Between Gratitude and Greed

Rev. Peter Friedrichs

November 25, 2007

They almost got me. It was a close call. For weeks I had been joking about setting my alarm for 3:30 on Friday morning, to make it to the after Thanksgiving Day sale at Kohl's department store at 4 a.m. I just wanted to see who would get up at that hour and what it was that they needed to buy so badly. Then, thinking that I really didn't want to make that much a personal sacrifice, I began thinking about how I might buck the system. I would, I thought, make up a large sign proclaiming the words attributed to Art Buchwald: "The best things in life aren't things." I'd go to the local mall on the morning of Black Friday and wander around, carrying the sign, to see the reaction I got, and to see how long I'd last before mall security escorted me off the premises. I didn't do it, but I'm still thinking about it for next year, so let me know if you might be interested in joining me.

For years I've been mortified by the rampant consumerism of the Christmas season, the trend that's epitomized by the shopping frenzy that begins on the day after Thanksgiving. I really can't understand why anyone would want to fight the anxious, stressed-out crowds and the long lines that we see on the obligatory segment on the nightly news every evening of Black Friday. What would possess people to put themselves through that? Then, I caught wind of a sale item at Staples. It was a 32" flat panel, liquid crystal display, high-definition TV. On sale for half price. Great quality picture. Great price. Great value. It's the perfect size television for our living room. At that price it was affordable, if your definition of affordable means that you can put it on your credit card and actually pay it off within a year or so. And, you guessed it, it was only available for a few short hours beginning at 6 am on the Friday after Thanksgiving.

As I thought about watching my favorite sports and movies on a high-def TV in the comfort of my living room, and I discussed this particular model with someone who knows about such things, I could feel myself falling down the rabbit hole. I started planning and scheming. "We can move the living room TV (which is about 3 years old) into our bedroom, move the 20-year old set from the bedroom down to the basement, then donate the basement TV to the church flea market in the spring." I told myself, "If Irene and I agree not to buy each other any other presents this Christmas, it really isn't all that expensive." Sitting in my daughter's living room on Thanksgiving Day, gazing at the picture of their HD TV, I began daydreaming about the home theater system we'd need to install to get the full effect from the new television. And, of course, we'd need to upgrade our cable package. Oh, and the price of high-def DVD players was coming down, so I'd better check and see where we can get the best deal for one of those…

As I said, it was a close call. They almost got me. They almost sucked me into their little game. But I'm happy to say that, as Irene and I turned in for the night last Thursday, we agreed: No new TV. We had narrowly escaped the gaping maw of the Christmas Machine. This time.

I'll admit that I get aggravated every year about this time. I get aggravated by the $150 billion or so that is spent by our consumer society between the end of November and Christmas, and more so by the billions that Madison Avenue spends to convince us that we need to buy the latest, the shiniest, the fastest, the greatest. Christmas catalogs began flooding our mailbox long before Halloween, and nearly every ad on television since the beginning of the month has been geared toward Christmas purchasing. Were it not such a deeply ingrained tradition with important historical roots, I doubt that Thanksgiving would survive the onslaught. Part of my frustration, I think, results from the whipsaw shift that takes place between Thanksgiving Day and the day that follows it. Somehow, Thanksgiving has held onto its purity, at least for me. It's a time of celebrating our abundance, of cherishing all that we've been given. A time for sharing a meal with family and friends. A time to pause and reflect on all that we have. A time to count our blessings. Then, right on the heels of this most holy holiday, while we're still digesting our turkey and stuffing, comes Black Friday. The "official start" to the holiday shopping season. The time where we are told all that we lack. All that we do not have. All that we need. All that we can buy for others to show them how much we love them. We are wrenched from gratitude to greed with lightning speed. Call me a sentimental romantic, but I'd much rather spend that day with my family, basking in the afterglow of a generous Thanksgiving Day, than being stuck in traffic around the mall or elbowing my way past the hordes to grab the last "Tickle-Me Elmo" from the shelves of Toys-R-Us. Please, can't we have just a day or two to linger with feelings of appreciation and gratitude before we feed the fires of unmet desires? Retailers respond with a resounding "NO!" and we are urged, as a nearly patriotic duty, to spend, spend, spend.

The tradition of giving gifts at Christmas is as old as Christmas itself. We all remember the story of the three wise men, making their trek to the stable in Bethlehem. There, they knelt down and offered gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the baby Jesus. As early as the mid-1800's we began to hear complaints of rampant consumerism at Christmas. Listen to these words, written by Harriet Beecher Stowe in her short story, "The First Christmas in New England:" "Oh dear! Christmas is coming in a fortnight, and I have got to think up presents for everybody! Dear me, it's so tedious! Everybody has got everything that can be thought of." She describes the town with "every shop and store glittering with all manner of splendors . . . for people that have more than they know what to do with now; to add pictures, books, and gilding when the centre tables are loaded with them now, and rings and jewels when they are a perfect drug." It was also during the 19th century that our modern version of Santa Claus took root. The original Saint Nicholas of Myra was a 4th century bishop in what is now Turkey, known for his generosity, particularly to the poor, and virtually every western culture has laid claim to a figure who brings gifts, food and candy to children at Christmas time. Father Christmas. Sinterklaas. Pére Noel. An American illustrator, Thomas Nast, is attributed with creating the modern image of Santa Claus, with the white beard, big belly and red suit, in the late nineteenth century. And it was Clement Clarke Moore's poem, "A Visit from St. Nicholas," which we now call "Twas the Night Before Christmas," that gave us the images of flying reindeer, giant sacks of toys, and jolly old elves that come down the chimney.

Now, I know that the Thanksgiving holiday is not as pure as I make it out to be, nor is Christmas a time when we're solely focused on the giving and the getting. I could just as easily talk today about the gluttony of Thanksgiving as the greed of Christmas. And I'm enough of a realist to know that there's little hope of changing our culture around either holiday, at least in my lifetime. But the fact is that, during the period from Thanksgiving to Christmas, many of us experience a crisis of the spirit. It is a time when we feel most acutely the disconnect between what we value and how we live. We spend beyond our means to show others that we care. We run ourselves ragged when time with family and friends is what fulfills us and is most meaningful to them. We accumulate stuff to fill the voids in our lives, all the while knowing that it's often this same stuff that makes our lives feel cluttered and overwhelming.

How might we live during this period between Thanksgiving and Christmas in a way that is consistent with who we are, and that more accurately reflects our values? Today I'd like to offer three strategies that we might use to resist the call of the Christmas Machine that lures and lulls us into thinking about all that we do not have, that more is better, and that we can never have enough. The first approach takes a page out of the practices of our Christian brothers and sisters. In Christian churches, the four weeks preceding Christmas are observed as a period of preparation, of waiting, of anticipation and contemplation. In Christian churches each Sunday during this period called Advent, a candle is lit representing values that members hold most dear: Hope. Love. Joy. Peace. While Christians await the ultimate gift that is to be received - the gift of God coming to Earth in human form - they remind themselves of the principles and values that they prize most highly. The practice calls Christians back to center amidst all the holiday hustle and bustle, and I think it could do the same for us. We can, if we choose, find space in our homes and our lives to light a candle each day, or at the start of each week, to remind us of what is most important to us. Perhaps it's a candle of hope, or love, or joy, or peace. Or maybe it's a candle of compassion. Or a candle of honesty. Or a candle of gratitude. Whatever you value most highly or prize most passionately, let the light of the candle remind you to keep that value in your heart and mind as you live out your week.

One of the spiritual crises we may experience during the Christmas holidays is the disconnect we feel around how we spend our time. While we are committed in our hearts to reaching out and helping others, we tend at this time of year to focus on what I will call "our own." Our partners or spouses, our children, our parents and siblings. In our quest to find the perfect gift for Aunt Suzie in Boise, we can easily forget the basic needs of those around us. Our already-hectic lives are piled with the pressures of the season, and the most needy among us can easily fall by the wayside. And so, during this season of giving, the second strategy is to remember that it is important to give of yourself. It may seem counterintuitive to commit to spending time helping others when time seems at such a premium during the holiday rush. But I'll bet that the time you spend feeding the hungry or mentoring a student will be the time you remember long after the Christmas lights have been boxed up for another year. It doesn't matter whether it's the Chester East Side Ministries, the Hunger Task Force, the Interfaith Hospitality Network, or some other worthy cause. Find an organization that needs your help, and commit to spending a few hours supporting it. And include your kids, if you can.

A separate, but related, problem that we experience most acutely at this time of year - in fact, any time of year - is keeping our financial lives in balance. How we spend our money is as much of a spiritual crisis as is the question of how we spend our time. It's so easy to rack up huge bills during the holidays that strain the family budget and stress us out for months and months into the new year. And I don't know about any of you, but when all the gifts are opened and the wrapping paper piled high in the corner, I feel pretty guilty about how much stuff we've given and how much stuff we've got. So here's something else you can do to help keep you connected to your spiritual values in the midst of the Christmas crush: You can commit to matching the amount you spend on Christmas gifts with the amount you give away to your favorite charity, dollar for dollar. While this may have a mediating effect on the amount you spend on gifts for family and friends, it isn't about spending less, but about getting more. This isn't so much about relieving our guilt (although that may be a byproduct of this practice), as much as it is about maintaining a healthy relationship with our money, one that reminds us what our money is for. This practice also helps balance our personal needs and desires with the needs of others around us. I know one family where the parents committed to spending the same for their own children's Christmas presents as they did for the children of a family that they "adopted" for the holiday. When the children were old enough to participate, they would help their parents purchase, wrap, and deliver the presents for the adopted family. Soon they came to understand that, while their family could have afforded to spend much more on their own presents, it was more important to help others. Now that's what I call a real Christmas gift.

There is a middle path between gratitude and greed, a path where we can maintain our spiritual balance during the holiday season. I like to think of that middle path as one of grace. It has been said that grace is simply the outward expression of an inward harmony of the soul. It is this inward harmony that we can so easily lose during these most frenzied times. But it need not be so. When we live in a state of grace, we are thankful for all the gifts we've been given and we maintain a healthy perspective on our place in the universe. Our actions reflect our intentions, and we nourish ourselves at the same time we are nourishing others. It is a fact that we are, all of us, blessed beyond measure. As theologian Martin Buber said, our mere living is a blessing. May we all, in the days and weeks ahead, find moments of grace that become, for ourselves and for others, the true blessing of the season.

May it be so.

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