One of my favorite parts of Christmas for most of my life was the tree.  I’m not sure why exactly.  When I was a kid we had those old bubble lights, and I found them fascinating.  I loved sitting in the dark room by myself just looking at them – something like sitting in front of a fire and watching it burn, thinking deep thoughts.  Well, as deep as thoughts can be for a 10-15 year old.  I don’t recall any content, just the deep quiet satisfied feeling of peace.

The first Christmas I was married, in 1977, my wife and I were living in a tiny apartment in Oak Lawn Illinois, where I was a youth pastor at an Evangelical Covenant Church (and a senior at Wheaton College).  There really wasn’t much room for a tree, but we were bound and determined to get one.  It was a very cold winter, with snow, and the nearest Christmas tree lot had trees that were bundled shut and frozen, making impossible to see how good it was.  A Charlie Brown Christmas tree or a real beauty?  No way to know.

We guessed.  Loaded the frozen thing on the car, got it up to the apartment, decided we didn’t want it to thaw out on the carpet (such as the carpet was….) and so untied it (still frozen shut), put it in the tub in the small bathroom, and went out to do some shopping.

When we got back, hours later, it had thawed out and we could have a good look at it.  There was a lot to look at.  It was enormous.  Huh.  Had no idea.   And there was no way we could get it through the bathroom door.  Well, there was a way.  I grabbed it by its trunk, planted my feet, and drug it through the door, knocking off roughly 2000 needles.  But hey, we had a tree.

A woman in my church who had two kids in my youth group had a large house and frequently over the course of the year would have the youth group come over for our social events.  She had a silver (aluminum?) Christmas tree in her basement.  All year long.  Couldn’t be bothered to take it down.  That always struck me as odd, and continues to be against my religion, on two grounds.  Trees are to be real and seasonal.  Isn’t there a law about that somewhere?  (OK, I’ll admit, as I’ve gotten older and the artificial trees have gotten oh so much better, I SO much more sympathize with going that route [though not with silver].  But in July??)

Years later, when I was again single and living, again, in a very small apartment, and poor as a church mouse, I got a tree but couldn’t afford any decorations.  But no problem.  Hey, I had seen

the old movies!  I spent hours stringing together cranberries and popcorn.  My sewing skills were never top rate, but I could manage that much, at least.  It was glorious.

Like most everyone else I know, I still celebrate Christmas today, but, alas, there has not been a tree for years.  When my kids had grown and gone (my god, can that be some twenty years now?) Sarah and I started coming to England for the holidays to celebrate with her family – something she had not been able to do for our early years together when I wanted to celebrate with the kids.

 

Before flying over we do have “Christmas” every year in North Carolina with my son and his family – including two of our grandchildren! –usually a very nice brunch, presents, and play time.  My son is as big on trees as I was.  They have two large ones in the house.  And each grandkid has their own small one as well.  It’s a flippin’ forest in there.

Here in England a tree is not really feasible (more logistics!).  But we do see family  hither and yon, a veritable Twelve Days of Christmas.

In some ways Christmas trees decorated with lights and ornaments remind me of my life of faith.  At first it was new, bright, sparking, and meaningful; it generated deep thoughts and brought a kind of peace and quiet into my life, a kind of light in the darkness.

But the season ended, the lights came off, the decorations were put in boxes.  Like the tree, my faith dried out and was no long part of my life.

That may seem very sad to some folk.  But not so much for me – or at least it’s a happy sadness.  I still have warm feelings about Christmases of old, when I was a committed Christian working in churches, doing my best to help people out, learning more and more about the faith.  But like the tree, it wasn’t bound to be a permanent part of my life.

The tree is indeed seasonal.  In a sense, so was my faith (though for only one season). It would be very sad indeed if people were happy and thoughtful only when the tree was standing for the holiday, but not when its time was up.  In some ways the most important thing about the tree – at least in my experience – is that it encapsulates a season of giving to others, a coming of light in the darkness, time of deep thought, celebrating a story of a divine being who showered his love on the world by sending a young child in the world to save it.

I do believe that is a story, not history.  But like the tree, the story is metaphorical and full of meaning.  It is possible to be moved by memories of the story when the tree is taken down, and to live out its meaning when even the faith too is gone.