Though it is true that most retailers put their Christmas stock on the shelves even before Halloween, the fact remains that the Christmas season does not commence until the day after Thanksgiving. We see bright glimpses of it on Thanksgiving Day when stores blast their advertisements all over Macy’s Parade television coverage, but economists know that those wee hours of Black Friday morning and the ensuing mayhem are both a predictor and an indicator of the economic health of our nation.
Somehow, a miracle happens. Not on 34th Street, but on your street and my street. Ordinary people who like their privacy and independence morph into stressed-out bargain hunters, shop-till-you-drop maniacs and weirdos who thrive on social tension —- voluntarily giving up several hours of nighttime slumber and daytime calm for a nightmarish daydream of slashed prices and limited-time-only specials on-limited-supplies-only. And thus we greet the advent of the annual mall madhouse and shopping center craze.
I’ve only gone shopping once on Black Friday. I hated the experience. The mall was entirely jammed with tense bodies. Every time I turned around, somebody’s elbow jabbed my face, somebody’s foot stepped on my shoe, somebody’s kid was yelling in my ear. Even though I bought a wonderful Christmas gift for 50 percent off retail value, I decided never to insert myself into the chaos again.
That’s why the following year, I didn’t go shopping on Black Friday. Instead, I dressed up in my Jews for Jesus clown costume, added a Santa hat, and took a handful of tracts into Penny’s, Old Navy, Build-A-Bear, Forever 21 and Yankee Candles.
That day, I made an amazing discovery. Apparently, the hyper commercialism and spend-lust that turns folks wild-eyed and frantic isn’t all it is cracked up to be.
The assault of bodies nearly crushed me. Dazed and desperate for a fresh and cheery face, people thronged me for a bit of encouragement, a photo or a down-home chat. Complete strangers poured out their deepest secrets, failures and desires. They prayed with me for their ailing grandmothers, their wayward sons, their dissolving marriages, their empty pocketbooks and even their own offenses before God. One believing lady laden with bags begged me for “Just a hug, sister!” Even some Jews not for Jesus smiled wearily and said, “Oh well, it is Christmas after all.”
And so I learned that somehow, in the rush for gift-buying and gift-giving, the family feuds over who decorates best, the tendency towards holiday debt and the paint-the-town-red mentality, there is a huge opportunity that comes naturally —- as Jesus came so naturally 2000 years ago —- to remind myself and others that we are celebrating Christmas, for goodness’ sake. It’s not Mardi Gras.
Yes, Jesus’ birth is good for the economy. Some 195 million consumers spent $41.2 billion last weekend. And though the Wii, Playstation and iPod were high on shopping lists, this year buyers went for door-busters on more practical stuff too, like car tires and freezers and washing machines and baby swings.
Jesus’ birth is also good for families. Even the most wicked stepmothers and blended-family siblings and incorrigible divorcees and workaholic careerists and delinquent dads that I have seen in my friends’ families will attempt to invest some quality time with the ones they are supposed to love. And for close families like mine, Christmas is hands-down the best time of the entire year.
Jesus’ birth is good for charities. The Salvation Army red kettles and bell ringers are synonymous with holiday, helping some 29 million needy with the loose change. And even though times are tough, Americans are still generous because the Christmas season surge in charitable donations has topped $300 billion in each of the last two years.
Jesus’ birth is good for teachers and kids. Despite school boards’ refusals to acknowledge the baby by calling Christmas vacation “winter break,” there’s nothing quite so rejuvenating as a two-week rest between semesters.
But Jesus’ birth is best for the soul. Time would fail me to recount stories of Christmas carols piped over a store’s sound system provoking Jews to search for and find their Messiah, of the evangelistic television Christmas special convincing an atheist to investigate the claims of Christ, of the nativity scene in front of the city hall encouraging an abortion-bound mother to remember the child in her womb and of George Baileys helping Clarences earn their wings.
So this year, remember Jesus, because if it weren’t for that manger, we wouldn’t have Saint Nick. Or Rudolph. Goodness, we wouldn’t even have long lines at Best Buy, which provide the perfect holiday opportunities to talk about the tidings of great joy.
