At this time of the year, most of us can recall a vignette of some kind that is part of our personal lore of the season. Some experiences we cherish and remember for a lifetime, others persist in memory, though in truth they may be better forgotten.

   In the family photo album carefully assembled and curated by my father, there is a picture of me at age three sitting on Santa’s lap. Back in the day, there were no mall Santas. You had to go to a department store for this particular Christmas experience. The best Santa was always at Sears, Roebuck and Company, probably because they had the largest selection of toys anywhere to be found. Their marketing strategy was to get kids into the store to touch, see, imagine, and dream.

   Like most little girls there, I was dressed in my “Sunday best". In the photo I am wearing a white blouse and a gray pleated skirt with shoulder straps, much like the one that Eloise wears in the beloved eponymous children’s books by Kay Thompson. Other than shiny patent shoes, my only accessory was a full plaster cast on my left arm—but that’s another story.

   Beyond the image of a small girl sitting on Santa’s knee, the photo reflects the conflicted emotions of a child overwhelmed by a larger-than-life man in a red suit. In the picture I am leaning back to create the space and distance needed to process the experience—in essence, I am giving Santa the “stiff arm” with my good right arm. My body language clearly messages my reluctance to entrust a strange man with the desires of my heart, which at that age were probably no more than a doll of some kind and a peppermint stick.

   At three years old, I was already a pragmatist. The photo tells the story of a small skeptic weighing the pros and cons of going all in with Santa. It captures both my serious reluctance and unmistakable fear of an overly jovial, unfamiliar man. Clearly I was conflicted by the “should” of Santa joy and the reality of the unknown. Is there any wonder why so many pictures taken with Santa are of children awash in tears?

   Pause for a moment to think about a group of shepherds at work in the hills of Judea near Bethlehem tending their flock of sheep on a starry night. Imagine their awe and wonder when an angel suddenly appears, tells them not to be afraid, and, according to Eleanor Farjeon (People Look East, 1928), “announces with shouts of mirth him who brings new life to earth”. Imagine how they receive the “good news of great joy.” Imagine, too, their shock and confusion over what had just happened. After the angels departed did they blink their eyes in utter disbelief?

   Yet one shepherd believed that God had revealed something extraordinary to them. Without a moment’s hesitation, he said to the others, “Let’s go to Bethlehem!” This man of great faith was eager, indeed excited to see the child announced to them as the long-awaited Messiah. There was nothing tentative or fearful about him. His work as a shepherd had taught him well that to waver for even a moment was to risk losing his flock. He dropped everything and went to Bethlehem with absolute trust in the power of God to transform humankind.    

   For many, the holiday season is about superficial pleasure and merriment rather than the pursuit of deep spiritual joy. Those who are grieving the death of a loved one may feel tentative, conflicted, or even skeptical about entering into the festivities. We fear that if we participate, somehow our loved one will be lost or forgotten amid the stir of celebration. Yet in truth, no occasion or holiday festivity has the power to diminish or deny the enduring love we share with one we love, “Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. It is, in fact, the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen (1 Corinthians 13:7-8 PHILLIPS).

   Christmas is an opportunity to discover anew God’s love—the love that holds us close, the love that restores us and makes us whole, the love that defeats every fear, the love that overwhelms a tentative heart, the love that overcomes the world. This is the love of Emmanuel, God, with us, at Christmas and always.  

So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child,  and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. 
Luke 2:16-18