Christmas: Presence, not presents

I awake Christmas Eve morning agitated, anxious, jittery. The holiday weekend has begun; I have family and friends to look forward to, yet I am nervous out of habit. I feel punch-drunk from the brutal exchange of expectations from Christmases past, and trod dutifully back for another beating.

My pen and journal have helped calm my restless legs each morning this week, and again I reach for them to dig beneath the current of my racing thoughts. How did I come to be so would up around Christmas each year? What messages did I ingest to make the advent of the Prince of Peace so profoundly disquieting?

I remember the ramp-up: pressure around the tree and decorations; Christmas music required on-hand to ritually trigger desired memories and affect. And then there was Christmas morning, when we finally plumb the depths under the tree, desperate for the proper blend of presents and responses to our gifts so to pique our high; only to settle, spent, afterwards into an empty ennui of wondering what gift or experience we must have missed. The whole thing invested with so much performance that we might as well be seducing santa into our beds for a one-night stand.

What is it we are looking for under the tree? Didn't our parents promise us, in December especially but also throughout the year, that if we simply behaved, Santa would take note and reward us Christmas morning? And why would they need to promise this, except that their parenting skills fell short of making an imperfect world palatable to us and, instead of accepting this human flaw and sitting with us to show one can accept such pain in the moment, they displace it to a yearly reckoning wherein a bearded intruder settles the account with gifts.

The dynamics diverge for each family, from orgiastic cheer to unwrapped cartons of cigarettes; from semblances of the family unit, to parents fractured in relationship and psychology alike. There are always variations on a theme. But, almost uniformly, we trace our parents' footsteps in an annual pilgrimage back to the tree, to exchange gifts and hope it somehow fills the void. What we are looking for, boxed up under ornaments and lights, is the love our parents were unable to give.

When we obsess over choosing the perfect gift for our loved ones - with cost and thoughtfulness matched to what they mean to us - we are trying to assuage our guilt for what we have yet again failed to offer, in time or patience or care throughout the year. Contrast this to the gift God gave to us on the same holiday: nothing but his naked, vulnerable, dependent self.

The baby in the manger came with no frills, inside jokes, or utilitarian purpose. He came simply to be with us. He offered himself in purest form, with no adornments. How often do we think ourselves alone inadequate, our presence insufficient if we fall short in the number or value of gifts we put forth? Though we see in the wise men's frankincense and myrrh that a gift of simple presence may inspire an appreciative response that has material aspects, these cannot substitute for the real thing. Both the bible and our own hearts remind of us this, every Christmas morning.

The revolutionary statement Christ made in his first simple moments on Earth applies not just to Christmas, but all year round; at every moment we can stop and be with each other, with our children, remembering that Emmanuel means God With Us. Every day we are threatened with openings to intimacy, with the possibility of eye contact, of showing something true on our face. But not often enough do we accept God's first gift to us - the gift of coming alongside us, being ready for us without an agenda, of affirming we are enough, just as we are. This is the gift that can settle us down. That can end the ache of unrequited love that is chased throughout generations. This is the gift we have been looking for from our parents all along.

Each Christmas, we gather in the dead of winter, starved of presence, craving presents. This Christmas, let us follow God, and simply give ourselves.


Merry Christmas everybody. Please be introduced to this wonderful and a propos track from my friends at Church of the Beloved:

"our gift is not what we can do but who we are."
http://belovedschurch.org/hope/given.php