But Christmas IS A Religious Holiday

A couple of weeks before Christmas, my mother informed me that a few of my close family members -- namely my cousin’s husband and their two sons, both my brother’s age -- had decided that they wouldn’t be accompanying us to Church on Christmas Eve this year. Basically, they thought the whole thing was pretty stupid, and after years of hating it, had finally chosen to opt out. We’d still be going to their house for our annual Christmas Eve party after the service, but my cousin, her daughter, and our aunt would be going with us alone. Having been aware of their dislike of the tradition, I was, suffice to say, not surprised. However I was inexplicably still shocked by their decision to split their family down the middle on Christmas Eve, and more than a little annoyed.

Now, as someone who is a Confirmation Class dropout and is pretty much against the concept of organized religious establishments in general, I feel slightly hypocritical here. Who am I to look down my nose at those who choose not to participate when I myself could easily be criticized for allowing my church attendance to decline to "Christmas and sometimes Easter?" And aren't I the person who created my own religion (Jessism) in order to allow it to be something of my own definition, turing my back on the label of “Protestant” and even “Christian?”

Although it's true that I'm not exactly traditional in my religious affiliations, many may be surprised to discover that I do pray nightly and consider myself a very spiritual person. I just think spirituality is a personal search which involves constant questioning -- a process which would be stifled by joining a fixed authority who claims to have all the answers. The idea that ANY human, whether he’s a homeless schizophrenic with an End is Near sign or the Pope, can have any concrete answers is what initially turned me against organized religion in the first place. That said, I still felt that it was wildly inappropriate and egotistical for my cousins to skip out on Christmas Eve service.

In fact, I was surprised at how strongly I felt this -- it really didn't directly effect me, so why was I so upset by it?

Well, my first problem with it was that it went in the face of tradition -- a big thing in our family, given our deep historical ties to the area and our relatives. In this case, the Holmes/Anderson/Weeks clan has belonged to the Second Church almost since it was founded in 1738. The church building we worship in now was built in 1828 - almost exactly the same time as my house, the Holmestead. The drawing on the church bulletin covers was done by my grandmother, Muriel Weeks. Her sister, Emmy Holmes, still holds the record for having the been a member the longest -- over 80 years. After she died, they named the rose garden and one of the Bibles after her. Everyone on my mother's side of the family either got married there, or had the church's minister marry them at home. And every Christmas Eve, our DNA has rested in one of Second Church's old wooden pews.

But more than all that, I just honestly can’t imagine NOT going.

Religious aspects aside, I enjoy being there as a family. I love walking down the aisle and sitting in the velvet seats which are just narrow enough to be uncomfortable. I love thumbing through the Bibles to see who has the one dedicated to Aunt Emmy, then arguing over who got stuck with the most abused candle. I love flipping through the aging songbook to find the my favorite hymn (and arguably the most inane one ever written) so I can whisper it aloud during the sermon and make everybody crack up:

“One was a soldier, and one was a priest,
and one gotten eaten by a big wild beast. .”

Even after having done it twenty-four times, I still feel like a child when the gold chandeliers dim, and the deacons begin passing around the candlelight. I love watching it flicker off the wood and the wreaths and the eyes of my family members -- even as my cousins try to set each other’s hair on fire -- as the flames dance together, creating a warm, communal glow. And I love belting out carols and hearing my voice mix with my mother’s tone-deaf soprano, my father’s deep, echoing alto, my brother’s I-come-in-at-the-chorus-when-I-know-the-words tenor.

If it wasn’t for this night, I don’t think the four of us would ever sing together. I cherish that.

It’s an important constant -- no matter what else happens, on the 24th of December, we’re standing there, getting burned by running wax and singing Joy to the World. It’s familiar and comforting, like hot chocolate after sledding. I know they feel the same way, which is why my mother, atheist that she is, still goes, and I’m certain why my brother never questioned going as well despite his cousins’ decision. However, just doing something for tradition’s sake alone really isn’t a great reason to do it, not if you’re miserable every waking moment. Because of this, I can't completely condemn my cousins’ choice to hock tradition, although I am saddened by it.

So why the anger?

Well, that’s because going to church on Christmas is not just about tradition -- its about religious observance. It’s about humility. Despite my personal objections to the religious organization as an establishment, it seems wrong to me to say, “I don’t believe that Jesus was anybody special, but please give me a $500 iPod anyway.” Christmas in the United States is such an overblown, often selfish, commercial venture that I think its important to take at least a little time to think about what, exactly, it is we’re celebrating. As Charlie Brown famously asked, “Can somebody please tell me what Christmas is all about?” Well Blockhead, it’s about the Son of God being born. . . and if you don’t take some time to acknowledge that somewhere and give it it’s proper respect, then why the hell are you celebrating Christmas in the first place?

I mean, would you just one day decide, not being Jewish and never having attended Temple, to go out and buy a Menorah and some plastic dreidels and expect to receive Hanukkah gifts?

Of course not.

So why is it okay to put up a tree and a Santa lawn ornament, ignore the birth of Christ, and get presents?

Unfortunately, unlike other holidays, our country has secularized many aspects of Christmas to the extent that it now inhabits an ambiguous category in many people’s minds. We argue about what to call the giant decorated pine tree in Rockefeller Center, we say “Happy Holidays” in stores, we get work off, regardless of our religious affiliations, and many children from Jewish or other religious faiths believe in Santa or decorate trees. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with this, but it has led to the creation of a bipolar idea of Christmas - a personality split between the religious observance and something else. For a country which has always walked a thin line between a Christian nation and a secular one (We’re the country which separates church and state and where Christmas is still technically illegal in Massachusetts, but has “In God We Trust” on our money and has a “Christian Right” political force), Christmas is a very confused holiday.

But as Ma Ingalls said on Little House on the Prairie, “It’s Christ’s birthday, not ours.” So what the hell are we doing?

Despite these problems, one thing is certain: Christmas, whether being celebrated religiously or secularly, is universally about several things: tradition, family, thanksgiving, humility, and generosity. It is taking time to spend with family, it is a time to give thanks, it is a time to think of others when we are so often focused on ourselves, and it is a time to give for the sake of giving, without expecting reward.

Therefore, why WOULDN'T you go to church, especially if the rest of your family prefers you be there? Going to church for an hour or two once a year never killed anybody, and it allows you to accomplish all those things which often get lost in the commercialization of Christmas -- spend time with family, have a moment of quiet to reflect and give thanks, be reminded of what this holiday is all about, and to be the bigger person and embrace generosity (whether that generosity means donating money to the collection plate, or deferring to the wishes of your wife and mother-in-law and accompany them to the service). I know I find it a nice time to reflect on how this holiday started, and the positive values it promotes. I like to think about how I’ve conducted myself for the past year, and how I can make myself better, and value some of those positives more closely. How I can be more selfless, more caring? What am I thankful for, and have I expressed that - emotionally - enough to those who matter, instead of allowing gifts or other relatively hollow gestures to speak for me?

Most importantly, do I recognize how great it is that we’re all here together, when we easily might not be?