My Christmas Confession . . .

When I was a kid growing up in a mostly gentile neighborhood, the Christmas lights, trees, and presents provoked awe and jealousy in me and my little brother. Our little Hanukkah menorah, with candles that burned out too quickly, seemed hardly any competition for the glamour of Christmas. But we were Jewish and Hanukkah was our appointed end-of-year holiday. We had eight days to celebrate. For my brother and I that meant a present per night for just over a week, and lots of chocolates and dreidels.

I wondered a lot about Santa and the chimney, all the elves and magic that surrounded Christmas. But I never once thought about who the baby was in the manger.

After I came to faith and married Michael, who grew up Irish Catholic, we had quite the “discussion”—and not always civil—about truth and myth. Michael had been immersed by his parents in the whole Santa Claus narrative, and wanted to lay out cookies and milk late Christmas eve, so our children would discover the crumbs in the morning.

I thought he was crazy. Santa was a fairytale. Oh sure, he was loosely based on some guy named Nicholas who had a giving heart and later was identified as Saint Nicholas (whether or not he was officially “sainted”), but he was still only legend. I was committed to teaching our children what was real and true. I mean, it was already pretty difficult to explain how an invisible God created everything and everyone, but chose to lay aside His glory to come to earth as a helpless baby and pay for the sins of all mankind.

It could become very confusing to our girls, especially when they were very young, if certain invisible beings actually existed, and others were merely myth. If they were all invisible why should our daughters believe that any existed at all, since none of them could be seen.

I explained to Michael that Hanukkah, was a historical event and there’s even a reference in the Bible, that Jesus went up to the Temple during the Feast of Rededication (aka Hanukkah).

At that time the Feast of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem; it was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple area, in the portico of Solomon.” (John 10:22-23)

On Facebook this year there were many arguments for why we, as Jewish believers, should not bother with Christmas at all. And how many things about Christmas are rooted in pagan traditions that have nothing to do with the Nativity. This year, more than any other, I began weighing out why I observe Christmas.

Of course, when the girls were little the story of Mary’s baby was greatly overshadowed by all the objects wrapped in pretty paper under the tree. We were very lavish in our gift-giving, making midnight runs to the nearest Toys R Us to gather all we could find to stick under the tree.

Every year we first shared about the promise and coming of the Christ child, born in a pile of straw in a manger in Bethlehem, to a poor young virgin named Mary from Nazareth, betrothed to faithful Joseph. As I look back now, I think many times the girls merely endured the story, like my brother and I patiently waited through the Hanukkah blessings and history, just to get to the gifts. And truth be told, the miracle of Messiah took a backseat to the magic of Christmas for a lot of years.

This year we went to the traditional Vineyard Christmas Eve, Eve service at Christ the King Community Church, our new Texas congregation. It was small and intimate, with lots of candles. And most of the scriptures pertaining to Jesus were read aloud between songs we sang about His coming and His birth. No bells and whistles at this service, just a remembrance of an amazing historical event that changed the world. And in its simplicity, I was brought back to how important it is to commemorate His incarnation.

The date is all wrong, Nowhere in the Bible is Christmas mentioned, there were who knows how many wise men that came to a house--not a stable--long after His actual entrance into our world, and the church fathers used a pagan holiday for this remembrance, and the list goes on. But surprisingly—even to me—none, or all of these things together, add up to the single most essential thing.

I rejoice as I remember that the one true God, who loved us so much, chose, through His Son, to walk in our humanity and weakness in order to save us. And that changed everything. This is the single most essential thing! And it is worth celebrating.

-Sally Klein O'Connor

12/25/23