Rediscovering Christmas

A young girl stands in the center of the stage, the glow from the spotlight illuminating her rough, hardened features.  The rest of the cast slowly fades into the obscurity of the shadows until the audience only notices Imogene Herdman, her dark unruly hair falling carelessly into her face, barely held back by the scarf that covers her head; her blue, unkempt robe hangs askew, as she clutches a doll. Everything about this young girl cries rebel; her obstinate stance dares anyone to come near, yet, in the harsh glow of the spotlight, the audience witnesses her harsh features soften as she loosens her grip on the doll and softly cradles baby "Jesus" to her chest.  Suddenly, this iconoclast dressed as Mary seems to grasp the gravity of her role.  Imogene tilts the doll back and focuses lovingly on its face.  The light catches her profile, allowing the audience to glimpse the tears that glisten on her cheeks.  As she stands there, the realization dawns on the audience that she gets it.  Imogene Herdman finally gets it.  The light fades to darkness and the audience erupts into applause.  Overcome by emotion, I impulsively begin to leap to my feet then realize that would send my son, who I am holding in my lap, tumbling to the floor.  I'm already the only one in the audience crying, so I dial back the embarrassment factor and resign myself to discreetly wiping the tears from my eyes and whisper, "That's it.  That's what I want this Christmas."

My children rush out the doors from Children's Theater into the brisk winter air, joyously twirling and running through the courtyard toward the car, eagerly sharing their thoughts on The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I, on the other hand, walk pensively, mulling over why this simple retelling of the Nativity has moved me to such an extent. Each Christmas, I plan to slow down and capture the magic of the season, yet, after the gifts have been opened, the wrapping paper cleaned up, and the Christmas decorations put away, I find myself feeling a little empty, as if I missed it once again.  Every year, I work harder to discover what's lacking.  It's as if I'm trying to grasp some elusive element of Christmas, that if I loosen my grip whatever I'm grabbing for will slip through my fingers, yet it seems the more desperately I grapple the more evasive it becomes.  What is it that I'm missing?  How can a recalcitrant rebel like Imogene Herdman grasp the grace of the season while I'm left on the outside looking in?  What does it take to rest in the mystery of Emmanuel, God with us?
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This year I have vowed to make Christmas more about others.  Maybe if I give more I'll be left with that warm fuzzy glow that's meant to accompany Christmas.  Yet, for a people-pleasing performance-driven personality like mine, Christmas quickly becomes another opportunity to attempt to earn God's favor.  I order Advent studies for me and the kids.  We create a Random Act of Kindness Advent calendar; I volunteer to assist my dear friend, Heather, in the directing of the children's Christmas program.  I host an Operation Christmas Child Shoe box Packing Party, and while all of these are worthy, wonderful activities, I still find myself feeling as if something's missing.  I empathize with Charlie Brown.  Amid the rushed, chaotic din of the season, I want to raise my hands and exclaim, "Doesn't anybody know what Christmas is all about?"  Or, to rephrase, doesn't anyone really know what the Gospel is all about? Despite being a Christian since third grade, I find myself wondering if I've been missing a key element of what the true ramification of Christ come as man is.  I feel like if I could fit that missing piece into the puzzle then all the rest of the pieces would fall into place and I'd discover what it is missing from Christmas that has left me feeling so frazzled and disillusioned.

I tend to be a bold pray-er.  I find that I so desperately want to know and to please my Father that I'm willing to ask Him to do things like break my heart for what breaks His.  A few weeks before the Christmas season began, I felt compelled to ask God to help me understand the extent of my sinfulness.  I don't think I'm alone when I say that while I comprehend the idea of sin, I find myself thinking that I'm not that bad.  Sure, I sin but there are murderers and evil deviants out there.  Surely, my sin doesn't match theirs. It's this exact, wildly inaccurate sentiment that sent me to my knees.  I longed to understand how filthy my sin appeared before a Holy God.

Not long after I made this petition I experienced a Monday morning that rivaled Alexander's no good, horrible day.  I woke up late; my husband was in bed sick with the flu.  As I made breakfast, I ungratefully mumbled to myself how I'd never get to lie in bed sick all day.  In the middle of my pity party, my son spilled an entire cup of sugary juice onto the coffee table then stood dumbfounded as it poured like a fountain into the floor.  When the last remnants hit the floor, he then decided to call me for assistance.  This was the exact moment my daughter chose to have a DEFCON-1 meltdown.  As I stomped downstairs to take out the recycle pile, I stepped into a puddle of water and discovered that the washing machine had begun to flood the garage.  As I grabbed towels to mop up the water before it ruined my hidden stash of Christmas presents, I actually contemplated lying in the floor to kick and scream in an all-out tantrum.  This was moments before I discovered that the dog had gotten out in the rain and was wandering around the neighborhood soaked.  Did I mention that I had to be at work in fifteen minutes?  At the height of my selfish grumbling, I heard the Holy Spirit gently remind me that, on my own, I didn't even have the power to handle a stressful morning.  I had sinned like ninety-five times in ten minutes.  It hit me that my inability to handle even the slightest provocation without losing it was evidence of my utter depravity before God.  Sin is sin, regardless of whether it's armed robbery or selfish pity parties.  Whatever the transgression it separates me from a Holy God.  In my pride, I often see myself as better than others because I think I've managed to hide my sinfulness in shades of subtlety.

In my helplessness and frustration, God chose an everyday moment to reveal my desperate need for Him. I'd been too caught up in self-righteous legalism, patting myself on the back for following "most" of the rules to see the depth of my own sin, but a rebel like Imogene, who'd spent her life breaking the rules, was broken by the sacrifice of Jesus's birth.  She understood what God's wild grace meant to an insubordinate rebel like her, and she got it.  That, it seemed, is what I had been missing, brokenness over my sin.  It's that realization that makes the news of the Gospel so sweet.  In understanding the depth of my sin, I finally understood the life-changing, life-giving significance of God in a manger born to save all of us, murderers and self-centered tantrum-throwers alike.

While I've been learning about the weight of my sin and my powerlessness to save myself, I've also asked God to help me grasp grace.  If Christmas is about anything, it's about grace, but do we truly comprehend grace?  Grace is wild, uninhibited, and remarkable.  Grace is free; literally, it costs nothing.  Grace should make us giddy, yet I think we're so caught up in the security of our rules and rituals that we fail to grasp the freedom, the joy, the utter astonishment of grace.  We were dead, done, finished, destroyed by our transgression, yet He didn't leave us there.  While we were still sinners, God sent Jesus into the world to save us.  God, Himself, loved us so much that He came to dwell among us then die for us so that we might live. The breathtaking beauty of grace is that cannot be earned.  Grace is free.  Salvation requires no works.  It is by faith alone, yet I think it is the simplicity of the gospel that sometimes makes it so difficult.  Surely there is something I must do.  Enter Christmas.

Christmas isn't about me. It's not about my family.  It isn't about decorating a tree that makes Pinterest hang its head in shame.  It isn't even about the looks on our children's faces Christmas morning as they discover treasures untold lying under the tree.  Christmas isn't about what you do; it's not even about what you do for others.  It's about Him.  Everything about Christmas points to Jesus. Christmas isn't about expecting a miracle, a perfect gift, the perfect lights, the perfect Nativity.  Christmas is the miracle.  Jesus is the hope, the joy, the peace, the love of the season.  As I've spent Christmas after Christmas working to create the perfect holiday, the Holy Spirit has begun to remind me this Christmas that the work was finished over 2,000 years ago on the cross.  All that's left for me to do is to repent, turn to Christ, accept His gift, and trust Him to finish His transforming work, to turn my heart of stone into a heart of flesh.  Christmas is the gospel and the gospel is Jesus.  This season don't overlook the simplicity, the unblemished beauty of Christmas.  It isn't about you.  Don't work so hard that you miss Him. No work is required.  In his astonishing, undeserved love of sinners, God sent His son as a humble baby who grew to become a humble servant that ultimately bore the brunt of our sin.  Christmas is the beginning of a divine mystery that culminated with "it is finished."  It is through the lens of Christ's finished work on the cross that we can clearly see our own purpose in this season, in this life.

Christmas reminds us that Jesus did the work.  It is the grace of Christmas that frees us to open our hearts in gratitude and love.  Christmas isn't dependent on our working to create a perfect memory; it's responding to His great love.  It's in our understanding of and trust in His sacrifice that we are able to reach out in gratitude and share that love with others.  Our call to help others this season isn't a requirement for our salvation; it's a grateful response to His love and to His transforming work in our hearts and lives.  Like Imogene Herdman discovered on the stage of a children's play, the magic of Christmas isn't an elusive mystery to be solved, it isn't an intangible ideal, it's the gritty story of God's love reaching down to sinners lost in their transgression, refusing to accept our rebelliousness. Christmas isn't disappointed, unfulfilled worldly expectations. Christmas is celebrating the relentless love, the unabashed pursuit of our hearts by God; it's the unexpected birth of a Savior.  It is what I had been missing all these years.  Christmas had become more a pursuit of a seasonal ideal and less a pursuit of Christ, so this year, don't get so distracted by trying to find the perfect gift or by trying to create the perfect holiday experience that you miss it.  Take time to look into the face of your precious Savior, extend your hand, and grab hold of the love that He offers.  Don't get so caught up in Christmas that, like me, you fail to see Christ.