From Scrooge To Santa

When I was about eight or nine years old I heard the nativity story for the first time. I grew up in a religious tradition that drew strict boundaries between the sacred and secular during December, so I was largely unfamiliar with the story, the songs or the imagery. This particular year my family broke with tradition and visited a local outdoor nativity play, complete with live animals. To say that it made quite an impression on me would be an understatement. After the play we returned to my Big Mama’s house and I can remember looking out the window at the night sky, hoping to see the star I’d just heard so much about. As you can imagine I was disappointed, but I wasn’t discouraged, in fact, I was fascinated. One of my greatest joys then, and greatest memories now, was listening to the Christmas records that Big Mama would play in the living room or her house. The living room was largely off limits to us kids, being the closest thing to a formal room that she had in her tiny house. The living room, unlike the den, was unspoiled by messy, grubby handed little children. The carpet was in good shape, the furniture looked new and there was a nearly coffin sized cabinet that housed a radio, eight track, and record player. The one time a year I was allowed in this room was during Christmas, when Big Mama would play her Christmas records. Those angelic sounding carols coming from her console stereo only fueled my fascination with this side of the Christmas tradition. This fascination would eventually fade into the background, being replaced by things more interesting to teenage boys, like baseball, video games and girls, but it would come roaring back unexpectedly in my forties. 

Oddly enough, the revival of my fascination with the nativity story began in sunny Florida, nearly ten years ago. There were many things I loved about life in Florida, but the winter holidays was not one of them. Growing up in Tennessee, Thanksgiving and Christmas had a certain look and feel meteorologically. The changing color of the leaves was met by cold nights and soon after, bare landscapes. Christmas just never felt like Christmas to this Tennessee boy in Floridian exile. At this point in my life, I had been living away from home and extended family for five or six years and I felt it most during the holidays. For most of my life, my holiday traditions were pretty deeply ingrained. Being a part of a very large family, holidays were crowded and loud and so much fun. During your formative years you don’t realize how important these traditions will become to you until the time when they are no longer available. Time moves on, children grow up, marry and move away, beginning their own families, older folks die and we all begin to drift into different directions. Every year, around Thanksgiving, I found myself longing for some connection to the holidays as I’d always known them back home. I needed to feel connected to a place in spirit that I was separated from in body, and suddenly, those songs and images from my childhood began to reawaken and call out to me.

Some backstory might be helpful here. For many years I was a Scrooge, a Grinch, when it came to Christmas. The only side of the season I saw was the receipts for purchase. My obsession was on how much it all cost and how much trouble it all was. I hated putting up the tree, the decorations and the lights. I hated the shopping. I hated the expense and the hassle. But that all began to change the first Christmas we spent in Florida, due in large part to a visit from our mothers. My Honey has always loved Christmas and she got it honest because her mother really loved Christmas. For Honey their visit was certainly a breath of fresh air and for me it was reinforcements. While I was at work during the day, Honey and our mothers transformed our sunny Florida home into a winter wonderland and it was magnificent. Perhaps it was the mixture of the beautiful decorations, having home come to us, and spending a few days enjoying a Seaside Christmas with our mothers, but my small heart grew three sizes that day. If my heart swelled during their visit, it would burst a few days later.

After the moms went back to Tennessee, leaving us with tableaus of Christmas past, I was standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window, washing dishes and cooking dinner, while listening to Christmas music. I was very much in the Christmas spirit now and had pulled up a generic YouTube Christmas playlist to run in the background. In a sentimental sneak attack, the song “O Holy Night” as performed by David Phelps and the Gaither Family Singers, came on and took me out. I’m sure I’d heard the song before, I mean, who hasn’t, but I don’t know that I’d ever really listened to it lyrically. Standing in our kitchen, Christmas magic was being worked as memory, longing, and faith mingled together and the dam in my heart burst. Tears streamed down my face as I thought of Christmas past, was grateful for Christmas present and longed for another “Tender Tennessee Christmas” in the near future. I can tell you that my new found love of all things Christmas was born in that moment. 

In the days that followed, I found great comfort sitting in the early morning or late night hours, when it was still dark, drinking a cup of coffee, with only the light from the tree illuminating the room. I would sit, sip, and sing. Those traditional Christmas carols that Big Mama used to play — Silent Night, O Holy Night, O Little Town of Bethlehem, Away in a Manger, Do You Hear What I Hear, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Joy to the World — became a source of comfort and joy, to borrow a phrase. Those moments of solitude, faith, family and feelings mingled together in a magical way that was equal parts nostalgia and theology. 

Nearly a decade later, this is still my favorite time of year and I am all in for all things Christmas. I even enjoy going with Honey to Hobby Lobby and looking at all the Christmas decorations that invade every aisle, starting sometime around late September. For me, there is nothing better than sitting quietly, looking at the lights on a tree and listening to those beautiful old songs. They had the power to transport me back in time to a living room in Tennessee, a stable in Bethlehem, and to transform me from Scrooge to Santa.

“Long lay the world in sin and error pining

'Til He appears and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees; O hear the Angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Christ was born

O night, O Holy night, O night divine!

Truly He taught us to love one another;

His law is love and His Gospel is Peace

Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother

And in His name, all oppression shall cease

O little town of Bethlehem

How still we see thee lie

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting light

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee tonight