What's the real meaning of Christmas?

Celebrating the birth of Jesus is sometimes a hard concept to get your arms around.
As boomers, we may be jaded by Christmas’s past. In the carefree times of our youth, we typically celebrated with our immediate family and often the extended family of grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. In our teens, sure we rebelled but we still valued the traditions of Christmas: going to mass, eating a feast with the family, and then maybe being able to sneak over to our friends’ homes down the block to see what they got for Christmas.

Fast forward to early adulthood – marriage often comes quickly. Then the time gets divided between going to one’s maternal side, then visiting the in-laws. This typically lasts for two to three years until you realize that it’s totally untenable especially once there are grandkids involved. Then, it’s a welcome relief to split the holiday: Christmas eve at one spouses’ family and Christmas Day at the other. Of course, there are gifts and food galore at both places. I remember filling the trunk of our car with bags full of toys for my three children after coming back from their grandparents’ house. It was a smorgasbord of fun things. They were in toy nirvana.

Then comes divorce, and you not only have to split time between the maternal grandparent’s and in-laws homes, you also need to split the holidays with the ex. That is a killer.

Then the kids get older and move out of the house. When holidays come, it’s sometimes hard to get them all together under one roof – especially for those who live out of state. This is the time frame that I find myself in now. An empty nest and no real reason to get crazy over the holidays. My kids have always preferred to buy their own gifts – so my solution is to buy one gift and give them money to buy whatever else they want.

This year, I wondered what it would be like to have the mindset of the Grinch and try to stop Christmas from coming. So, I didn’t bake Christmas cookies. I didn’t send out cards. I didn’t put lights up. I didn’t even put lights or ornaments on my tree until Christmas Eve day. I almost didn’t go to Christmas Eve service; after all I had a Christmas Day brunch to prepare for. Yet, thankfully I did go to a service. It was a beautiful Christmas celebration at Northridge Church. It was titled, “Chill.” That didn’t seem so “Christmasy” but the pastor said, “Don’t have any expectations about the service. Just let it flow over you.”

And I did. Good thing that I brought Kleenex. Watching the emotionally compelling video of Mary and Joseph seeking a place to stay in Bethlehem while listening to beautiful singing put me in the right frame of mind to contemplate Jesus’ birth. Then the pastor asked us to stand – I would guess there were 900 of us in two tiers – and sing together. The audience of friends and strangers alike stood together to worship and sing the praises of Jesus’ birth – it was awesome.

At the end, a procession of “regular” people holding candles walked slowly up the aisles toward the stage where about 250 candles shone brightly. They left some space between them so they were fanned out from the stage in the front to the last row. And they sang, as we all did, “O come all ye faithful.” It was a powerful testament to our belief, hope and love.

Listening to the pastor’s message about being open to Christ and his desire to have us be part of his family made me reflect on something I had done earlier in the day.

While buying fruit and salad fixings at a super produce shop (Randazzos) in Westland, I casually asked the cashier how she was doing. That opened up a conversation in which she blossomed like a rose unfurling her petals. She told me that she and her 8-year-old daughter were going to be making ribs, greens and brownies (her daughter made better brownies than she did, she confided in me) to take to their family party tomorrow (Christmas Day).  Wow – I am so glad that I asked.

A few minutes before the service ended – during the final song – we started to leave to beat the crowds out of the parking lot. As my boyfriend Mike and I were halfway down one of two wings of stairs, we saw a boy about 10 or 12 in a wheelchair with a mother tending to him. He made sounds like he was vomiting, so I told Mike, “Let’s go down the other stairs.” But no, Mike pulled my hand and we narrowly skirted around the mother and the boy in the wheelchair. Mike took a moment to wish her a Merry Christmas. My heart melted at his tenderness toward the mother and I felt guilty that I had pretty much wanted to avoid the scene by taking the other stairs.

These simple encounters on Christmas Eve show just how powerful we, as individuals, can be when Jesus shows us the way and we follow his light. No matter how much my post-divorce Christmases make me feel like a Grinch at times, I always catch the Christmas spirit. I hope you do too. God bless you and Merry Christmas!