I’ve found Christmas to be kind of complicated over the past few years. On the unique roller coaster of deconstructing religion, I think most people tend to notice peculiar emotions simmer to the surface every December as they dust off their holiday decoration boxes. Yesterday, I pulled out one of my Christmas Jesus signs that I got at a Rod Works shop in Utah years and years ago. Now that I view the world in a new way, I didn’t know what to do with it. Do I keep it? Donate it? Paint over it? I'm still not sure, but what I DID notice was the way that I felt inside of myself as I held the decoration in my hands.
I remember during the first Christmas of my spiritual crisis, there was a lot of feelings of questioning, fear and confusion. Then I went through my year of anger and bitterness, a year of sadness and grieving, but this year felt warmer. More hopeful. It felt… embraceable?
It’s made me reflect on the past and my faith that I once cherished so much. Oh, I LOoOoOoVED the relationship that I had with Christianity back then. It was so rich and energizing and magical. Jesus was my best friend. I could come to him about anything, and I could talk to him with rawness and without fear. I would feast on his scriptural teachings, and I tried so hard to love others the way that he inspired me to. There was this strength that presided inside of me, stimulated by who he was to me.
And he was perfect. But not like everyone else’s version of perfect… He was a personalized, impeccable version of a Savior for me. He was MY Jesus.
He was the Jesus who would laugh at the stars as he raced across the water in the darkness, with chocolate curls that framed ‘Heath Ledger’ smile lines and deep-ocean-blue eyes. I was absolutely certain that he must have had a singing voice like Neil Diamond. And I believed that he would make sarcastic ‘Jim Halpert’ facial expressions when he would watch me make mistakes.
I’m lucky enough to have two amazing brothers, so a piece of them has always been associated with my relationship with Jesus as well and the care and protectiveness I imagined he must have felt for me.
It's so funny thinking about it now, because historical Jesus was probably nothing like the filtered version that I saw in images growing up in churches. I bet he was most likely simple looking or unrecognizable (I mean, Judas had to point him out to the Roman soldiers to arrest him, so it’s not like he stood out in a crowd.), with short wooly hair, brown eyes, Middle-Eastern olive skin, and based on historical average height, he was probably a good half of a foot shorter than me.
It’s also funny because I don’t think he was entirely the pleasant guy our society paints him out to be either—sometimes he would get really ticked off and flip tables, or harshly call out and publicly shame his friends, or be exclusive to people (like the Canaanite woman), cursing innocent fig trees (We can’t blame him for his actions when he’s hangry though.), or braking up families by asking his disciples to turn away from their loved ones and follow him.
Who knows who he truly was. All these stories and records were written word of mouth years after his death, maybe exaggerated, and at times used for the political agenda of the author. I hate how, to no fault of his own, his stories have been weaponized to manipulate people’s self-worth, caused wars and violence, witch hunts, divided countries and have brought so much pain to humanity through the abuse of those seeking power.
... (in my passionate opinion)
Yet, I’ve also seen beautiful love, kindness, service, tranquility, sacrifice, perseverance, and people passing through death’s door with a peace and hope for what lies in their future because of his existence.
So, this winter, as I hang lights around my tree, I reflect on how Christ has affected who I am today, and I ask myself, who was he really to me? A historical human figure. I believe so. Maybe just a progressive dude trying his best to bring light into a world that wasn’t ready for him. But was he some sort of mysterious demigod and savior for humanity? I just don’t know.
I have found the phrase “I don’t know” to be incredibly empowering. Born into a culture where “knowing” was everything, it’s become so refreshing to swallow my pride and with childlike wonder and curiosity be able to say genuinely that, as a simple mortal, I don't actually know if Jesus was who he said he was. I’ve read stories about him, I’ve heard people claim to speak for him, and I’ve been emotionally stirred by experiences that centered around him, but have I ever met the guy? No. Have those that claimed to speak for him revealed red flags that have cause me to no longer trust them? Unfortunately, yes. And I’ve learned as I’ve attempted to seek out the truth that those spiritual emotions and peaceful sensations that I once felt in my body are a universal, human experience described in the same way by Jews, Muslims, Scientologists, Atheists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints, Wiccans, and Christians alike.
So, I really can’t claim that I know what he was. And that was hard for me. But here’s what I’m satisfied with…
Every human being loves a hero—someone who cares for them unconditionally even after all the mistakes they’ve made. We all find comfort in the idea of someone wanting to save us.
In my fictional writing days, I fell in love with my characters and although they may not have lived or breathed, and I wasn’t able to literally touch them, I discovered that story characters are very, very REAL.
They don’t NOT exist.
I think about how the hippocampal part of the brain is active when we use our imagination, and an energy or living spark is literally present and creating thoughts in our minds because of that character we are imagining. It is something tangible and alive in a way when you twist your heart’s mind to the side and squint just right.
Does Frodo Baggins exist? I believe a piece of him comes alive through those who created him like Tolkien, Elijah Wood, Peter Jackson and every reader who picked up the Lord of the Rings books or watched the films. Maybe WE make these people real and give them the power to exist. Perhaps we’re a version of God ourselves gifting things we hold sacred with that magical breath of life.
Last year at Christmastime, my daughter wanted to know about Santa. She looked me intensely with her doe-like eyes and said, “Mom, I want you to tell me the real TRUTH about who puts gifts in my stockings.”
We sat beside each other on the bed. I said how the story of Saint Nicholas was real. Historical writings tell us that he was probably a real person a long time ago who actually made toys for the kids in an old town and left them gifts. And then he died, just like all humans do. But the people in town thought it was so magical what he did and didn’t want the magic to end. So, they kept doing it for him after he died. And their children kept the magic alive for their children, and their children. And we’ve done the same thing for you. And now that you’re older, we would love your help next year! You can do the stockings and keep the magic alive in our family.
I was surprised by how well she took this. She wasn’t upset. It was like she trusted me with this magic. And she trusted herself with it too, understanding the responsibility.
Last December, when I was more upset and mourning my faith, unsure anymore if Jesus ever was the friend that I always believed him to be, I reflected on this conversation that my daughter and I had. It was like I was hearing my little five-year-old's voice in my mind retell the story to me but referring to religion… to Christ.
“Mom, he was a real person a long time ago. And then he died, just like all humans do. But the people thought it was so magical what he did and didn’t want the magic to end. So, they kept doing it for him after he died. And their children kept the magic alive for their children, and their children. And now that you’re older, you can keep the magic alive. Trust yourself with the magic.”
This Christmas season, this is the kind of magic that I’m going to focus on. Whether or not Christ is real (and, don't get me wrong, I hope he is. Who wouldn't want someone to heal humanity where lions and lambs play together?), the MAGIC behind who he was is within every person's reach and is powerful enough to bring light into the world and into ourselves.
This year, I'm healing, and I'm hopeful. And Christmas feels warm again.
