Why I hate Christmas

I admit it. That's a lie. I don't hate Christmas. I do, however, find myself increasingly agitated by Christmas, in a manner reminiscent of my agitation around Halloween, and trust me when I say that you don't want me to get into my issues with Halloween. It's just better that we don't go there.

Let's start with Santa. St. Nicholas was an amazing man who loved his Lord and only wished to share that love. I admire that in a way that far surpasses mere admiration. Since his death, however, the idea of St. Nicholas has been warped into a greed-mongering magic-man who compels families the world 'round to lie to their children.

Where is Jesus in this? Where is the love for our Lord? He's the little figurine in our Christmas creches, the plastic baby in the manger at the Christmas Eve services, sure, but where is He when we're gorging ourselves on sugar, wrapping paper flying, kids crying and throwing tantrums because they're missing naps and are kept up past bedtimes in order to partake in traditional family celebrations, flying high on childish greed and self-centeredness?

Where is Jesus when we're gathering with family, wishing we were elsewhere? Where is He when we're stressed out, trying to do the million-and-a-half tasks that are somehow necessary in order for Christmas to be just so, forget enjoyable?

I want to worship. It's all I want. I want to enjoy our very quiet holiday this year with my little family, and I want it to be a time of worship. I'm just unsure how to make it so, and this depresses me.