Ready for Christmas?

It seems to be the question of the season this year.  More people than ever have asked me, "Are you ready for Christmas, then?"  My response is the non-committal, "As ready as I'll ever be."  It's a question that does demand some serious thought, however.  What does it mean to be 'ready for Christmas'?

Christmas, and consequentially to be ready for it, means different things to different people.  At one end of the spectrum is the religious festival, commemorating the arrival of a baby.  At the other is a sequence of gatherings and parties focused solely on enjoying the company of friends, eating and drinking as much as you feel comfortable with ... or perhaps a little more than that!

To be ready for a religious festival falls on the shoulders of a few who are organising it, although - in our church at least - that few tends to be quite a sizeable number, as more and more are willing to get involved.  But for the average attender, a little forethought is probably the only preparation required, so long as you can get to the venue on time.

At the other extreme, a great deal of organising is involved, laying in stocks of traditional food, nibbles and drinks, decorating the house, preparing games and amusements, maybe organising live music for a big party.  And this is all in addition to the writing and receiving of loads of Christmas cards, and the buying, wrapping and delivering of all kinds of presents, graded in size and value according to the closeness of the relationship to the recipient.

I was ready for my own marking of the season some weeks ago.  Cards were bought, written and stacked up for posting, a few simple gifts prepared and wrapped, and some 'alternative gifts' arranged.  That's not to say that there aren't one or two 'extra' food items, but as one who has neither room nor aptitude to entertain in any meaningful way, these are necessarily few.  For me one of the greatest excitements is the arrival of cards, and the messages - some long, some short and concise - that they bring.

One evening this week, I had a phone call from the God-daughter of a second cousin, who had been passed, for the second year running, my card and newsletter that had been sent to him.  In a wave of overwhelming embarrassment and guilt, she realised that she'd never got around to phoning me last year to tell me that he'd died two Christmases ago!  After reassuring her that she shouldn't worry about that, that these things happen, and so on, I began to look at my card list and noting the absence of cards from one or two other elderly people, wondering whether they, too, might have fallen off the twig of life during the past twelve months.

As I noted last week, many friendships and relationships like this are only updated once a year in this way.  It's a worthwhile exercise to look through the cards before recycling them, to reflect on the notes that have come with them.  One chap who, so far as I knew had remained unmarried for fifty years, had this year added to his greeting, '... and family'.  Another card enclosed the usual single sheet listing all the children, grandchildren and now great-grandchildren, out of which I think I recognised just one name.  Another, which doesn't usually enclose a letter, brought news of a son who had taken his young family off to Australia following up a job offer.  The job didn't work out, and he's now looking for work there.

There comes a point - perhaps midway through the following week - when the parties are over, the energy completely sapped and the larder empty and you begin to ask, "Was it all worth it?"  Unless something really exciting or really terrible has happened, this is another question that's difficult to answer, until that date in January when all the bills have to be paid, and you realise that it was definitely not worth it, and wonder why you bothered!

One reason that most people bother was expressed in a familiar saying I overheard in the supermarket the other day, "It's all about the children, isn't it?"  In a way, that's true, of course.  It's all about that baby in a manger in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago.  But He didn't come just for children: He came as a child, but for us all.  In the sense in which I heard that remark, I have to agree, though.  The sense of awe and excitement that only children seem to be able freely to express certainly evaporates once they've grown up. 

In times past Christmas Day was only the start of a celebration that would go on until Twelfth Night.  The Yule log - in some houses a whole tree-trunk - would be burned from one end, and pushed further into the grate as the days passed, while the celebrations continued.  The modern Christmas razzmatazz, however, stops abruptly with, or even before, the new year, as commerce moves on. 

Today's focus is on the build up to one big day; the whole season of Advent, which puts Christmas into perspective, is squeezed out.  Without this background that gives Christmas its purpose, modern man is lost for a motive for his celebration.  Without that motive, it's little wonder that the celebration falls flat on its face once the food is eaten and the booze is gone; little wonder that we ask 'was it all worth it?'

So, with a sincerity that only some will recognise, I wish all of my readers a truly Blessed Christmas.