Different and yet, the same

Reflecting on the meaning of Christmas

When I was growing up, Christmas was about music. I loved learning and performing a capella versions of traditional carols and more contemporary holiday songs in the Red and White a capella choir I belonged to in high school. We caroled at the mall, performed for the high school and community. As a younger child, I felt reverent and solemn as I entered the large, dark gymnasium holding a candle-lit lantern singing How Far Is It to Bethlehem with my third-grade classmates. I especially loved the songs that were more contemplative, generally in a minor key. Songs such as What Child Is This? I Wonder as I Wander, Carol of the Bells, We Three Kings, and When the World Was White with Winter brought me to a quiet, reflective place. I was drawn to the solstice imagery of light returning after blanketing darkness.

Getting dressed up in a velvet or satin dress complete with tights to perform in a medieval-style castle with the community orchestra and the Canadian Brass in the society’s Christmas Sing was enchanting and delightful. We listened to Handel’s Messiah at home during the Christmas season. My dad told us how as a child, when the song “All We Like Sheep Have Gone Astray” came on the record player, after the choir sang “All we like sheep,” he would answer “Oh, no we don’t!” So when I got to play for the society’s Messiah sing-along (in the same medieval castle), my only sadness was that I couldn’t fully add my voice to “For Unto Us a Child Is Born.”

Of course, running through all of this beloved music was religion and the story of Christ’s birth. I was raised in a small, tight-knit Christian community. Both sides of my family had been raised in and practiced this religion for several generations. From second grade through high school, I went to religious schools. So my childhood memories of Christmas are filled with music, contemplation of light coming into a dark world, a Christmas Tableaux that told the story of Christmas through live pageantry.

Photo retrieved December 11 from https://brynathynchurch.org/get-involved/upcoming-events/christmas-tableaux-pageant/

When I had my own children, we had already made the decision that we would not raise them in a religious tradition. I wondered how we would translate the magic and wonder of Christmas without the religion. Of course, that wonder was shrouded in worry about if we could celebrate what had been such a deeply religious observance for me without the religion. Would it just become empty, consumerist?

Although I no longer held the same faith in religion that I had as a child, the story of Jesus’s birth resonated even more deeply for me once I became a mother. It is hard to understand in the abstract how profound the birth of a child is, how dramatically life changes once you hold that tiny, precious, and perfect human in your hands. I understood how a child who grew up in love could heal others. Because the process of being a mother has healed so much in me. The responsibility of caring and raising another small human who begins life so helpless, so utterly dependent on their parents is awe-inspiring. I learned a level of selflessness I didn’t know I had. An ability to give more. And even more. When I thought I had nothing left to give. A capacity for love I couldn’t have fathomed before these boys came into my life. And a capacity for worry and fear to match. I know that parenting doesn’t feel like this for many people. That the support and resources I have in my life allow me to start from a foundation that is more stable and secure than far too many in our world. From my standpoint, I know in my heart that a baby is capable of changing their world from the day they are born.

And so, it was from this place of such profound love that D and I endeavored to create a Christmas experience for our children that held the traditions from our childhoods that were dear—a Christmas tree with lights and ornaments, stockings that are filled with individually wrapped gifts that at one time were from Santa, a meal shared with loved ones, gifts given and received. Books and films about the Grinch with his expanded heart, a bell that could only be heard by children who believed, a reindeer who lead his team through a foggy night with his glowing nose, a man who loved money more than people until some ghosts set him straight, and a baby who was born in a stable and brought love into a cold world.

For so many years, it was magical and joyful. There were more exclamations of delight than tears of disappointment. The excitement of leaving a plate with cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. The resolution to stay awake and catch Santa sneaking down the chimney. The anticipation on little faces that appeared in our room only a few hours after we had finally gotten to sleep. The smell and taste of coffee and cinnamon rolls as we watched these little ones open their gifts. You know it is limited, that they will not stay little and believers in magic forever. And it is delightful.

We decorated the tree this year with four of us, Z being off at college. I felt a little seize in my heart, of course my eyes were teary as I realized that this scene too will change. That at some point, it will reduce from four to two, and D and I will be putting up a smaller tree, holding the memories of each ornament, remembering the rush to get a favorite ornament before your brother, the story behind Elmo pulling a Christmas tree on a sled or the majestic eagle, the beautiful felt balls lovingly made by my sister, a soft cow ornament given to me by a childhood friend. So many memories held in this time. So much beautiful light as the light gets less and less, the darkness feels heavier and heavier.

I think we succeeded in giving them a holiday tradition that is full and has meaning beyond gifts. I believe within the magic and excitement, they learned about the joy of giving and seeing delight in someone else because of your actions. They learned that we show our appreciation for the people in our lives through not just gifts, but acts and words. They saw how much their joy can ignite others. They learned the value of community and sharing meals, gifts, and presence with friends. They learned that in the midst of the darkest time of the year, we can bring our own light to bear. They learned that light always returns, day always follows night. They learned that they are the greatest joys their parents have ever known. They learned that they are loved. Unconditionally.

A childhood cradled in love can change the world.

Love is who we are, and no season can contain it
Love would never fall for that

Let love lead us, love is Christmas

-Sara Bareilles

All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.