A Christmas Tree

Got your tree up yet?

Everyone has their own way of decorating a Christmas tree. My mom always insisted that the baby Jesus ornaments be in front and that the wise men come from the east. My sister-in-law wraps each branch separately in strand after strand of white lights. My best friend loves to bring home the tallest tree she can find and has to hang the highest ornaments with the help of a ladder and a long pole.

As for me, my goal is usually to fit on as many ornaments as possible. We have boxes and boxes of a mishmosh of home-made and school-made and memory-laden little doodads, and I want them all to hang on the tree, whose branches seem to quiver with fear as the boxes are opened.

It’s fun to dress up a tree and make it sparkle, to cover it in lights and ornaments and tinsel and garland and stars and angels and clothespin reindeer.

But when the day gets dark and the room lights go off and the tree lights go on, something magical happens. The ornaments disappear, and suddenly you can see, in the mini-wattage glow of three hundred tiny twinkling lights, a tree. In the middle of it all, under the glittery and sequined frippery, is a beautiful, fragrant, quietly distinguished tree.

Ornaments are nice, and tinsel is fine. But what really matters is the tree.

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I try to decorate Christmas, too. Every year I think that I have to find a way to make it special. I want to serve the perfect meal, give the best gifts, and somehow make sure that my family experiences all the warmth and joy of the holiday season.

And I want the day to be more than just a special day, of course. It is, after all, Jesus’ birthday. I try to keep myself focused on the meaning of God’s coming among us, to re-tell my children the Christmas story and remind them of the true basis for our Christmas celebrations. I try to remember that Jesus is the Reason for the Season and to Keep Christ in Christmas.

It’s a lot of weight for one day to carry, and every year, as nice as our Christmas day might be, I can’t help feeling that I haven’t done it quite right. I couldn’t quite manage to make it fun, festive and all about Jesus.

It would be nice if, as we look at December 25, we could turn off the lights, plug in the twinklies, and let the ornaments disappear. It would be nice to look past all the attempts to make it special and see what’s underneath.

What’s under all the stuff, when the lights are off, is a lovely, simple, quietly distinguished manger, wafting up the scent of hay and forgiveness.

The true meaning of Christmas does not depend on my plans and preparations – the true meaning of Christmas is there, at the center of things, without any help from me at all. I don’t have to keep Christ in Christmas. He’s already there.

From the cut-tree manger to the lonely tree on the hill, Jesus came for me, lived for me, and died for me, no matter what kind of a birthday party I throw Him. Nothing I do, or don’t do, will take that baby out of His mother’s arms. No ornamentation or omission of mine will change the fact that God’s Son was born to live to die to rise to conquer death for me.

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My best tree-decorating memory is from a few years back, before we had kids. I believe it was Pastor who started it – from the comfort of the recliner he reached into the ornament box, drew out a puffy fabric candy cane, and flung it at the tree. It stuck. We spent the next half an hour sending stars, reindeer and angels soaring through the air, giggling like schoolkids and cheering when we scored a hit. The finished tree looked bizarre, but I thought it was beautiful. I was reminded that year that decorations are nice, but they don’t really matter.

What really matters is the tree.

First published in The Alpena News, December 14, 2013