What Christmas (Doesn’t) Mean to Me.
Christmas means a lot of things to a lot of people. It means reuniting with family. It means a takeover of radio stations by tireless holiday jams (Bing Crosby, anyone?). And, it means three weeks of Christmas vacation (Yay!).
Each of these things has some attachment to the Christmas season, but none of them equal the ultimate meaning. For instance, if Christmas was just about vacation, then it would be more like Spring break. If it was just about reuniting with family, it would be very similar to a wedding, funeral or some other sort of family gathering. If it was just about Christmas music then, well, God help us.
(Disclaimer: I happen to love Christmas music, but a lot of people do not, so there would be a lot of grumpy people around if Christmas was just about the music. Yuck).
Christmas holds a weightier meaning than each of these things individually. Most of the CBU audience is probably familiar with the ultimate meaning, but let me reiterate it for the sake of advent-like remembrance.
Approximately two thousand years ago, God decided it was time to send a Savior. He came in the form of a baby, much to the chagrin of King Herod, and was called “Emmanuel,” which means, “God with us.” You see, this baby was God in this flesh.
About thirty three years later, the God-man (fully each) died on the world’s sinful behalf and was resurrected three days later, defeating death and giving us a living hope.
This is the ultimate meaning of Christmas. It is not necessarily what happened at the birth that reeks of significance, but it is the totality of Jesus’ life.