Laying aside the spiritual meanings of Christmas for a moment, the holiday season can make your to-do list as long as Santa’s naughty—bake the cookies, assemble the fake tree or buy a live one, drag the decorations out of the storage, execute strategic shopping, wrap the gifts and try to make them pretty, and cook—a lot. Oh, and how about the traffic jam, the search for a parking spot, endless crowds of people, and the head-spinning blitz of holiday sales and come-ons everywhere. Just thinking about it is exhausting.
Some people actually look forward to “Black Friday” madness (didn’t even exist a few years ago) and a month of sappy Christmas movies. I don’t happen to be one of them. I’m not a glutton for stress, so, although it took a few years, I’ve managed to pare down the holiday hoopla to what is manageable for me while at the same time enjoy some special traditions.
With a few exceptions, my childhood memories of Christmas have melded into something like a rerun of your favorite movie. I do remember one in particular. I was about ten years old. My parents were European and so the whole Santa myth was not part of our celebration (We did St. Nicholas on December 6th). Our family tradition was to exchange presents after dinner on Christmas Eve and then we bundled up to go to the midnight mass at St. Stephen’s. It was special because it was the only night I was allowed to stay up so late.
At least a foot of snow had fallen a day before Christmas Eve. It was a “White Christmas” on steroids. I remember enjoying the squeaking and crunching sounds as we stomped and slid through mountains of icy snow. The gothic style church had colossal evergreen trees decorated with lead tinsel that shimmered in the candle light, and a large crèche prominent on a side altar. I made my way to the choir loft excited to sing the English and Hungarian carols we practiced for weeks. Sister Mary Aurelia was perched at the massive pipe organ. I was fascinated at how her fingers and feet glided over the rows of keys. The whole scene was something out of a Hallmark card—glowing light coming from stained glass windows on a snowy winter night.
No unusual or quirky stories came out of that Christmas, and so I wondered what made me remember that one in particular. It was not the presents, the food, the cookies, or the anticipation that is so often expected of children. I think it’s mostly the memory of the sound of crisp snow crackling beneath my boots, the bright reflection of crystal light from the shoveled piles along the sidewalk, the sparkle of candle light on the tinsel, and the joy of singing. The simple things.
I don’t think there is anybody who doesn’t know the reason why Christmas is celebrated. To some it’s just an old story about a Jewish couple who couldn’t get a room in Bethlehem’s only inn with added complications of the birth of their child in a stable. To others it’s the onset of fulfillment of ancient prophecy of humanity’s redemption, which is why the celebration has not only endured for well over a thousand years, but expanded exponentially.
Many express the dismay of the secularization of Christmas that has moved much of it from a holy day to a holiday to a business day. Nevertheless, how we keep Christmas, if at all, is about personal choices and faith. Taking the time to share the goodness and blessings in our lives and to reflect on what is important is a good thing for everyone regardless of beliefs. Enjoy the fun, the food, the family, the friends, and the faith—the reason I wish you all a Merry Christmas!