You might call December a forgotten month. In and of itself, it seems to herald only a sense of hurry, frustration and stress. The year is suddenly at an end, and there are too many business and personal ends to tie up and put into some kind of order. Christmas looms before us: How will we manage it this year? It, being the commercial holiday with so many demands and expectations: the rounds of visiting that are expected, the parties, the unending presents that must be purchased, whether we have the means for them or not. And the time, the time, the time — where is the time to come from in just these last few crammed weeks?
If we could stop to take a breath and look around us, we would realize that December is actually a season of slowing down. The brilliance of autumn has ended; the long frozen expanse of winter has not yet set in. There is wonder of a very quiet kind in the bare tree branches through which we see a stretched canvas of cold, burning stars.
The beauty is subtle. Nature makes no demands of us. This is a time to let go. None of the frenzied things that have devoured our days really matter in December. This year is moving of its own accord; it will draw to its end, no matter what. And there will be new beginnings, new opportunities, new chances — we may as well look to these.
But we have to watch for all of this. We have to be still to hear the whispers, the building sense of expectation. And, yes, the observance of the sacrament of Christmas is part of what it is hoped we can anticipate: Christ was not born on a cold, short day in December, but he appears every December, the reverence of his birth, of his reality emerges and we have the ongoing, repeated opportunity to worship him, to express our gratitude as we look back upon another year and open our eyes to the blessings that have indeed marked our path.
Phillips Brooks, the Episcopal bishop who wrote “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” also said:
"The earth has grown old with its burden of care, But at Christmas it always is young, The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair, And its soul full of music breaks the air, When the song of angels is sung. If we cannot hear the music of our own soul, much least the song of the angels, then we, too, have grown too weary, too burdened — and we need to embrace the gifts of December, and get our hearts back on course.
What did Scrooge mean when he cried, I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year? If we don’t live by honoring Christmas, by honoring Christ in what we think, what we seek, and what we give — if we do not strive to live this way all through the year, it isn’t really possible to 'catch up' Christmas week, just so that we can feel good about the holiday — just so we can for a little while feel better about ourselves."
That’s rather the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Benjamin Franklin said, "A good conscience is a continual Christmas."
Well, it sounds as though I am burdening more than helping, and I don’t intend that! Instead, let us go forward with a thought by the English novelist, Taylor Caldwell, simple and to the point: This is the meaning of Christmas, we are never alone.
Yes, the Savior wants us to express love to others—partly because he wants us to experience the joy and peace which loving and serving bring. But, especially at Christmas time, He wants us to feel loved — to truly feel the love that burns for each one of us, as warm and bright as that first Christmas star.
When we are overwhelmed, frightened, exhausted, in pain ... let us draw a deep breath and think of December as an ally, a friend. If we know what to look for, we can find it: in the world around us — and in the world within.
He loves us. As we strive to “keep Christmas,” the Savior’s greatest disappointment would be, not in our mortal failings and shortcomings, but if we are unable to feel and rejoice in his love.