The Christmas Crunch and the Quiet Creche

Is it just me, or did we just take down the Easter decorations? I looked at the calendar this morning and realized December isn’t just knocking on the door; it’s kicked the door down, raided the fridge, and is currently setting up an inflatable Santa on my front lawn.

Christmas is coming, folks. Ready or not.

I made the mistake of trying to go "quick" shopping last weekend. Let me tell you, there is nothing "quick" about retail in December. I spent twenty minutes circling the parking lot like a shark, stalking a minivan that looked like it might be leaving, only to find out the driver was just sitting there eating a sandwich. When I finally got inside, it was like a gladiator arena, but with more festive sweaters. I saw a look in a shopper's eye over the last discounted air fryer that I usually only see in documentaries about predators on the Serengeti.

And the music! If I hear that I need to have a "Holly Jolly Christmas" one more time while I’m standing in a checkout line that wraps around the store, I might just start mumbling to myself (which, I suppose, is what this blog is for!).

But amidst the madness of the mall, the receipt tape that stretches for miles, and the panic of finding the "perfect" gift, I had to stop and take a breath. It’s so easy to get caught up in the doing of Christmas that we forget the being of Christmas.

We run around trying to create the perfect holiday, but the first Christmas wasn't perfect. It was messy. It was travel-weary parents, a dirty stable, and animals that probably didn't smell like pine-scented candles.

And yet, that is exactly where God chose to enter our world.

The true reason for this season isn't found in a doorbuster sale. It’s found in the humility of the Incarnation. God became man. The Creator of the universe didn’t come with fanfare and a PR team; He came as a helpless infant, dependent on Mary and Joseph, to save us from our sins. He came into the mess of the world—into the mess of our lives—to bring light to the darkness.

St. Augustine (who we just listened to last month!) once said, "He who was the Son of God became the Son of man, that the sons of men might be the sons of God." That is the exchange that matters.

So, as we race toward the 25th, let’s try to find the silence in the noise. Let the packed parking lots be a reminder to offer a little patience. Let the long lines be a moment to say a quick Hail Mary. And let’s remember that the greatest gift has already been purchased, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and given to us freely.

Hang in there, friends. The Savior is coming!