If I did a survey I'd likely get answers in three broad categories. The devout among us would speak of a savior, a star and some royalty. The sentimentalists may use the word tradition around stories of ornaments and cookies, thinking fondly of the loved ones with whom they share these things. The realists know that much of it is shear momentum as one year leads to the next.
I'm going to set aside the realists for a moment, and focus on the warm and fuzzy. The real value of Christmas is for the things a savior in a manger and a gathering of cookie decorators have in common. Both are all about love. It is the look in Mary's eyes, and the message the baby grew up to teach. It is the reason a mother invites her children to spread flour and colored sugar across the table and onto the floor.
While love may be the real value of Christmas, the realists aren't wrong either. Much of what fills December (and even back into November these days), has nothing to do with love and is all about momentum. We remember the fun we had last year and we are afraid that if we do less this year . . . you can fill in the blank. For this is the real crux of the matter. We are afraid.
Fear has become the driver of Christmas. Fear that our child will get less than another child and feel unloved. Fear that our heartfelt, inexpensive gift will be rejected, that we will be rejected. Fear that Christmas will be too small, too small to be magical, too small to wrap us in love. Fear that we will be forgotten, dismissed, left out, alone. Fear that we will be unloved.
How did this happen? Yes, in the media of course. Fear is great for marketing, it feeds consumerism as nothing else can. Blaming the media is mostly a shortcut though, a convenient way to bypass our part in this process.
We go about buying Christmas with our time and our money because it is much more comfortable than facing our fears. Aunt Sally really might reject the handmade Christmas card, lovingly crafted in her favorite colors. That piece of yourself really could be thrown back in your face. My child really might hear from friends who got fancy electronics for Christmas and be deeply disappointed in the chess board and the time I spent playing it with him. We might both feel unloved.
Giving love for Christmas is tough because when we really offer ourselves to someone else we are profoundly vulnerable. We are wide open to their rejection. It makes the gift precious, but it takes tremendous courage. I bet you know this. I bet if you think of the single Christmas memory in which you felt the most loved, it was because someone offered you love in a way that made them vulnerable. I bet you've been vulnerable that way too.
We don't like the uncertainty that is human relationships at their best. We especially don't like it in an intense season like Christmas. Buying and busy-ness are much more comfortable. Yet they leave us with this nagging feeling that somehow all this isn't quite enough. There is always one more gift that is needed. We feel the need for one more something that will bring the love home this Christmas. It is something that cannot be purchased with money or baked with sugar. It must be crafted of courage, vulnerability and love.
So this year, if you find yourself in church and you hear an angel say "Fear not!" take that to heart. Draw courage. Open yourself, allow yourself to be vulnerable. In that space of vulnerability, the love of Christmas will reign again.
** Some of this was influenced by Brene Brown's interview on On Being and her book Daring Greatly.
