Christmas decorations have taken over my home. The dining room table is set with dishes we don’t use, glassware that never holds drinks. Angels collect on the hutch, an area dusted off just for their appearance. No less than 3 tress have sprouted up bearing lights and garland as well as some measure of ornamentation. The mantle is redesigned to hold nutcrackers and stockings, snowmen own another table. Nativity scenes in many forms are sprinkled throughout. I know the big day is nearing because I am ready to pack all of these intrusions away, I want my clutter free home back. The absurdity of it all, the folly of changing my entire home for a season would seemingly show my crazy but I am not alone. So what does it mean?
Filling my home with signs of the season necessitates that I stow away other collections. I hide away my old bottles, regular dishes stay in the cabinet. Regular things I want to look at on a daily basis, items that bring me comfort or stir up memories surround me throughout the year but get pushed out for Christmas creating discomfort. I want my stuff back where it goes. I want normalcy. Christmas knocks me out of my comfort zone. I have to make room for glistening glittering shining objects. Sure these all carry memories as well, ornaments created by little hands and the black tree I purchased on craigslist thinking I got a great deal. Still, this stuff all requires more of me, more of my home. The story of a child born in a stable, swaddled and placed in an animals manger has nothing to do with this excess. A lone star guiding the way, not hundreds outside on the gutters. How does my home have anything to do with the birth of that babe?
There was no room at the inn. I am forced to confront the truth that most of the time I don’t make room either. I have crosses and scripture written beautifully hanging on my walls but do I really see them as I wander from room to room? Years ago I wrote favorite biblical passages on the inside of all of my cabinets, thinking each time I reached for a glass or a can of soup I would pause to read and be enriched. Nope. I no longer even notice them. All of these pieces of my life become background, requiring nothing of me. No room at the inn, I am comfortable. But Christmas makes me adjust, change, allow the message to confront me with every turn. Maybe it isn’t the clutter I resist, it is making room for Jesus. The Fa LA La folly of the season wants more from me. Not santa, not stockings, just room in my inn.