Anxious
for Christmas
It was
November 15. I was driving in town, slowed down to make a right turn
and saw a pickup truck parked in a driveway. In the bed of the truck
there was a Christmas tree. My first thought was, here is a family
anxious for Christmas.
I know
some people grumble about stores selling ornaments and cards too
early, lights on houses and trees decorated in November. To some it
seems wrong. They say, we used to wait until after Thanksgiving, but
no more. We can’t wait.
The
children can’t wait because they know there will be presents. I
remember how anxious I was. Even though there would not be many
gifts, I knew there would be something special for me under the tree.
I still have the cap gun with the white belt and holster and the bow
with the quiver for the arrows. I remember the extended family
gatherings in our small home for the traditional Norwegian meal of
lutefisk and boiled potatoes with lots of melted butter. I certainly
remember the women saying, “We will not open any presents until we
eat our dinner and the dishes are all put away.” For sure we
children were anxious, saying, “Hurry up! Hurry up!”
But it is
more than receiving gifts. We are anxious for Christmas because we
like what it does to us. We give to others, write letters, gather
with family and friends. We put money in a kettle to help people we
don’t know. We greet each other and we make sure that those who
are struggling to make ends meet have food on the table and toys for
the kids. We even go to church in the middle of the week. We visit
people in nursing homes. We who can’t sing, sing anyway. All
because it is Christmas.
No, it’s
never too early for Christmas.
Once again
we reach out our arms to hold this baby near our hearts. We smile and
relax just a bit, filled with the wonder of this life, so pure, so
gentle. This child cannot help but change us for the better.
On that
first Christmas night, the angel said to the shepherds, “Do not be
afraid” (Luke 2:10). What is there to fear from a baby? A baby is
powerless, with no guile, no anger, and no judgment, only needing
from us without fearing we will not provide: simply trusting and
content to be resting in our arms. This is how God came. This is
Christmas. This one child. And for a time, perhaps too brief, our
fears are taken over by our love for this child and he is able to
change our hearts.
“This
will be a sign for you,” the angel said to the shepherds, “you
will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger”
(v. 12). At each Christmas we too find our way to this baby and are
glad. The apostle Paul wrote to the congregation in the town of
Colossae, “Jesus is the image of the invisible God . . . For in him
the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” (Colossians 1:15, 19).
We will
light the lights, decorate the tree, buy the gifts, send the cards,
gather with family, and greet one another. All good, but we know
deep within ourselves that all of it is only the wrapping. We know
that the gift is the baby, this one particular child named Jesus.
“You are to name him Jesus,” said the angel to Joseph, for he
will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).
In
Jesus, we are free to live life as fully and as joyfully as we will
allow ourselves. For it is only we who hold ourselves back. God does
not. For God has forgiven us in this baby and will not restrain us
from living with sheer abandon, trusting in this gentle and gracious
God, who keeps telling us, “Do
not be afraid.”
When
Christmas comes each year, we catch a glimpse of who we are meant to
be in our giving, in our joy, and in our care for those with little
power in this world.
We are
better people at Christmas.
Of course
we are anxious for Christmas.
Gary
