Simple. Sacred.

When I was growing up, I knew two versions of Christmas.  There was the Santa-version, with reindeer and presents, and stockings that abundantly overflowed.  And then there was the religious version, with a manger, the baby Jesus, angels, and Wise Men from the East who carried stuff I couldn’t pronounce.  And I always understood this latter version to be “the real Christmas”, even if it lacked the pizzazz of flying reindeer and magical elves. 

In my youthful psyche, these two versions of Christmas were decidedly uncomplicated, and not mutually exclusive.  For Santa-Christmas, I bought presents for my family with money that I didn’t really earn, and wrapped said presents with paper my Mom purchased.  I helped my Mom with the cooking a little.  I might have set the table for Christmas dinner.  Oh, and I made cookies for Santa Claus.   Very simple.  As for the religious Christmas?  I went to Church.  I attended a Christmas Eve service, and held my candle high in the air while I sang Silent Night.  I stared at the greenery and bright red bows that draped our sanctuary, listened to the story that ended in Bethlehem, and said my prayers.  Very simple. 

Yes, it was all very simple.  Until the year I truly grew up, and really started contributing to the Christmas I’d known as a child.  I think the turning point was late college—back when I still had obscenely long breaks and lots of time to kill.  I proudly announced to my Mom that I’d be helping this year….and I delivered.  I shopped for aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents.  I purchased the wrapping, and sat hunched over the kitchen table wrapping every gift.  I did the grocery shopping for Christmas dinner, studying recipes and planning my menu.  I cooked the meal (with some help).  And when we visited family?  I was aware of family dynamics.  I looked for subtle cues as to whether people really liked their gifts, or just sorta did.  And when the whole whirlwind was over, I felt exhausted.  I felt really relieved the whole “business” of Christmas was behind me.  And I felt sorry for my Mom, who’d been doing this for as long as I could remember. 

Fun. Not-so-simple.

It’s funny though—that other Christmas?  The one with a manger and shepherds and a big old star?  It never became any more complicated.  And it still doesn’t.  No matter what chaos I create in my secular-Santa-Christmas, this other version is the one that remains quiet, peaceful, and actually…pretty simple.  I don’t bring this up to make a religious statement, or make any naïve proclamations that I will forego Santa Claus.   I realize there are all sorts of religious and spiritual traditions.  And frankly, I like Santa.  He’s a nice guy, and I wouldn’t want to lose him.  But I wonder…

I wonder how different the holidays would be if words like “sacred” and “spiritual” were as likely to come out of my mouth as “sale”.  I wonder how stressed I would be if I chose the Christmas that was all about mystery, blessings, generosity, and gratitude.  I wonder what would happen if I spent my holidays in quiet contemplation.  What does it mean that when I feel myself overwhelmed with the season, I always retreat to the sacred, the spiritual…the quiet?  Those are the moments that feel simple. 

No matter what your beliefs, I’d venture to guess we all feel that teeter-totter of holiday focus.  The battle between Santa and spiritual simplicity.  The need to make the season more about faith in a better world than faith in a guy in a red suit.  I don’t have a solution.  For now, I guess I need both.  I don’t think I can ever give up my two versions of Christmas.  So I’ll keep trying to make my secular Christmas more reasonable—more simple.  And when I’ve had it?  I’ll sit in my living room—the perfect expression of both Christmas realities.  My nativity scene sits on a table, in all its simple glory.  And it shines in the light of my Christmas tree, with stockings hanging patiently overhead.  

Is it hard for you to get in touch with your religious or spiritual side over the holidays?  How do you find balance?