The lavishness of Christmas

The snow is falling outside my window, calling the prairie landscape back into hibernation for the winter. As I take in this serene pastoral view, my thoughts turn to . . .

Christmas shopping! Ugh. I hate shopping. I hate being in overcrowded, overstocked, overdecorated malls, especially during this hectic season. I’m tempted to give myself over to the idea of a “Buy Nothing Christmas,” a movement started by consumer activist Aiden Enns.

But then I think about my nephew, Jordan. It’s his first Christmas, and I can just picture his chubby face breaking into loud giggles when he opens my fabulous Christmas gifts. And so, I’m off to the mall. The shopping binge begins.

Christmas always causes a dilemma for me. How can I embrace the true meaning of the Christmas season, the celebration of God-with-us, the mystery of God moving into the neighbourhood, the joy of the arrival of the Prince of Peace, without getting caught up in a consumer frenzy?

On one hand, I’m inclined to believe we’re supposed to check out of the frenzy, to make Christmas as simple as possible. On the other hand, I suspect we’re not supposed to avoid it at all.

I wonder if there’s a kernel of truth in the way North American society has shaped its “winter festival.” Maybe Christmas is supposed to be about extravagance and tumult. After all, the birth of Jesus was celebrated with great lavishness and fanfare. Whole families travelled across the countryside. Wise men journeyed from their comfortable schools of learning, carrying valuable treasures. Angels appeared en masse. Starry constellations realigned. Time rotated around the axis of one event. God sent His one and only Son and changed the world in a breath.

Suddenly, I don’t feel so bad about the crazy whirlwind of gift-giving, relative-visiting and cookie-baking that comes with the season. Perhaps the frenzy reminds us of the true meaning of Christmas. Perhaps these festive and frenetic celebrations take us straight to the heart of Christmas and remind us of God’s extravagance toward humanity.

Of course, celebrations can be lavish without incurring lifelong debt. Lavishness might come in the form of time and laughter shared with loved ones, as words of praise and affirmation freely given, in cards received from long lost friends, or as special once-a-year dinner menus. These experiences, these intangible delights, are the stuff that lavishness is made of. No cash required.

So, I’ve decided to embrace a spirit of lavishness this Christmastime, giving myself over to the ridiculous joy of it all. (Was that gift #5 I just bought for my nephew?!) Because, I think, an extravagant spirit is exactly what God offered stingy human hearts over 2000 years ago.