Jesus Does Not Care

My friend, a recovering perfectionist, shared an epiphany one week before Christmas.

"Jesus does not care", she repeated to my jaw-dropped face and dread filled heart.

"I just realized that Jesus does not care if I mail the 200^th card or bake the tenth dozen cookies. I can stop worrying about all of it."

It was obvious that she was referring to an addiction that plagues so many Americans in the days of December each year.

It is oft considered an acceptable addiction, especially at Christmas time. It is the addiction to spending.

We justify and quantify and stupefy ourselves with the mantra that all is well; we are spending for others.

It is all about the giving, isn't it?

We wake hours before dawn on Black Friday and stumble out our front doors in the dark. We make our way to abandoned shopping centers and strip malls, settling into sleeping bags and summer lawn chairs lined along sidewalks leading to locked doors in hopes that we will place our mark in history as one that got the gift that everyone wanted this year. It is all about the giving. Isn't it?

As the weeks roll by and the countdown continues, the frenzy builds.

"Brown paper packages tied up with strings" stream through the doors of the post office, FedEx, DHL and UPS. We spend until our pockets are empty, bank accounts drained and credit card bills burst their envelopes.

When is "it" enough?

How do we know when we've shopped enough or bought enough or spent enough?

When have we decorated, baked, bottled, jarred, swept, bedecked and bedazzled enough?

What is enough?

Are bows all tied in perfection and wrappings tight yet untorn a measure of perfection?

Are stockings pristine and sateen angels a glowing the signal of the end?

Who should we buy for and how much should we spend?

Do we buy for postman, garbage man AND friends?

Oft repeated and never forever answered, the familiar question resounds between strangers and friends.

"So? Are you ready for Christmas?"

The question solicits a verbal list and spoken litany of people and gifts and bargains and a disclaimer of dismay of what remains yet to buy. The dissertation continues with details of wrapping accomplished and that yet to complete. The lamenting limited only by time available to speaker and solicitor alike. Given deadline indefinite the despair would never end.

Nervous smiles signal conclusion and conversation ends with both parties scurrying off to another purchase or gazillionth project left upon their overflowing list.

I found it peculiar, this year in particular, that these conversations infiltrated sanctuaries, chapels and meeting halls of Christians from coast to coast. Yes, the altars festooned with poinsettias, roses and fir. The sounds of familiar Christmas hymns fill the air and the words dance like visions in our heads. Memories swell in our hearts of Christmases past and we settle into our seats to prepare to be fed.

Our souls salivate for messages of shepherds, sheep, saints and sinners. Our hearts are open and anxious await the retelling of the birth of His Son and the swadling of salvation.

Our spirits swell with anticipation as the musicians assemble and instruments tune.

The choir is seated and a peaceful silence fills the vast room.

A nudge at my elbow jerks me round and a grinning face disturbs the moment.

"So? Are you ready for Christmas?"