is about a gift that I truly don’t deserve, very different from the conditions put forth on Santa’s list; you know, the one that he checks twice to find out if I’ve been naughty or nice. Christ’s gift is unconditional, given freely, never earned, and given out of perfect love to my imperfect heart. And only through this perfect love can any lasting fruit grow, fruit that lasts through the year, and throughout my life. So, what, then, is my New Year’s resolution this year? Rather than being determined to be a better person, something I simply cannot do, I’m going to do the one thing I can do. I’m going to continue Christmas in my heart by realizing that the true gift of Christmas comes at the end of the story, when Christ, my friend, went before me, and died in my place.
Peace.
