American Christmas: Wasteful or Wonderful?
I used to agree with the sentiment that America’s extravagant Advent preparations were materialistic. That is, until I had my first Christmas without them in West Africa.
When I lived in West Africa, there were no decorations on the streetlights (to be fair, there were few streetlights). There were no twinkling fairy lights or shiny tinsel or decorated trees. I didn’t hear the familiar songs by Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra as I shopped for food in the market. There were no coffee shops with seasonal smells of gingerbread or pumpkin spice or peppermint, and there was no sale on ham because there was no ham. I was surprised how much I missed everything that usually signaled the approach of Christmas. Without these ubiquitous appeals to each of my senses, Christmas Day arrived suddenly without any fanfare, and I felt I had barely celebrated Christ’s birth.
I realize that many of these Advent preparations in America are appeals to our pockets. When my husband visited Italy, every meal was accompanied by the invitation (command?) to “Mangia! Mangia! Mangia!” The racks and racks of ornaments, cookie decorating kits, stocking stuffers, wrapping paper, and grocery displays all seem to say “Spend! Spend! Spend!” When my mom was growing up, my grandma used to tell her, “Just because someone intends to offend you doesn’t mean you need to be offended.” Similarly, just because someone intends to make us materialistic doesn’t mean we need to be materialistic. There is nothing that says we must spend beyond our means in order to achieve the beautiful table scenes in the grocery ads or the beautiful homes in the magazines at the checkout counter. It is wise and good to live within our limits.
But for everything there is a season. Two days before the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread, Jesus was eating in the home of Simon the Leper in Bethany when a woman came in and broke an expensive and beautiful alabaster jar of perfume made of pure nard and poured it over Jesus’ head. Some at the table with Jesus were angry. They scolded the woman, pointing out that the perfume could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor. Perhaps contrary to their expectations, Jesus told them to stop bothering her. He said the poor would always be with them and they could do good to them any time they wanted to, but Jesus would not always be with them. She had done a good thing by preparing his body for burial (Mark 14:1–8).
Every analogy has its limits, so I’m not suggesting our Christmas celebrations are equivalent to that unique moment in history, but the complaints about the extravagant displays at Christmas time are similar, are they not? What a waste! Why not spend our money on the poor instead? Indeed, we should spend our money helping the poor, but is it fair to assume that spending extra money to celebrate the birth of Jesus means we can’t also help the poor? Is our charitable giving limited to the Christmas season?
When God rescued the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, he gave them commands for certain seasons of feasting and fasting. Life is richer when lived with rhythms rather than with monotony. Advent is a time to remember that God kept his promise to send a serpent-crushing savior. We celebrate that Jesus did not consider equality with God something to be exploited (Phil. 2:6). Instead, he took on the form of a human, and not just a human but a vulnerable baby human whose bed was a feeding trough for livestock. It is also a season when we look forward to Jesus’ promise to come again and take us to be with him in the place he is preparing for us.
Is this not worthy of bringing out our best? Is it not fitting to set aside a larger portion of our attention, time, or budget for celebration with physical reminders of the treasure we have in Christ? When God prescribed how the Israelites should worship him, he included appeals to every sense. Lamps provided light to see and heat to feel. There was meat and bread and wine to taste and smell. Instruments and voices provided sounds of worship. God knows our frames, that we are dust (Ps. 103:14). He has accounted for that by prescribing worship that incorporates our whole bodies, because that is how we were made to remember and rejoice.
American Christmas might be a lavish display, but Jesus is a lavish savior, pouring out his steadfast love on people like us—people poor in spirit. He has made us heirs of all his wealth in God. We need not be pressured into celebrations that stretch us beyond our limits, but isn’t it wonderful that God has given everyone different limits? Aren’t you thankful that the sights and sounds and tastes and smells of Advent are not confined to only what we can individually create in our own homes, but that for a season we can experience reminders of Jesus everywhere we go? The poor will always be with us, and we should do good to them, but perhaps we do a beautiful thing when we who have been given much give much in praise of our King.
Heidi Kellogg lives with her husband, Andy, and their three children near Orlando, Florida. They work in Bible translation, and they lived in West Africa for several years where Andy was a Bible Translation Consultant. Heidi received her BA in English from Cal State L.A. and attended RTS Orlando’s classes called “Teaching Women to Teach.” Heidi will watch almost any movie that takes place in another country. Subtitles? Yes, please. You can follow Heidi on Instagram @heidilouwho_writer.