I’ve been struggling to think of a title for this blog post. I wanted a title that communicates that this is a post about Christmas, something catchy, maybe something about hope. But everything that I think of turns up hokey, sickening-sweet, like a store-bought cupcake or a holiday Hallmark movie. “Hope at Christmas.” “Christmas Hope.” Eesh.
It’s interesting to me where Christmas falls in the year. Obviously, Jesus wasn’t born on December 25th (the biblical evidence of the time of year the shepherds were watching their sheep suggests that his birth took place towards the end of September). In fact, one popular theory about the date of this celebration states that Christmas was celebrated on December 25th to stake a claim for early Christians. The Romans held their own pagan holiday celebrating the winter solstice during this time, so choosing December 25th to celebrate the birth of Christ was very deliberate. But I’m not a biblical scholar, so all I can really say is that this is just a theory, and no one really knows for sure how Christmas came to be celebrated on the 25th.
No matter how the celebration of Christmas came to be, there is still something that strikes me as deliberate about its placement in the calendar year. It cuts through to the very soul and plants a seed of giving. Out of the deep darkness that cloaked our land, there came a cry. A child’s cry, the promise of something new, the hallmark (haha) of a new season. And out of the deep darkness that still shrouds our land, there comes a Yuletide cry—Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel. There is less of a bite in the air. In the midst of the darkness of late December, there is miraculously a lightness in the air, an exceeding joy. Call it Christmas spirit or whatever you like, but there is undoubtedly a distinction between the Christmas season and the long, lonely winter months that follow.
Because it takes place in the winter, there are two beasts that Christmas must destroy: darkness and misery.
The celebration of Christmas takes place during the darkest time of the year. The winter solstice is a mere four days before Christmas, and in my part of the world, daylight will last 9 hours and 15 minutes. That’s nothing. That’s a drop of honey on the tongue, melting into memory. But it’s not something I really internalize and complain about until after Christmas. After all, there are fires to tend and lights to put up. Twinkle lights remind me that the darkness is not everything. No matter how deep my pain gets, there is a Savior who enters that pain with me, and he lights my way. Christmas is an opportunity to literally surround ourselves in light, to create an envelope of cozy warmth and wrap ourselves in it. And for me, that makes the darkness outside less of a stalking beast and more of a snug wrap, a blanket fort with pillows and tea and a good book waiting inside.
But then we move to the second beast.
It’s winter in New England. Again, cut the Hallmark scenes from your head, the quaint New England towns dusted with sugar snow; the bright red beanies and scarfs bundled around screaming children as they sled; the glassy mirror reflection of frozen ponds. New England winters are more often drab than glamorous, the gray and brown of a wolf’s winter coat. The snow on the sides of the roads are barely recognizable as the magical white fluff that kissed noses and lashes. It’s murky, muddied with road salt and dirt and stubborn autumn leaves. The ponds are half-iced-over, unfinished. The cold is bitter, shrieking, and the worst part of the whole ordeal by far. And then the wind picks up.
And in the middle of this darkness, in the middle of this misery and cold, lights emerge, everywhere. They coat houses and trees and bushes, dorm rooms and nursing homes, churches and schools. I believe that physical representations are very important. They remind us of abstract truths. The lights that blanket the world at Christmastime are physical representations of what the birth of Jesus did for this world. In the middle of our darkness, in the middle of our misery and cold, he emerges at the most unexpected and most needed time. And he is everywhere, bright and beautiful and warm. He brings celebration to overwhelm what would otherwise be the most difficult and miserable time of year.
It’s so beautiful to me that the beginning of new life, new life in Christ, is celebrated at the end of the year. As a Christian, it is so encouraging for me to look back over my year, no matter what it held, and see Jesus’ fingerprints on it all. Every decision I’ve made, every paper I’ve written, and every person I’ve met has been carefully orchestrated and has led me to this moment. It shows me the deep care my Jesus holds for me. The season of Advent and Christmas reminds me that God will always make a way to get to me. He will always bring freedom in place of the shackles that I have locked around my own wrists. He will always refute my claims that I am not good enough by pointing to the manger and the cross.
My brothers and sisters, let this knowledge be the flame on your Advent candles. Let it be wrapped around your heart like lights around the Christmas tree. Because of Jesus, we are reborn.
AN: It's been a hot minute, y'all; sorry about all those unintended hiatuses! Just so you know, I'm going to be taking the rest of December off to enjoy family, friends, and the Christmas celebration. See you in the new year!