Christmas morning we opened our presents at home… Saint John, New Brunswick… frost on the windows and a fire in the hearth. Then, we loaded the car and drove 186 miles to Bangor, Maine… home of Grammy and Grampie Crabtree.

They lived in a whitewashed parsonage with narrow dormers and a brick walk slick with ice in the winter and moss in the summer. A mammoth blue spruce, laden with snow, stood in a circle drive that served the house and the church. My grandparents lived in a Christmas postcard. Upon our arrival we opened more presents and gathered round a large dining room table for a veritable Christmas feast. I can see it, hear it, smell it… turkey and hot rolls, old stories punctuated with laughter, and Grampie carving away with that revolutionary new invention: the electric carving knife.

My Grandparents are home in heaven now, having left a legacy of faith and love and countless Christmas memories. My parents still travel on Christmas. They come to see us, and our kids… and this year… a new generation.

Roles have changed over time. I lead the Christmas production crew now. We make Christmas memories. Our house is Christmas central. This year will be something special. Oh, I know my twin grandsons won’t remember their first Christmas, but we will. We’ll gather around a Christmas table and tell old stories, celebrate new life, and remember the Baby who changed the world. We’ll gather in the relative luxuries of modernity and remember the one who became “poor that we might be made rich.” We’ll be a bit crowded, but that’s never a problem in a house of love.

On Christmas morning, I’ll be up early to light a fire and start the coffee. If we could only have a bit of snow and frosted windows, it just might be our best Christmas yet.

How far we have come. We enjoy common comforts unknown to kings and emperors of old. We travel in luxury at speeds unimagined just a century ago. We have mastered the skies, and now test the potentials of travel through space. What used to take hours, now takes the flip of a switch, or the tripping of a motion detector. The world is at our fingertips… 4G and counting. Medical barriers are falling. The world is shrinking. Hopes and dreams that once seemed fanciful are now in our reach. We hold in our hands the power to exterminate the whole world by bomb or bug. Policemen of the world work overtime to keep us from that terminal destiny. We’re not in Nazareth anymore! We’ve left the Greeks and Romans in our dust. We’ve come so far, and yet we really haven’t really changed that much.

No matter his ingenuity, man cannot invent a new an improved morality. We are still killing, raping, looting, hating, stealing, scheming and wounding. Our most recent chapter (century) is stained in blood. We are still Adam’s fallen race… still incapable of conquering sin… still denying the God who made us… still ignoring the straight path in favor of our own way.

Having come so far from the poverty of Bethlehem, we yet suffer the poverty of the soul… and that’s why what happened in a stable some two thousand years ago matters. We need a Savior, and for that, all roads lead to Bethlehem. In an age of reinvented governments and realigned superpowers, cratering economies and clamoring philosophies, we need something beyond ourselves. That “something” is a Someone who came as the answer to a longing we attempt to satisfy with pleasure, power, or prideful invention… a longing for redemption.

The Bible contains many prophecies concerning Christ, and the Gospels record their fulfillment in Christ. Nowhere, from Genesis to Revelation, is Christmas (as we know it) prescribed.

The Christmas celebration is our invention. It does not figure in the feasts of the tabernacle, was not anticipated by the prophets, was not commanded by Jesus, nor instituted by Peter or Paul. The angels don’t “deck the halls with boughs of holly” so far as we can tell. The apostles didn’t leave the upper room to gather ‘round an evergreen. Christmas is our invention, and we invest the day, or the season, with meaning.

You might want to shake me and say… “Wake up! Christ was born on Christmas Day!” I would simply point out that we don’t know on what day He came to the world, and celebrating the greatest story ever told should not be confined to one day of our ancestor’s choosing. I’m simply saying… He’s bigger than Christmas! I’m calling for more, not less.

So… we’ve got some time off for a holiday, let’s make it a holy day. We’ve got huge traditions that fuel good will and peace on earth… let’s celebrate and lead the parade. But let’s not confine the most important moment in all of time to a day, or season.

Giving gifts should not be extraordinary behavior for Christian people, nor limited to Christian “holy” days. Shouldn’t we be people who are moved by God to generosity in July as well as December? Is a token of love and appreciation ever really out of season? Shouldn’t we marvel at “God with us, Immanuel” when September leaves are falling? Must we, to steal a lyric, “save it all for Christmas day?”

Only seventeen days ‘til Christmas. Why not start our celebration now? How about a few moments of sincere prayer, with thanks, followed by loving activity that gives evidence of Christ in us.

There is a new sobriety this Christmas season and it’s not due to a revival of holiness or reverence. A glut of bad news stifles optimism and breeds negativity. The “holly, jolly” Christmas borne of bull markets is muted. The bears are growling. The Christmas bell is silent. Scrooge is smiling like the Grinch who stole the nest egg, and Santa’s little elves are all unemployed.

Retailers are predicting a “cold” shopping season, and they weren’t talking about the weather. In the midst of rising unemployment, sky-high fuel prices, bailouts, and a loss of consumer confidence, Christmas expectations were severely downsized. Some were talking of a retail disaster, the dawning of an economic ice age. Some were predicting the leanest Christmas in two decades. Although no one advocated the cancellation of the season or predicted a ban on Christmas lights, one wonders if part times Santa’s were advised to go a little easy on the ho-ho-ho’s!

Yet, there is something good – very good – emerging on this decimated holiday scene. While the almighty dollar suffers with a bad case of the flu, we might just be left, on Christmas morning, with the essence of it all. We might just rediscover the reason for it all. Could it be? Could we, in the silence of the cash register, find a treasure more precious than gift cards; more costly than diamonds, more beautiful than a wet winter snow on a fur tree forest? The greatest loss at Christmas cannot be measured by economic indicators. Our greatest loss came with the intoxication of prosperity. Somewhere, in the mad rush for more, we lost sight of what Christmas truly is. We got bogged down in gooey Christmas flicks and were mesmerized twinkling lights. We felt driven to give big presents and run up our debts with little concern for their payment. We were conditioned to celebrate the holiday, throwing caution to the winds, though we may have forgotten just who was being honored. People talked about the “Christmas spirit,” but ignored the Holy Spirit causing the only virgin birth in history. People talked of Christmas cheer but neglected its source. Somehow, the story was buried under a mountain of mythology and marketing. But now greed has blown off all the covers, tripped over the plug and killed the lights, and if your heart will listen… you might just hear an angel chorus singing.

Every Christmas, Christians celebrate the Gift that surpasses all measure; the Gift beyond economies; the extravagant Gift that lives, and gives, and helps. In my lifetime I’ve opened hundreds of gifts. Most, I have welcomed, and some I have loved, but no gift ever loved me back. No gift ever changed my life. No gift held a hint of the miraculous, or the hope of enduring beyond my years. All gifts, no matter their monetary value, pale in comparison to the Gift of all gifts: a Savior who is Christ the Lord.

You can keep your grumpy Santa’s, tired myths, and fake snow, I’m dreaming of a right Christmas. It’s the kind of Christmas that warms the heart with love. It’s the kind of Christmas that fills the soul with awe. It’s the kind of Christmas that doesn’t need a stimulus package. It’s the kind of Christmas that doesn’t know a bear from a bull. It’s the kind of Christmas that opens the ancient text to reveal the always present Lord. It’s joy in a down market, good news in a bad news world, hope beyond politics, and certainty in a lost age. It’s the kind of Christmas once lost in a blizzard of marketing, now easily found by all who will look to the Bethlehem manger and listen to greatest story ever told.

Benjamin Franklin was credited with the saying, “nothing is certain but death and taxes.” But Ben was wrong. Christmas is forever. Christmas is a celebration of certainties. The Word became flesh. God came down to man. Eternal Hope was born. A new and living way was opened to forever. Death was dealt a fatal blow. Taxes belong only to the temporal, and the story of the baby in a manger will be cerebrated when a million ages have come and gone. Christmas is the ultimate “sure thing.” It cannot be cancelled, even if markets are shaken and dollars devalued. Christmas doesn’t belong to the retailer, it belongs to the faithful storyteller. It belongs to the captivated worshipper. It belongs to all who believe in the Savior, not the season.

Let’s take back Christmas from those who have covered its glory with tinsel and trinkets. We can give more, even as we spend less. Love is the ultimate gift. So often our pricey gifts are cheap substitutes to sooth a troubled conscience. Time is a wonderful gift. To its recipient, it says, “you matter to me.” Help is a timeless gift that never falls out of season. Encouragement is a rare gift, so easily given, but so strangely absent in our self-centered days. Grace is a treasured gift that does even more for the giver than for the receiver, and what about forgiveness? Wouldn’t our Christmas celebrations be forever remembered and marked with integrity if we let everybody off the hook? Aren’t we celebrating the One who came to wash our sins away?

This could be the greatest Christmas we’ve ever known. The absence of excess might just awaken us to the presence of Majesty. Christmas is the celebration of a King who became poor that we might be made rich.

And that brings me back to Scrooge. Scrooge was rich… and mean, and miserly, and miserable. He didn’t understand that Christmas has its own currency that cannot be devalued. Scrooge measured his riches in numbers and gold. We measure our riches in God.

Would it be dependent on a robust economy?
Is it a question of disposable income?
Would it look like something from Norman Rockwell or Thomas Kinkade?
Is snowy weather a must?
Would it require an extensive family reunion?
Are family reunions and “peace on earth” compatible?
Must a table be spread like a Babylonian feast?
Is caroling optional?
Would it be ok if the television shorted out?

Go back through the years.
Turn the pages of your Christmas chapters.
What made the best ones best?

Replaying the memories of Christmas past, I’ve drawn up a composite of what a great Christmas looks like for my family.

In our storybook Christmas, Christ is at the center and giving is at the heart.
Family comes together and the scriptures are opened.
Tears and joy are equally welcome.
Worship marks our Christmas prayers.
Love abounds. Laughter comes easy.
Generations enjoy a happy collision and nobody gets hurt.
Our storybook Christmas a soaked in thanksgiving.
And the familiar story in Luke 2 inspires reverent awe.
This Christmas, we all write another chapter in the books of our lives. What chapter will you write? – a tender chapter – a bitter chapter – a selfish chapter – a gracious chapter – a final chapter – a redemptive chapter?
Take a few minutes to outline what your storybook Christmas might entail. Put down your pen. Put off all excuses. Put on a smile… and make it happen.

What Christmas would you revisit, if only you could?
Maybe the Christmas you got what you hoped for?
Would it be that last Christmas with Dad, or the year before the fighting started?
Maybe you would choose to revisit the wonder years?
Would you step back over hurt feelings and scandals to a simpler day when less was more, and loving came easy?
Would you go back to the age of sleds and toboggans?
Would you choose to make the moments into memories?

If the doors you thought locked were now standing wide open, would you rewrite the script that determined your path?
If only the best could be passed to the future – if only the warmest of memories survived. We would all go back to relive precious moments, but yesterday died at midnight and it cannot be revived.

With the past unreachable, and tomorrow uncertain, the only domain we can seize is the “now.”
We are standing in a workshop filled with great memories yet to be assembled.
If only we could see what miracles could be birthed in this Christmas season.
We hold in our hearts, great intentions; unspoken sentiments; healing words; acts of love.
We’re just days away from the best we have known if only we choose to let Christmas prevail; if only we choose to give more than we’re getting; if only we, like Jesus, come down to earth from our lofty positions to humble ourselves and bring joy to the world.

My name is Simeon and my life is drawing to a close. Very soon I will go to my fathers. I have no dread of that hour. These last days of my life will be lived with great joy, for today my life’s purpose was fully met.

Few men finish their course with such a sweet sense of completion. All too often I’ve watched death extinguish the light in the eyes of a despairing friend who passed on thinking they had been robbed of something . . . that life wasn’t fair. I’ve seen the struggle – the resistance – the reluctance, as if the time was not right – as if there was some urgent unfinished business. It won’t be that way for me. No, if death calls me this hour, I’ll embrace it gladly.

The peace I feel makes me want to weep and laugh at the same time. On one hand I want to shout the news to the world and on the other, treasure it in my heart like a most precious secret. Just today, in the temple courts, I saw Him . . . I touched Him, and when I took Him in my arms I thought my heart would stop beating. I felt the fire of God in my bones. The Spirit of the Lord came upon me, and the words that flowed in that moment of anointing sealed the purpose of my life. His mother said His name was Jesus . . . I call Him Messiah.

Even as a boy, I believed – and not just because of the teaching of the priests – no, as a child I felt God’s presence and I sought Him earnestly. When my teachers spoke of Messiah, an unanswerable longing filled my heart. I found myself drawn to the temple continually with one prayer on my lips; “Oh Lord, let me live to see Messiah!” The more I prayed, the deeper my longing. Then one day God spoke to me as I was praying. His words were few, but unmistakable. I caused quite a scene in the courtyard of the temple that day, weeping and rejoicing with such abandon that the priests and gatekeepers thought I had lost my mind. I didn’t tell them what Jehovah said – He didn’t tell me to tell anyone – but I’ll tell you now; “Simeon” He said, “I’ve heard your prayer, and I’ve seen the longing of your heart. You shall not taste of death until you have seen the Messiah.”

Years have passed. I’m alone now. My wife and my friends have gone down to the grave. My body is old and my strength is ebbing away. But today I saw Him, just as I knew I would. I knew. . . I knew in that moment I knew that He was the Light of Revelation to the Gentiles, and the Glory of Israel. I knew who He was, this baby in the arms of a Carpenter! And now, I can rest. Though the prophet Isaiah is now seven centuries dead, the great light he prophesied was shining in the temple courts today in the eyes of a baby boy.

A silver mist BMW with a tree strapped to the top is parked sideways taking up two parking spots. Sap drips onto the hood, ruining the paint the driver protected by taking two spots: poetic justice.

Inside, the checkout lines go on forever. Parents hold tight to the “must have” toys as the line creeps along. “Price check on 3!” calls the cashier. Thirty people groan in unison and gauge their chances at the other registers. Twenty minutes later you walk back to your car having found the gift but lost the “Christmas spirit” in a toy store. The old Welch Carol says, “tis the season to be jolly.” If it were only so!

The season that drowns out the sacred is anything but jolly. Christmas, for many, is something to get through. It’s a hunt, a race, a competition for best gift or best party. The pressure can make people mean, stressed, cranky, rude, irrational, weepy, depressed, or bitter – and that’s before the credit card statement arrives!

We need to slow down. We should go back to Matthew and Luke, read the story, and rescue Christmas. Tis so much more than “the season to be jolly”.

It’s the season for thanksgiving, humility, grace, and generosity.
It’s the season for peace, hope, light, and memories.
It’s a season for cheer, mercy, joy, and kindness.
It’s a season for gifts, family, friends, and prodigals.
It’s a season for smiles, goodness, laughter, and children.
Above all, it’s a season to remember that God so loved the world that He gave. What better thanks can we offer for this gift than to give with that same generosity, and to love with selfless passion?