Bah-Humbug!

I hate the commercialism of Christmas time.

And of life in general. Actually this general train of thought had been dancing across my mind. It’s on my extensive list of reasons to never have children – right next to “they’ll have to go to middle school”. I know how compelled I am by commercialism and I look at myself as one with a mild case. How do you raise a kid to not to see fitting in with the pop culture, to be defined by society, to “keep up” with those Osh B’Gosh and Hollister and Nike versions of Jones’ as the greatest good? But instead to be thankful, generous, unattached to product labels and severely attached to what and WHO really matters?? But, and however, for the moment...I digress.

Because while I hate commercialism, I especially hate it at Christmas time.

Because nothing spells "Immanuel, God with us" like making sure I get just what I always wanted.

“Get, Save, Be Merry.”

“I’m gonna get it, I’m gonna get it! ... Is it time yet? Is it time yet? I can’t wait!”

Those were the catch lines and jingles on the last two commercials I watched back to back. Both for retails stores with a gross income in the 10 digit range. “Spend! Spend! Spend!” we’re told. “Because Christmas is about getting. Getting a lot. And if you’re going to get a lot, then you are going to want to save on everything you’re going to spend. And getting and saving = joy. Happy. You like happy? I like happy. So is it time yet?”

Barf.

I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. My rant is an old one. It just doesn’t seem to go anywhere...

“Christmas is about giving not getting!” We tell our kids before buying them expensive toys and the newest hot gadget.

“The Holidays are time to remember those less fortunate!” We say as we throw 23 cents into a Salvation Army pot before driving home to cuddle up in our comfortable houses next to lit trees with warm cups of coffee and dinner in the oven.

“Goodwill, peace to all men!” And we elbow the soccer mom in the navel and ‘accidentally’ step on that middle-aged man’s foot in order to get that last Crockpot for our grandmother at some ridiculously great price. Then we go to work and gloat about our fight for the find.

We know things but we just love our stuff so much more. We get, we spend (as my brother loves to point out, you would save more if you didn’t actually buy), and we convince ourselves that this is the spirit of the season bursting through at the seams.

Gag me with your candy cane fudge dipped spoon.

My favorite Christmas passage is Isaiah’s prophecy in chapter 9. “For unto us a child is given, unto us a son is born...” Just chapters before these epic and familiar words, Isaiah names the coming Messiah as Immanuel – God with us. With the traditional story of census being taken, of a stable and a manger and an obedient Mary and a faithful Joseph, of the outcasted Shepherds becoming the bearers of the messages of angel, Immanuel has become the truest piece of the Christmas story. The “magic” of Christmas is the transcendence of realizing that the perfect love of a God for His creation became tangible in a baby boy who grew up and lived the life of a man (far different and yet not so different from the one most of us want out of most days) to die, to live. So that we would never have to know life where God wasn’t with us.

It is the reason that Christmas is about giving. About peace. About goodwill. And we best demonstrate the so-called “spirit of the season” when we are willing to embody what it means, looks like, sounds like to have Immanuel – God with us. Do people feel like God is with them when we come near? We are bearers of the world’s greatest gift...”Christ in you, the hope of glory”. Does Immanuel become all the more apparent, obvious, at Christmas?

How many, instead, question where Jesus is on Christmas? Cynically laugh and throw their finger at the nearest church manger scene. “Great story. Too bad it doesn’t actually matter!”

Maybe holiday commercialism isn’t all to blame. It can’t be solely responsible for our delinquent behaviour. But it definitely plays a part when it gets worshipped before and sometimes alone (doesn’t matter, if we’re worshipping both, we my as well worship just one. Yahweh demands no other gods) in place of the One who came to dwell among us. I don’t know, I guess I’d rather not just be known as the one who “gives good gifts” and rather be known as the one who holds a Great Gift to be given...