Happy No Giftmas to You

WARNING: nothing contained in this essay will be novel. I’m just restating what millions say to themselves every year. Everything you think I will say in this essay is exactly what I will say. Frankly, there’s no reason to read this at all.

American Christmas sucks, an orgy of frenetic credit card spending, harried travel, and booze-soaked office parties that celebrate… what exactly? What exactly are we celebrating when we celebrate Christmas? Surely it is not the birth of Jesus, the dude who says in Matthew 6:19-21 “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” That dude wasn’t elbowing his fellow man out of the way at midnight on Black Friday to get 30% off a new flatscreen.

Surely we’re not celebrating the guy who, in Luke 12:33 says, “Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys.” Do you think, by “moneybags that do not grow old,” he means the Jane Seymour collection at Zales? Do you think the treasure in heaven that does not fail is a Lexus SUV wrapped in an ecologically disastrous plastic red bow?

Those who read this blog know that I am not a Christian, but I am married to a Catholic. We celebrate Christmas every year, and every year I find myself increasingly resentful at this capitalist snuff film of a holiday. We’re spending ourselves into oblivion as it is, and then once a year, we’re expected to shovel even more cash into the fires of perdition for – I’ll ask it again – what exactly?

The reason for the season

What is it we’re celebrating in this season of bloated overabundance? I know it can’t be Jesus, who walked through his life with not much more than a scratchy robe and a beat-up pair of Birkenstocks. Christmas has become nothing more than a celebration of consumerism itself. It’s the day when we throw presents at each other as a forlorn attempt at expressing our love for each other. If only we purchase the perfect gift, the recipient will understand what we have such a hard time communicating in words: “I love you. I value you. I want to give you happiness.”

We scrutinize their reaction upon ripping open the present, we offer to exchange the gift for them if it isn’t perfect. We take umbrage when our love is met with anything other than glee; we worry that we have let the recipient down if we don’t get the right thing, spend enough money, wrap it prettily enough. We worry that one child will feel more loved than the other if their gifts aren’t equal in number and cost. We bundle our love into boxes from Banana Republic and hope it’s enough. It is not because it cannot be. Love does not come with a gift receipt. It is only itself, forever perfect in its essence, forever imperfect in its expression.

I don’t know much about Jesus other than, like Austin Powers, he was all about love, baby. He pointed to love in all things, in all circumstances, among all people. So how did his birthday become a celebration of obligation and indebtedness? What would Jesus think about the way Americans celebrate the miraculous occasion of his birth? What does the Tech Deck 25^th Anniversary 8-Pack Fingerboard set say about charity, fellowship, and mercy? Not much, I’m afraid.

Can we not do away with Christmas presents altogether? Can we not celebrate No Giftmas? In my own household, it’s impossible. My children, now adults, still expect stuffed stockings and shiny boxes under the tree. Every year, my wife insists she wants nothing; every year I disbelieve her. The other day she said, “If you want to get me something…” and then she told me where to buy her a present. Of course, whatever I buy her will be the wrong thing in the wrong color or the wrong size or the wrong style. It’s not my fault and it’s not hers. What’s “wrong” isn’t my choice; it’s the expectation that one of us will somehow manage to fit a material thing into the shape of the other’s heart.

I know I’m a curmudgeon on this subject. I don’t care. For me, December is a season of dread, a month of impossible expectations. It’s a month focused on the economy of the nation rather than the expansiveness of the human heart. I know, I know, objectors will decry that Christmas is about so much more than gift-giving. And I have felt that fabled Christmas spirit in quiet moments with family around the fireplace and in the quiet of Christmas morning before the chaos of present-giving gets underway. I have looked outside and felt the holiness that comes with softly falling snow. And then I have cursed under my breath as I spend an hour stuffing a garbage bag with crumpled wrapping paper.

Every year, I complain about Christmas. Every year, I swear off Christmas gift-giving. Every year, I find myself buying gifts for the people I love and some I do not. Every year, I promise myself it will be my last year doing so, regardless of what people think. If they do not yet know my love for them, then I need to work more on expressing it the other 364 days of the year.

So, yeah, it’s the worst holiday of the year, a day that has come to embody - more than any other occasion - the deep problem of our stifled spirits. It’s a day when we attempt to celebrate the holy with the profane. As I said at the outset, I know I’m not expressing anything new here. I’m just ranting because we’re about two weeks out and my annual Christmas dread compounds by the minute. I know there are those who love this holiday and I acknowledge your cheer even though it is wrong.

Also: Christmas music is terrible.