Christmas Grinch

It’s customary to whinge at this time of year about the hollow celebration of the birth of the central character in the Christian story…to lament the crass commercialism and the incongruous merger of a winter European-style festival and the Australian summer heat. Then there’s the family politics.

But I usually enjoy Christmas – merry-making, good food, seeing friends and family who slip through the year without crossing my path. I used to even secretly delight in the TV re-runs and the Chrissy carols. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s Christmas album would play on a loop on my ipod while I decorated the house and I put loads of thought into picking just the right gift for every person.

This year, though, I just can’t get into the spirit. Not sure why. It’s like someone stole my Christmas joy. People keep sending the Grinch after me on Facebook – maybe that’s got something to do with it? Maybe I’m just getting old? Maybe it’s because it’s been a year of deep lows and uplifting highs and I’m tired from the emotional upheaval? Maybe it’s because after months of soul searching and quiet intellectual reflection while on study leave I’m in a different head and heart space to everyone around me? Maybe it’s because Christmas came early on November 24th when John Howard lost both government and his seat in parliament?

Whatever the reason – the season just aint doin’ it for me this year. The really low point came when I was lined up at the David Jones perfume counter during a hit-and-run gift-buying expedition this week. The sales assistant said to the woman in front of me: “There’s really nothing worse than not having a perfume you like”. That comment hung there, cartoon-like, in a balloon emerging from the corner of her shallow mouth. Really - nothing worse? What about not having a roof over your head or clean water to drink? Rape? Child sexual assault? War? Famine? Chronic unemployment? Cancer? I wanted to reach across the counter and slap her. Instead, I made polite conversation and bought several bottles of designer label scent to put under the tree. It was at this point I realised I’d become just another consumer sustaining the commodification of a religious festival.

Christmas began as a celebration of the birth of a Jewish baby in the poorest of circumstances, who would rise to become regarded as one of the greatest prophets of all time and who many believe was actually the Son of God. Regardless of your faith, there’s much to appreciate in the Jesus story – he was a radical political activist, a friend of the ostracised, a rebel with a cause, an advocate for the sick, poor and marginalised. He spoke of love and justice and mercy, challenged prejudice and condemned the powerful and corrupt.

We could use a champion like that in our society – a social justice campaigner who advocates – across class, cultural and economic divides - for asylum seekers; the abused; Indigenous Australians; the permanently unemployed; the sick and disadvantaged

Maybe contemplating the original meaning of the Jesus story will help me rediscover my festive season joy? I think I’ll go and try to cultivate some authentic Christmas spirit.