Sometimes I have resembled Ebenezer Scrooge at Christmas time more than I would like to admit. It’s not something I’m proud of, it’s just that, for whatever reason, the demands of the holidays have taken their toll on me more times than not. I think more people can relate to this than we may think. They may not readily admit it, but making sure that every gift has been purchased for every single person on their shopping list, that every party is attended, that thorough preparation has been made for extended family get-togethers can dampen the spirits of even the most kind and gentle people. By the time the week of Christmas rolls around, they find a “Ba Humbug” within them that is hard to shake.
Usually though, my Grinch-like spirit was thoroughly reversed on Christmas Eve. Typically, by then, all my preparations became complete, even though I descend from a long line of Christmas Eve shoppers. Later in the afternoon, it would be time to attend the Christmas Eve service at the church where I was the pastor. My thoughts would immediately shift to the spiritual reason for the celebration, as I would place the final touches on the message I would preach. Mary, Joseph, shepherds, and later the wise men. No room for the baby Jesus at the inn, no room for God who had come to visit his people. No room for the one who had come to embody “grace and truth.” “The world did not receive their king that night,” I would emphasize to the congregation. “What about us?” I would then ask. “Is their room in our hearts for him on this Christmas Eve?” “Will we choose to go to Bethlehem and gaze upon the newborn king?”
Later in the service, communion was observed, after which candles were lit as we sang the hymn, Silent Night, acapella. In some churches, we would exit in silence. In others, we stayed and mingled and took family pictures together. The old Ebenezer Scrooge within me was thoroughly gone by that time. Instead, the new Ebenezer full of joy and hope was alive and well. The reason? I had gone to Bethlehem and had left renewed. I had seen the eyes of the child who had come to take away my sins. I had been reminded in no uncertain terms that I was loved by God and Immanuel was the reason. I had been thoroughly immersed in his grace, and worship was the only appropriate response.
As the night came to a close, usually after our family meal was over and a few presents opened, I would prop up my feet and watch the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life. Though its theology of angels is not accurate, I am always amazed at the lesson it teaches. George Bailey is worth more to his fellow man than he realizes. More importantly, he is more valuable in the eyes of God than he has ever imagined, much more valuable, so much so that an angel is sent to him. He begs for a second chance and his gift is granted. The movie ends with his debt completely paid by the members of his town, as with gusto they sing together the hymn, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, in his living room. An appropriate conclusion of worship to the Christ child.
The next morning, my joy would only continue as I encountered the twinkle in my children’s eyes with every gift they discovered and opened, as I witnessed the shock and surprise of my wife when she received her gift from me (she never knew what was coming and was never disappointed). And then, of course, when I would open my gifts from others and received as well. Joy was fully mine. And the reason was Jesus. The reason was because I stopped long enough to remember why we celebrate Christmas in the first place. He had made the celebration what it was. And like Mary, I “treasured up all these things and pondered them in {my} heart” (Luke 2:19).