Somebody ruined Christmass for me

I grew up in a home that celebrated Christmas. The presents. The tree. The ornaments. The cookies for Santa. The whole bit. Our gifts were piled up under the tree complete with ribbons and nametags - as is customary in every house. The tags told us who the gifts were for and who they were from. Dad. Mom. Grandmother. Santa. We opened one present on the Eve and the others in the morning after. Sleep was always light. Bing Crosby sang in the background.

We drank eggnog, watched Miracle on 34th Street, nibbled on sausage balls and sipped apple cider.

Of course, in our house Christmas was not really Jesus' birthday. It was just a day that the world celebrated Jesus' birthday. (The irony of the "world" celebrating anything about Jesus did not strike me until long after I realized that it was actually my father who ate Santa's cookies.)

So here I am:

I don't like Christmas trees. Not even the real ones. There is something weird about traipsing around the city to some empty car lot, buying a tree for 10x its actual value in cut wood, strapping it to the top of your Buick, hauling it home in the dead of winter, digging in the basement for a rusty tree stand, setting up the rootless tree in the tree stand, and then covering the rusty tree stand with an old sheet which serves a dual purpose as it hides the rust and catches dead pine needles. After the tree has "fallen out" we promptly decorate it with ornaments that would be considered gawd-awful gaudy in any other context. Glass eggs, plastic stars and hard Playdough moldings; Las Vegas neon, fiberglass and Gabriel cover the tree.

Speaking of ornaments, I don't like ornaments either. Ornaments are overly sentimental and overly fragile. Which means that the emotions tied to those sentiments are also overly fragile. If you've ever broken someone else's ornament, you know what I mean. And with the ornaments, we hang socks on our walls. Worse still, we put edible stuff in the socks.

I don't much care for Christmas songs either. Most of them. OK, I do like "O Holy Night" and "Breath of Heaven." But Jingle Bells, Away in a Manger, Bethlehem O Bethlehem and Frosty just don't do it for me.

Christmas is all warm and cozy, glittery and glitzy, scented and potpourried. But to me, it smells of tradition. And not that sweet smell of tradition that I associate with other sweet-smelling traditional things.

Admittedly, I have a tree this year. Plastic.

Bah. Humbug.

Yesterday I woke early, had a encouraging talk on Skype with my Negro friend, busted out the guitar and praised God and sauntered into the Assembly on a nice high.

Then the worship leader burst my bubble. She said, "I thought we would just sing some of our favorite Carols this morning. Now who has a favorite Carol?"

Descent.

We sang for 1/2 an hour or so. We had no songbooks handy so we muttered through the "famous" songs, remembering two-thirds of the first verses and most of the choruses. Does anyone know "Angels We Have Heard On High?" Sure! But only one out of the dozen did. Mumble. Hum. Mumble. "An oldie but goodie," I thought.

Today I am thinking, "Who ruined Christmas for me?"

I am torn.

I have a hard time calling it "Jesus' birthday." But I relish the opportunity to discuss the Incarnation.

I have a hard time with the god-like anti-burglar Santa Claus. But I have an easy time saying that the Father is a giver of good gifts.

I have a hard time with trees and ornaments and carols. But I love gifts and children's smiles and hot cocoa.

I have a hard time with the commercial Christmas. But long for the fellowship that the season brings.

I like sleigh bells and snowmen and chestnuts. Yep, they have those in China. Chestnuts, that is. But I find that I am embarrassed to gather around the piano to sing Jingle Bells and Come All Ye Faithful in the same medley.

And yet, year after year I do.

However, in my mind, somehow the religious has infringed on the fun.

Christmas has been washed away in the cynicism. All that is left is a bit of gratefulness.

Thanks to my brother and parents who gave gifts this year. Thanks to my wife and children for their smiles and joy and Bible stories and pecan pie. Thanks to my employer who gave me 3 weeks off for this holiday. Thanks to my co-workers for their kind words and chocolate.

If I push the tinsel out of my eyes, tip back my Santa cap and table my champagne, there is one thing that I am truly grateful for above all things. As is common in the Church:

But thanks be most of all to the Word of God who became flesh in the baby Jesus; who did not see equality with God something to be grasped but emptied Himself and took the form of a bond-servant. Who was born to lowly Jewish parents, in a dirty barn, in disreputable circumstances. Who grew in statue and in favor with God and man. Who lived sinlessly before the Father. Who fulfilled the law in a life of obedience and a bloody death. Who rose in the flesh again after 3 days in the ground and in Hades. Who reigns as the saviour of sinners.

Yes, thank God for Christ's mass.