What I know as I stand before you and look into your faces is that our experiences of this season are a varied as can be. For some, there will be moments of beauty, delight and fulfillment. For some, this will be the bleakest time of the year—something to be merely survived, the tinselly frenzy an assault on one’s soul, the unrealistic ideals a recipe for emotional disaster.

For some there will be terribly stressful or empty family interactions, or the specter of loneliness or loss will fully come home in all its sadness. And for others, there will be moments of blessedness and abundance of love. And there will be everything in between. We will all experience, or have already experienced, these highs and lows over the course of these weeks between the end of November and the beginning of January.

But the inescapable core of the holiday season, and Christmas specifically, is the idea and experience of the gift given, the gift received. Every possible shade of fulfillment or disappointment comes in that package—the wonderful gift, sometimes a non-material one, that comes unexpectedly, the longed for gift that never comes at all, the gift unwanted, or scorned, or with strings attached, the complexities of managing children’s wants and needs, and the pressures of providing a “good Christmas” for others, the often elusive spiritual meaning of giving.

This imperative of gift-giving arises from so many different directions, so many different layers of religion and culture and history, and without us really sorting it out or understanding the phenomena, is acts upon us as a force and can really make us crazy. It can make our kids crazy, and then parents feel crazy trying to deal with their kids’ craziness. I think if you look at the overall picture of Christmas commercialism, it is a picture of mass insanity.

So where does the core idea of gift giving come from?

In order to simply start somewhere, let’s just begin with the story at the center of Christmas—the birth of the Christ child. The entire story is a story of gifts given. In the orthodox theology God gives his “only son” to the world as a sacrifice, to be born into a lowly state, and to take upon the most human sufferings and redeem them, so that humanity can ultimately be returned to wholeness.

Jesus in his living and dying will give himself to others to the fullest possible extent in order to teach and demonstrate love. That enormous message is contained in the nativity. Mary gives herself as a vessel through which the god-human can be born into the world. (I’m not making any commentary here, I’m just stating the established theology).

Joseph gives himself as a protector to Mary, in spite of her troubling pregnancy before their relationship is consummated. The Maji, the wisemen, bring luxurious gifts to honor the infant who they believe will be a new leader. All who visit the child, even kings, bow down before the newborn, surrendering their hearts.

Although not in the scriptures, there is a vast tradition of apocryphal stories, ancient and modern, along the same vein, in which sacrificial gifts are given to the Christ child, resulting in some miracle or transformation coming to that one who was willing to give the one thing that was most precious.

A contemporary story that captures this idea is O’Henry’s “Gift of the Magi”—a tale of a young couple who have no money, but each longs to give the other something extremely special. She cuts off her long locks and sells them to buy him a gold chain for his pocket watch. He sells his pocket watch to buy her tortoise shell combs for her beautiful tresses. Having each sacrificed their most prized possession to make a gift to the other, they realize in the end they have only their love for one another, which is the gift that really matters.

In the tradition of Christmas stories, from the scriptural stories themselves to the apocryphal stories inspired by the Christian ideal, we have inherited this notion of sacrificial giving. They tell us something about the surrender of self, some letting go of something we are grasping, and in that emptying, in that letting go, love is now able to enter into the space.

I think this is what happens in the story of the ten-year-old Moss Hart and his father. The veil of a child’s self-centeredness falls away and he is suddenly ably to fully see his father’s humanity and vulnerability, and by really seeing him, he feels closer to him than he ever had before. He lets go of the fantasy of the chemistry set that he had achingly longer for. All the frustration and pain of the moment is swept away in that rush of understanding— “It’s doesn’t matter. This moment better than a Christmas present. I love you!”

A sacrificing gift is also at the heart of charitable actions that are a crucial part of this season. Ideally, we give something for no other reason then that it will help someone. In its purest, most ideal form, there is nothing in it for me at all—it is not done to relieve my guilt or to give me the satisfaction of knowing how good I am. It is done because it is intrinsically good and right.

In the Jewish tradition, charitable giving is a fundamental aspect of the religious life.
"Tzedakah" is the Hebrew word for such acts. However, one really interesting aspect of the concept of tzedakah quite different from the idea of charity, is that it comes from another root word which means justice or fairness. In Judaism, giving to the poor is not viewed simply as a generous, magnanimous act, but as an act of redistributive justice. It is about creating the world as God would have it—a world that is fair, just and equitable.

Giving to the poor is an obligation in Judaism, a duty that cannot be forsaken even by those who are themselves in need. Everyone is expected to share what they can. Certain kinds of tzedakah are considered better than others. The Talmud describes these different levels of tzedakah, and the philosopher Maimonedes organized them into a list of seven levels.

• At the very bottom of the list of tzedakah is giving begrudgingly
• Next is giving less that you should, but giving it cheerfully.
• Then comes giving after being asked.
• Better is to give before being asked.
• Then there is giving when you don’t know who the recipient is, but the recipient knows that you have made the gift.
• Better yet is giving anonymously, without credit or recognition.
• Best of all is giving that enables the recipient to become self-reliant

Now I have to take exception to something here, which is that I think it can be a profoundly moving thing to be face to face with someone to whom we are giving or from whom we are receiving. I think the idea of anonymity in giving is to protect us from our own pride or paternalism as the giver, and yet if we can release any pride or paternalism, and stand face to face, heart to heart with another in moment of true generosity, this can be a transformative encounter.

And so we can keep these things in mind—the Christian idea of giving away or giving up what is loved in order that a greater love might enter into the space between giver and receiver; and the Hebrew idea that by giving away, by sharing our resources, we help to restore a divine justice and equity to the world.

In spite of the dubious Christian orthodox theology of Jesus being given to the world as a sacrifice, as Unitarian Universalists we tend to emphasize Jesus Jewishness. I think it is probably far more accurate to understand Jesus’s teachings about giving as reflecting his Hebrew vision of restorative justice. In fact, according to the Gospel accounts, Jesus spoke more about money and its redistribution than any other subject. Material wealth is the ultimate metaphor for the things we cling to which keep us from being in real relationship with one another.

Layered on top of these spiritual and theological concepts are a whole additional set of cultural meanings relating to the 19th century Christmas: gifts as an expression of indulgence or an experience of delight, the image of the red-suited, white bearded Santa Claus, and the child’s “dancing sugarplums” described by Clement C. Moore in his poem “The Night Before Christmas”. The publishing of this one poem was perhaps the single most influential catalyst in the whole invention of the nostalgic family Christmas as we know it today. Visions of sugarplums have been replaced by visions of gameboys and ipods and power tools and CD’s and fleece bedroom slippers dancing in our heads.

Piled on top of these shared cultural traditions are our personal family cultures of gift-giving, and all the trips that come with that. Every one of us has inherited an idiosyncratic set of rules about what Christmas is, what it means, what gifts mean, and how one should or shouldn’t go about giving. Whether we came from scarcity, or from abundance, whether our families did Christmas to excess, or whether we looked at the whole mad display as one excluded—an outsider looking in—the holiday seasons of our childhoods undoubtedly left an impression upon us that we are likely still dealing with emotionally.

It is a hard tangle to work through. But here are some simple pieces of wisdom I’d like to offer—not my own, I have to admit, but those of others who are wiser than me about the holidays. Here are some simple pieces of common-sense wisdom that may help us all live through, or even better, live into this season, with a sense of peace, integrity, and meaning.

If you are dealing with young children and their intense desires and excitement—or their anxiety perhaps—at this time of year, some advice from Jo Robinson and Jean Coppock Staeheli may help, authors of the highly recommended book Unplug The Christmas Machine. They say that there are four things that children really want, and really need, whatever they may be telling you, or whatever may be on their lists to Santa.

What children truly want is—and I suppose this includes the child within each of us as well—
1. a relaxed and loving time with the family.
2. realistic expectations about gifts
3. an evenly-paced holiday season
4. some traditions they can count on each year

Another good list of holiday wisdom comes from my mentor in ministry, Rev. Patrick O’Neill. He offers ten ways to take care of yourself through the stresses of this season:

1. Acknowledge feelings. Be honest with yourself about where they are being generated
2. Be realistic about expectations. Set a realistic budget. Set limits to what you can do and places you can go.
3. Share responsibilities and make some time just for yourself. Some quiet in the midst of the flurry may be helpful. Pace yourself to avoid fatigue.
4. Accept the reality of struggles and conflicts with your immediate or extended family. Do not expect the holiday to remedy problems. You may want to limit lengthy gatherings.
5. Be open to creating new rituals or traditions that honor the new family that is created as a result of the death of someone or after a divorce and/or remarriage. Decide which traditions you may also be able to on to as a way of honoring the person or the family of the past.
6. Acknowledge feelings of grief and loss. Find someone to talk to if you are lonely, reach out to someone to share time with or to exchange a gift with.
7. Volunteer for a needy cause in order to feel useful.
8. Take care of your body by exercising, eating well, and getting enough rest. Physically caring for yourself will help counter stress and alleviate feelings of depression.
9. Rely on your faith and relationship with God to help you through the holiday.
10. Give a gift to yourself and create what you need for yourself.

On that last note—“give a gift to yourself…”

During our meditation I asked you to try to identify what you felt you really needed from this time. I hope that something came clearly to you, and more than that, I pray that you find some way to take seriously that need and attend to it. If at all possible, find a way to create the space or the opportunity to meet that longing, so that you will be nourished in your heart and spirit.

We will close by singing a Unitarian Universalist version of a classic carol of Advent, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” Although I find some of the revisions of the old carols to be unsatisfactory, I actually like this one. “Give comfort to all exiles here,” it reads, “and to the aching heart bid cheer.” I like the fact that in this hymn we calling upon Love, Truth, Light, and Hope to dwell with us. Please stand and join me in singing…

READING:
“Two Lonely People,” an excerpt from the autobiography of Moss Hart, Act One.

Obviously, Christmas was out of the question. We were barely staying alive. On Christmas Eve my father was very silent during the evening meal. Then he surprised and startled me by suddenly turning to me and saying, “Let’s take a walk.” He had never suggested such a thing before, and moreover it was a very cold winters night. I was even more surprised when he said as we left the house, “Let’s go down to 149th and Westchester Avenue.”

My heart leapt within me. That was the section where all the big stores were, where at Christmas time open pushcarts full of toys stood packed end to end for blocks at a stretch. I joyously concluded that this walk could mean only one thing: he was going to buy me a Christmas present.

On the walk down I was beside myself with delight and an inner relief. It has been a bad year for me and I wanted a Christmas present terribly—not a present merely, but a symbol, a token of some sort. I needed some sign from my father or mother that they knew what I was going through and that they cared. I am sure that they were giving me such mute signs as they could, but I did not see them. The idea that my father had managed a Christmas present for me in spite of everything filled me with a sudden peace and lightness of heart that I had not known in months.

We hurried on, our heads bend against the wind, to the cluster of lights ahead that was 149th Street and Westchester Avenue, and those lights seemed to me the brightest light I had ever seen. Tugging at my father’s coat, I started down the line of pushcarts. There were all kinds of things that I wanted, but I would merely pause before a pushcart and say, with as much control as I could muster, “Look at that chemistry set!” or “There’s a stamp album’ or “Look at that printing press!” Each time my father would pause and ask the pushcart man the price, then without a word we would move on to the next cart.

Once or twice he would pick up a toy some kind and look at it and then at me, as if to suggest that this might be something that I would like, but I was ten years old and good bit beyond just a toy; my heart was set on a printing press.

Soon I saw that we were nearing the end of the line. Only two or three carts remained. I heard my father jingle some coins in his pocket.

All at once I knew it all. He’d gotten together about 75 cents to get me a present, and he hadn’t dared say so in case there was nothing to be had for so small a sum. As I looked at him I saw a look of despair and disappointment in his eyes that brought me closer to him than I had ever been in my life. I wanted to throw my arms around him and say “It doesn’t matter. I understand. This is better than a chemistry set or a printing press. I love you.” But instead we stood shivering beside each other for a moment, then turned away from the last two pushcarts and started silently back home.

I don’t know why the words remained choked up inside me. I didn’t even take his hand nor did he take mine. We were not on that basis. Nor did I ever tell him how close I felt to him that night, that for a little while the concrete wall between father and son had crumbled away and I knew that we were two lonely people struggling to reach each other.