Giving in to Christmas

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned. (Isaiah 9:2)

Two weeks ago, I gave in to Christmas. My Hanukkah sweater from the Bryn Mawr thrift store sprung out of the drawer, and I walked to Irving's equipped to tackle the week head-on with a backpack full of work.
Thankfully, the corner seat with the power plug was available. Watching the rain outside, I imagined how many inches of snow it would have been if it was colder. Pennsylvania weather is so wet! I never realized how wet we have it until spending a summer in the desert of northern New Mexico. Almost every Christmas I can remember in Philly has been rainy. I once had it explained to me that Philadelphia actually lies in a different temperate zone from the rest of the state. I guess this is yet another way that the City of Brotherly Love has been cut off from the rest of the state it occupies.

As a general principle, I try not to think much about Christmas until after Thanksgiving. In my family, Thanksgiving is the bigger holiday—it’s when we have our big reunion in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. This year was different though; I’ve had so many projects and exams and other important grades in the past two weeks of school that it really helps if the lights at the end of the tunnel are tinted red and green. Before I really knew what I was doing, I had opened up Grooveshark and my fingers were tapping out equations to the tune of Relient K’s version of Sleigh Ride.

Sleigh Ride isn’t a very deep or meaningful song. It doesn’t encapsulate what Christmas is about. Relient K’s version is fun, but they’re no Bach or Handel (I cringe everytime I hear their version of the Hallelujah Chorus). This song occupies a special place in my heart, however, because of the memories it brings.

When I hear this song, I think of 336 Atherton Hall and all the shenanigans therein: hammering the Christmas lights into the walls as loud as we could, rocking out at our desks while doing homework, decorating the door with discarded pom-pom handles left from our yeti suits we made for the 2008 Big Ten Championship season. I remember the time we stole the posters exhorting us not to steal food from the dining hall…the time we filled our friend’s room to the ceiling with crumpled newspaper…the list goes on and on. Most of all however, I remember the fellowship and brotherhood experienced with friends around a campfire made in the snow during finals week. The relief of the end of yet another semester of work mixed with struggles, hopes, fears, dreams. Making memories. This year the joys of college life have been too often eclipsed by uncertainties about the near and distant futures. I forget what I learned as a freshman and sophomore—the simple joy of brothers dwelling together in unity. These memories, even though fleeting and temporal, call my focus back to the joy that is ours through the redemption of Christ.

You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy;

they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest. (Isaiah 9:3)

Around the campfire this year, the struggles and fears will feel bigger and more real than the previous three years’. Yet I know that the hopes and dreams will be greater still, for we serve an awesome God. As those red and green lights at the end of your tunnel get closer, ruminate on what this verse from Isaiah has to say about the Lord whose birth we will celebrate in a few short weeks:

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the LORD Almighty
will accomplish this. (Isaiah 9:6-7)