I'm Not A Christmas Person

I promise you this isn’t going to be a “bah humbug” type of post. Because while I’m not a Christmas type of guy, I’m also not someone who wants to rain on anyone else’s parade.

So, I ask you to bear with me while I explain what Christmas means to me.

I was raised as an only child by two parents, Ray & Nancy, who believed in God, but didn’t have much use for the trappings of religion.

Ray was hardwired as a Catholic but the only hint I saw of that as a child was the ceramic statue of Jesus that sat on his dresser. Religious services to him meant Cubs baseball in the Spring & Summer, and the Church of the NFL in the Fall & Winter.

He was an uber-practical man who was too busy providing for his family to allow something as ethereal as God, religion, or church to intrude on his daily routine.

No, the Cubs or the Bears were his idea of resting on the 7th day, and they were a certainty to deliver the joy or, more often than not, the disappointment that he needed as a respite from the tireless work routine he kept.

Nancy, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of her husband. She was as free spirited as he was practical. He bought her a sporty red Toyota in the early 70’s when no one was driving Japanese cars and no moms were zipping around the neighborhood. But mine was.

She also could drink beer like a champion, and I often wonder whether my beer can collection was really my hobby or just the remnant of her large appetite for life.

See we have a deadly genetic disease that runs thru our family tree, and I think she knew that she better pack as much living into life when things were good because soon enough things would be bad. By that happenstance, one of the few characteristics she shared with her husband was that she wasn’t going to let God, religion, or church intrude on her limited time as well.

Christmas in my household, then, didn’t have much to do with Christ, but it was a big event that started as the Thanksgiving meal was being served.

That’s when Mom would start with her Christmas albums on our big console stereo in the living room. I don’t remember a ton of music being played normally, but during the Christmas season it seemed like Paul Anka and Andy Williams were on 24/7.

As a spoiled only child, I loved the obscene number of gifts that Christmas morning brought, but I was no fan of the 30-day musical death march that preceded it. Her wall of sound was so effective that I think the Marines copied her tactics to drive Noreiga out of the Vatican embassy. But I endured it each year with the promise of toys to be played with “sans music” as of the morning of the 26th.

So, if you are imagining Ray & Nancy as two normal parents who went above and beyond for their self-indulgent child, you got the picture right. And if you’re a therapist, you got a data point that explains much of my self-seeking life.

But for the sake of this post, I hope you also see why Christmas never meant much to me.

It certainly had no Christ connotation, nor any church tradition tied to it. And as soon as I left home, I had no use for its secular accoutrements. Well, that is until I found myself with a wife whose taste for Christmas tradition rivaled my mother’s, and two young children as accomplices to help her pull it off each year.

Out of obligation and basic decency, I tried to be a willing participant. It wasn’t my cup of tea, but if it brought joy to my kids and wife then it brought joy to me. But as the kids are now adults and my ex-wife has a new husband to celebrate with, I’ve been allowed to mostly retire from my Christmas duties.

Here I am, an 8-year Christian with very little use for Christmas.

If you know me, you know I half-jokingly claim on Facebook each year that Jesus’ birthday really falls on April 17th which also just happens to be my birthday. My brain just doesn’t make a natural connection between Jesus and December 25th.

But my brain is connected to Christ’s Mass.

The word “Christmas” comes from the Old English “Cristes-messe” which literally translates to Christ’s Mass and Christ’s Mass means to me a celebration of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ.

It took me nearly a half century to see it, but Christ’s Mass is the most important day of the year, and it happens every day of the year when I have the good sense to allow it to.

Trust me folks, I know I can sound like a broken record, and I know every conversation with me is a short hop away from my version of “do you have a minute to talk about our Lord & Savior, Jesus Christ?”

But 8 ½ years ago, I hit the lottery when I met Jesus. Everyday now is Christmas, and just like I couldn’t wait to show my friends what I found under the tree when I was a child, now I find the same burning desire to show them what I found in Jesus.

And recently, my Jesus experience is also giving me some purchase on understanding why Christmas is so special to others, and especially to my Mom.

See I think my Mom understood God a lot more than I have ever given her credit for.

She understood that God was the thread that holds our relationships together. But she understood that in a visceral sense, not in a theological or religious manner. She knew that Christmas season was a time where the day-to-day struggles could be paused, and her husband & son could be corralled into joining her celebration.

It was as if this was an end of year victory parade that validated that her family was thriving, alive, and doing well. That everything she needed was under her roof, and she was going to sing praises of validation via the tunes of Anka & Williams.

We didn’t have much religion in that house, but there sure was a lot of love.

My Mom & Dad never got to know me as a Christian. I’m certain there would have been raised eyebrows the first time I would have mentioned being “born again”, but I also know they would have been relieved to see the peace I have found.

They also would have been proud of the man Jesus is shaping me into because they started that process. They were far from perfect but everything worthwhile in me came from them. I got sidetracked for a number of decades, but I don’t think I could have ever turned to Jesus without the love they provided me. Their love was the thread that held us together and the thread that Jesus reeled me in with.

Before I close, I’m going end with two Christmas wishes. It is the season after all to make a wish and to see if it ends up unwrapped on Christmas morning. Well, my wishes aren’t meant to be under the tree, but I hope they are gifts just as well.

To Ray & Nancy, Mom & Dad, my wish is to have one more Christmas season with you, one more 30-day non-stop musical march of holiday tunes, capped by Christmas Day with me playing on the floor while Mom knits on the couch and Dad yells at the Bears on TV.

I know that wish will have to wait till I join you on the other side, but I promise you that I’ll have the good sense to be better at Christmas if I get another chance with grandchildren.

And my second wish is for a special group amongst the rest of you.

If you haven’t felt the presence of Jesus the Christ, I invite you to do so. This isn’t an invitation to religion or church. It’s the opportunity to feel the source of life and love daily, and it’s the greatest gift you can ever receive.

If you have no idea of how to feel His presence, just turn and ask Him. And feel free to reach out to me, it’s my favorite topic.

That is my Christmas wish for you and I’ll be praying that’s what you get this Christmas.