Christmas Day
December 25, 2008
Luke 2:1-20
Parenting at Christmas time is such an interesting thing. Most things about parenting I’m fine with sort of making up as we go along. But not Christmas. My ideal Christmas would probably be to somehow recreate my Christmases of old and just insert my husband and children into it.
When I was growing up, our extended family was mostly on the West Coast, so it was generally just us for Christmas. On Christmas Eve we always went out to dinner at the fancy neighborhood restaurant with long-time family friends. Then to the late service at church for lots of carol singing, dressed in our best red and green outfits. When we got home, we always got to open one present early. (Only years later did my parents let on that they always chose something they thought would amuse us for a while so the next morning so we wouldn’t wake them up quite so early.)
Christmas morning we’d alternate opening a few presents and eating delicious buttery, cinnamon-y monkey bread. We’d spread out the present opening throughout the day with lots of oohing and aahing and thanks and hugs. (I have to admit that we didn’t usually go to church as a family on Christmas Day. Sometimes Dad would go, but the rest of us generally stayed home, wrapped in our warm robes and fuzzy slippers.)
Finally, when the gifts were all opened, we’d lie around on the carpet in front of the fire and inspect them, throwing the wrapping paper into the fire and watching the pretty colors come up. Then for Christmas dinner our tradition became having each person making one or two special dishes so it was a meal made up of all of our favorite things. We got out the fancy china and silverwear that only made it out for the most special occasions and ate by candlelight. Afterwards, we’d usually take a walk or drive to look at Christmas lights. For me, those Christmas memories epitomize what it means to feel happy and warm and loved.
The problem, of course, is that I can’t recreate those Christmases of old. For one thing, now I’ve joined forces with this other person who grew up with a different family and completely different traditions. Holden’s Christmases included lots of people outside just his parents and siblings. Church wasn’t part of the celebration. People opened their presents all at one time in what to me seems like this crazy, horrific, flurry. For the first five or so years of our marriage, Holden and I would have the same argument every Christmas Eve because his family tradition was to spend the evening wrapping presents, and in my family that part was all done days before.
And there are other things that make recreating my old memories hard as well. We can’t burn wrapping paper in our fire because it’s a gas fireplace. There will be no lying on the carpet in front of the fire because we have hard wood floors. And of course, I have a little less free time on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day than I used to.
One thing that has become a new Christmas tradition in our house, that I suspect is here to stay, is Holden and my annual Santa/Jesus competition. It begins each December as I put out the Advent wreath and he starts playing Christmas music – most often courtesy of Elvis or Willie Nelson. He starts singing “Here comes Santa Claus” and I sing over him “Here comes Jesus…” He puts up the Nutcrackers while I scatter about my collection of crèche scenes for the kids to play with. He talks about Santa Claus, in his red and white suit with his long white beard, while I talk about St. Nicholas, the bishop of Myra, who out of his love for Jesus took care of the poor and gave secret gifts to children. Holden puts the life-size inflatable Santa out in front of the house and I’m left wondering where I can find a life-size inflatable Jesus.
One thing that Holden and I share in common, however, is our love of those classic Christmas shows -- Frosty the Snowman, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. I have the best memories attached to all these old shows, and there’s something wondrous about seeing your kids entranced by the same things you used to be entranced by. It’s nice to have something to hold onto that doesn’t change at all.
And since Christianity has taken so much from the culture in celebrating Christmas – choosing the date for Christmas from the winter solstice, adapting the use of trees and greenery and candles from pagan traditions – I decided to undertake an experiment to see how those wonderful classic Christmas stories could be turned into something that might speak to us of the classic religious Christmas story. How they might help Holden and I meld our Christmas traditions into one. After all, one of the fabulous side benefits of having a God who became human and dwelt among us is that we know that God can be found in anything. In a baby in a manger, in death on a cross, and in everyone and everything and every experience in between.
So how about this for Frosty the Snowman:
The story opens with the narrator telling us that when snow falls on Christmas, something wonderful is bound to happen. What if that snow represents God. When God comes to the earth on Christmas, something wonderful begins – something joyous and life-giving and altogether new. And the snow can change forms – sometimes it’s flakes, sometimes it melts into a puddle, sometimes it turns into vapor that you can’t see. (I think a case could be made for the Trinity there.) But no matter what form it takes, the narrator in Frosty assures us that “Christmas snow can never disappear completely.” When Frosty melts, those kids don’t need to worry, because he’ll be back again someday. And when we have seasons in life where God feels far away or even absent, those too are temporary. God never leaves us alone even though it may sometimes feel like it.
And what if that magic hat that brings Frosty to life represents our faith, which, like Frosty’s hat, helps us to become truly alive. And it’s meant to be shared. Mean Professor Hinkle wanted to keep the magic hat for himself, but he learns in the end that by sharing it with others, he ends up with more himself. That’s certainly true for our faith – the more we engage together on this enterprise of knowing and living for God, the more we grow and accomplish.
There’s even more to learn from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Like that no matter how hard the world around us may try, Christmas cannot be stolen from us. The secular trappings and the trees and the tinsel and the presents are not even remotely what lies at the heart of Christmas. Instead, love and relationship with God and with one another are what Christmas is all about. And that wonderful green Grinch illustrates that all of our hearts have room to grow and that change is always possible, no matter how completely we’ve strayed.
My favorite seen in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is when all the Whos down in Whoville are gathered in a circle holding hands and singing “Abu dore…” or whatever it is they sing. I have no idea what those words mean, but I think the fact that hearing them always brings tears to my eyes proves the old adage that when you sing, you pray twice. I think those Whos are an illustration of the Kingdom of God, a place where everyone can hold hands and sing together, and welcome into their fold even those who have wronged them most egregiously. Forgiveness is always available in Whoville -- and in the Kingdom of God, even for the grinchiest among us.
And then there’s Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Everyone makes fun of poor Rudolph and his glowing nose so he runs away with his friend Hermey the misfit elf who would rather be a dentist than make toys. By the end, these two outcasts have used the very things about which they’ve been humiliated to save the day. Hermey uses his dentistry to remove the sharp teeth of the menacing Abominable Snowman and Rudolph leads Santa’s sleigh through the fog with his nose-so-bright and saves Christmas from being cancelled. I think Hermey and Rudolph illustrate how we are all part of the Body of Christ, each of us with our unique gifts that can be used to further God’s kingdom. And maybe the light from Rudolph’s nose is a bit like the Holy Spirit that can shine through each one of us if we let it. The abominable snowman, of course, has a change of heart and ends up putting the star on top of the tree, proving, like the Grinch who ultimately carved the Who’s roast beast, that with God nothing is irredeemable.
But my very favorite Christmas classic is A Charlie Brown Christmas. All those familiar characters that we know so well who never seem to change. Charlie Brown is always trying so hard. Pigpen is always filthy. Lucy is always a know-it-all. And Linus is always the wise, moral compass for them all. Of course, one of the reasons the Charlie Brown Christmas special is my favorite Christmas classic of all is that the Biblical story of the nativity unapologetically takes center stage. Charlie Brown is depressed about the commercialism of Christmas and so Linus gets on the stage to tell him the story of the first Christmas. “Lights please,” says Linus, and the lights go down and the spotlight is on him while he tells our Gospel story for this morning from Luke in his unforgettable child’s voice. “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown,” says Linus.
Apparently, back in 1965 when A Charlie Brown Christmas was created, the network execs tried to ax the inclusion of the Gospel story. But Charles Schultz was adamant: “If we don’t tell the true meaning of Christmas, who will?” he insisted.
And of course, Schultz and Linus were both right. That story is what Christmas is all about. But Christmas is also about what happens next. After Linus tells that story about Jesus, everything changes. Suddenly, everyone is ready to work together again. They’re all sorry about having mistreated poor Charlie Brown. Together they are able to redeem that pitiful little Christmas tree of his into something holy and beautiful. And then together they sing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”. I know it’s a cartoon, but it shows so clearly the power of the Christmas story to change lives.
And the truth is, as much as I’d like to keep my Christmas experience just the same forever, Christmas is fundamentally about change.
God didn’t come on Christmas, as would have been expected, in power and might, but as a defenseless baby boy. God’s appearance wasn’t first made known to the religious leaders or the rich rulers, but to the poor shepherds and peasants. God changed everything by coming down and dwelling among us.
And God changed all those who encountered Jesus that first Christmas.
Like the shepherds, who were out minding their sheep and suddenly angels surrounded them and sent them to find the child in the manger. They found something better, more amazing than they’d ever anticipated. And they went away rejoicing – glorifying and praising God for all they’d heard and seen.
And like Mary, who held her infant son and met all these strangers who were sent by angels and stars to behold him, and then treasured and pondered it all in her heart.
With the shepherds, we are invited to contemplate the miracle of Christmas; with Mary, we can treasure and ponder God’s coming to dwell among us. With them, and with all those wonderful characters from all of my favorite Christmas classics, we can let the very fact of Christmas change us too. Amen.
Elizabeth Rees