Christmas

Due to me having ‘bloggers’ block again, I am posting a writing from Louis Brittz on Christmas. In many ways he expresses what I feel toward Christmas in the modern day, but his ending really got me just now.

Christmas, christmas. What to say?

If it weren’t for the vast splotches of red everywhere I guess I’d be O.K.

This is an unchangeable fact of life: Red is the base colour of Christmas. And it insults my sense of good taste. Red is the colour of fire engines, stop signs and matadors. It says danger! Stop! Anger! It’s also the hue of measles, pimples and other wortlike growths. Do we need a whole season clothed in it? Stuffed up men dressed in it from top to bottom, on every corner of every shopping mall?
Whole department stores transformed into fever factories? How is this supposed to make me happy?

And if it weren’t for the Christmas bells I could cope.

I’m not from Switzerland. I’m not a goat or a cow. The ringing of a high-pitched bell doesn’t loosen the hidden merriment deep in my soul. To me a bell means that it’s time to go to class. That there’s a fire warning somewhere. That I must leave the significant things I’m doing to go wash up for dinner. That I must get out of bed! It’s a disturbing sound. It’s too high, too shrill, too clear and too piercing. It’s a javelin stuck in my inner ear. Satan’s arrow, I’m sure. It’s the blinding flash of white light behind my left eye before the headache settles in.

In fact, it’s the exact opposite of the warm, gurgling sound generated by an electric guitar played through a tube amp. If that doesn’t sum it up for you, you’re lacking in paradigm and I weep for you.

And what’s up with the fascination with snow? Where did the idea of a white Christmas come from and why is it so romantic?

Snow works great in pictures. Pretty and pristine. But that’s a lie. Up close it’s filthy, wet and horrible to drive on. And very, very cold. In truth I’m a bit biased (and maybe jealous?) because I’m from South Africa. Christmas for us is a sundrenched day at the beach. Dreaming of a white Christmas in South Africa…could get you thrown into prison. (Please consider our political history).

Oh, and then there’s the floral paper with bows on them that we wrap our too-expensive gifts in.

Floral paper.
Bows, for crying out loud.

What is this, the Seventies?

And woman in church who sing too high. Why is it at Christmas that all the woman sing too high? Why are Christmas songs so written that they almost always support a piercing soprano harmony? Is this the enemy’s way of keeping musical people out of church at Christmas? Should I consider spiritual warfare?

…So I don’t celebrate Christmas…or do I?
Of course I do.

I’m not enough of a non-conformist as to abstain. I’m not Ebenhaezer Scrooge!
I have a family after all, and this is such a great family time. And what harm could be done, I ask myself, in celebrating Christmas with the rest of the world? It’s such a non-violent thing. If it has an aura, I can only imagine it pink. Peachy, rosy, soft and warm…what ever.

I’m just really glad that Christmas doesn’t originate from the Bible like the real Christian celebrations. That God didn’t tell me to do Christmas or He’d frown upon me and smite me. Because then I’d have to go all out for it. As you can imagine, I’d have to really dig deep and I’m afraid the well might be found dry.

Oh, but I’m happy for the kids! For them Christmas is the most splendid time of the whole year. Gifts, food, merriment, more gifts, more food. And a general license to do some things that they would never get away with during the rest of the year. And for the same reasons I’m happy for us grown-ups. We get a semi-Christian-like festival filled with wonder, amazement and a touch of magic. We get the excuse to make contact with our inner child and say to it “Come out to play.”

Christmas is when I retreat into my head, look at the whole shebang and think: “If only I never grew up.”
But then, I feel like that most days.

Jesus,
I’m sorry that I’m such a partypooper. That I have to be so adult, morose and “real” about everything. Sorry for shattering the postcard-picture that gleefully romantic people have of a very happy season. I concede that Christmas is cool. You were born in a manger, which is a very special place to be born for a human. You were born of a virgin, and I don’t think it had ever happened before. Nore has it happened since. There was that very special star, the shepherds, the wonderful gifts that wise men brought, bad old King Herod who tried so hard to get at you…It’s a pretty amazing story and it deserves to be told. I can even imagine that You’re behind the whole Christmas-hype. How else would we get the whole non-Christian world to sing carols with your name in and be reminded that the Word became flesh and they called you Jesus?

And at the barest,most basic minimum, every person ever born should get to have a birthday. On this earth, what we call Christmas is as close as you will come.

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