Original Christmas Had No Tinsel
A friend of mine was sharing her melancholy over missing her grandmother at Christmas. She grieved over how the family no longer celebrated together over a big meal at grandma’s table. The collective traditions of yuletide cheer seemingly passed away in her absence, and a nagging emptiness replaced the familiar feelings of excitement and anticipation that my friend and her family had always enjoyed.
My own family has seen better times. It is difficult to face the unsavory challenges of life, when hardships make us feel vulnerable and confused. Christmas, we know, should be full of hope and joy. But peace escapes us, and we struggle to find the warmth and wonder of the season. We long to feel like we did as children, waiting breathlessly, sleepless in our vigilance to detect the faintest jingle of Santa’s sleigh bells or perhaps the voices of angels.
Our Sunday school teacher prayed that we might recall in the midst of all the craziness of Christmas the true meaning of the season, that we would find a way to keep Jesus somewhere within the heart of our holiday endeavors. And while it may not be politically correct to say so, I think we’d do ourselves a major favor if we got back to the true grit of Christmas. After all, Joseph and Mary weren’t exactly on a pleasure cruise when her time arrived over two thousand years ago. In fact, they had it pretty rough.
Joseph and Mary weren’t married. She was pregnant. At the Roman emperor’s command, all people had to return to their place of birth to register for a new tax. Joseph and Mary had to trek several days from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Angels gave them guidance, yes, but can you imagine riding through the desert on a donkey, ready to deliver, and the uncertainty of finding a decent place to rest much less give birth? I’m thinking that was a miserable time, wrought with a lot of misgivings and more than a little fear.
So in those moments when wretched depression and anxiety lend a somber note to what should be a happy holiday, perhaps those of us who feel less than cheerful should cast aside the ephemeral joys of tinsel and temporary insanity and find instead a way to revisit the original cause for celebration.
When lives are lost every day to war, illness and accident, we are fortunate, those of us who have our health and have something to look forward to. While the focus of Christmas leans toward the exchange of gifts and retail indulgences, the fact remains that Christmas emerged as the birthday for a baby boy who held great promise, a living reminder of the goodness and light that fills the hearts of those who rebuke the perils of losing faith.
Pain and suffering do not take holidays. They carry on, through Christmas, on birthdays, when they are most unwelcome and spoil the fun. Yet, in great adversity, we often discover the deeply magical rewards of human compassion. In our shared struggles, we can always find something, a little spark of hope, a renewed belief that no matter what, there is always a reason to celebrate.
A child was born thousands of years ago to a pair of young and faithful servants, parents to the Prince of Peace who arrived not in comfort and blissful surroundings but in the lowly place where lambs are born. His humble birth launched the transformation of entire nations and inspired stories of glorious victories over all that is dark and dreary and insufferable. In the wake of that first Christmas, it is impossible to deny the enduring message that peace, love and hope are the greatest gifts of all.
Whether or not you believe in the Christian history of the Christ child, you have to agree that Christmas began with a family mired in difficult circumstances. In our loss, among our worries, we’d all do well to remember that and welcome the warmth of Christmas.
