On Christmas
You are at the shopping mall, and there is no place to park, and finally you squeeze in somewhere, only to have gained the privilege of fighting the crowds inside. You grumble and feel anxious, but encounter friendliness, encounter enthusiasm, and sense that something special resides underneath it all. You put up your tree, and it’s a hassle, and one of your favorite decorations is broken, and you can’t help thinking about that guy down the street who has overdone it again with all his lights out front, but a sweet, soft carol from the radio catches your ear, and you sense that something special resides underneath it all.
You’ve seen one Santa too many this week, and you’ve begun to wonder what the Santa thing is all about anyway, and you’ve bought too many presents for the kids – are you making rabid materialists out of them? But you notice the sparkle of affection in their eyes, and you sense that something special resides underneath it all.
You come to rest at some point. The cooking is done. The eating is done. The gift-giving is done. The hugging of friends and relatives is done. You think about this holiday and all the running around and all the money spent, and you know that some of it, much of it, misses the point. You know, too, that there is a point, that there is something special residing underneath it all, and that it is to be found in the story of a baby being born.
You seek out the family Bible, and you reread the story in the Gospel According to Saint Luke. It is a wonderful story about the glory of God, hope, salvation, peace, good will and love – a story of “good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people,’ as the angel in Luke says to fearful shepherds in a field.
Joy about good tidings. That is what has been residing underneath it all. Christmas joy.