I grew up celebrating the birth of Jesus. The stockings were hung, the tree was trimmed, packages were lovingly wrapped, and tantalizing foods were prepared. Wreaths adorned the doors and lights illuminated each window of the house.
We counted down the weeks of advent at dinner each night by lighting candles of purple and pink. We set a ceramic baby Jesus upon a table surrounded by angels singing. We attended church on Christmas Eve. We sang “O Holy Night”. We were scooted off to bed anticipating the surprises that would be waiting beneath the tree come morning. Family gathered on Christmas Day and we joyously celebrated the birth of God’s only son. It was a wonderfully warm and cozy time.
But why?
Why did we celebrate?
I never fully understood why this child’s birth mattered to the world.
