By Harry T. Cook
12/23/10

The giant, pain-in-the-kiester hoopla is about finished . . . for this year. Come
Dec. 26, you will no longer be aurally bombarded by Christmas songs and songlettes
on your car radio, in an elevator or over the P.A. in the mall concourse. I know:
it all started around Nov. 1, but it’s almost over for another 10 months. Enjoy
the respite.

Those who were born or converted into the Christian tradition tend to invest tremendous
emotional energy in Christmas, though more into its sometimes forced cheer, its
social demands for parties, giving and receiving of gifts, sumptuous meals and the
ingestion of vast amounts of alcohol.

“I’m going on a diet right after the holidays” is the falsely optimistic avowal
given by millions of Yuletide celebrants each year at sometime between Dec. 24 and
Jan. 1. The depth of holiday immersion is often in inverse proportion to any clear
theological belief on the part of the bon vivant, though he may have toddled off
to midnight mass just in case there might be anything of eternal import to it.

The American Christmas must be tiresome for the secular nonbeliever, even as it
must be for the domestic adherents of other religions. Withal, much of the retail
world depends on Christmas to lift profits that, in turn, furnish employment and
a better time for those involved. The live Christmas tree industry is a multimillion
dollar business upon which many families depend for year-round income.

If you’re looking for a clue to the serious part of the Christmas holiday, you will
not find it in the Bible or in the catechism of any church. You will find it in
the 1943 Kim Gannon, Walter Kent song, “I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count
on me.” Written in the middle of World War II with millions of Americans deployed
in Europe and Asia, it was an expression of hope against hope rather than expectation.
Many did not come home for Christmas 1943; many never came home at all.

And therein lies the emotional tug of Christmas. Regardless of the religious mythology
that gives the season its outward symbols, it is, at least in America and other
English-speaking cultures, the family that is at the heart of the holiday.

You can see it during the last days before Christmas in the long queues of travelers
in airport security lines and on railway platforms. You can see it in Charles Dickens’
A Christmas Carol when Bob Cratchit worries that his daughter won’t be at home for
Christmas dinner: “Not coming upon Christmas Day!”* His disappointment is short-lived
as Martha, otherwise in service to a family far above the social station of the
Cratchits, appears. Then all is joy.

Not to be ignored is the fact that the Christmas we know had its origins and much
of its evolution in the temperate zones of the Northern Hemisphere, where by the
last days of December, the sun is almost a stranger. The cold or colder weather
added to the long periods of darkness causes one to appreciate a light in the window
and the closeness of home.

Eating large, especially meat, at this time of year appears to have had its origins
in the simple fact that in times before modern refrigeration, meat could be kept
sufficiently fresh and cooled only in winter. Indeed, the roast at the center of
a holiday table, whether of prime rib, ham or turkey, together with its aroma has
a primordial appeal for human carnivores.

For some extended families, the holiday feast and its attendant rituals become occasions
for old resentments to be revisited. The more alcoholic beverages consumed, the
more likely the arguments are to be reignited — and that with increasing vehemence.

The argument around the Christmas — or any other holiday’s — dinner table in my
childhood was whether or not my paternal grandmother pared the red potatoes before
boiling them. Over that great question, no doubt masking other unresolved issues,
many a fist was raised in emphasis, and many more brought down upon the table causing
water to spill from brimming goblets and gravy from overflowing boats. My mother
swore each year she would never do it again. And every year she did it, until her
death.

To be sure, among many Christian or Christian-oriented families, going to church
at Christmas is a tradition, even a cherished one. My guess is that the music is
the draw. Christmas carols are among the loveliest words set to the loveliest music.
Or have they been made lovely by their connection with the emotions of the season?

The great Episcopal preacher, Phillips Brooks, is popularly known for no particular
Christmas sermon. He is venerated, however, for his poetry set to a score by Lewis
H. Render (1831-1908) as “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” in which appear the key words
that make its sentiment universal: “The hopes and fears of all the years are met
in thee tonight.”

In many Christian communions, the first 18 verses of the Gospel according to St.
John are read out on Christmas Eve and Day with the official expectation that the
priest or minister will offer learned commentary upon them. On that occasion, few,
save the “Keep Christ in Christmas” folk, are interested in the exegesis and exposition
necessary to unpack that densely philosophical text. Christmas is finally a right-brained
thing and therefore can be kept in almost any way.

So, dear secular nonbeliever, that’s a snapshot of Christmas as it is really celebrated.
You have no worries about theological imperialism, at least where the holiday itself
is concerned. The ubiquitous Christmas tree is utterly pagan in its origins. Much
of the celebration of Christmas as it has evolved in this culture has little or
nothing to do with the one dubiously called “Christ.”

It is, then, perfectly acceptable to say “Happy Holidays,” should you be so moved.

*Facsimile edition, Columbia University Press, 1956, p. 90.