Every Christmas, my family wages war. We sojourn to Pennsylvania, to my grandparents' farmhouse, and there the battle begins over whether there is any place for presents in a religious Christmas celebration. My grandparents and parents answer with a resounding "No!" and every year threaten that no presents will be given. This threat is met with a children's revolt: "Why can't we have presents? All our friends get them. It's not fair!" And every December 25th, when there are presents under the tree and in stockings hanging over the hearth, the children celebrate their victory. Until this year.
If one were to ask me what my two most memorable Christmases were, they would be the ones where no gifts were exchanged at all: twice, my family has traveled during this time of year--to Austria when I was 16, and to South Africa last year--and both times the gifts we collectively received were being able to spend time exploring on a wondrous vacation with our family and absorbing the local Christmas traditions. All the other Christmases sort of blend together: the material possessions that seemed so essential to my life then are forgotten now, replaced by the newest acquisition. I used to count this tradition of perennially fulfilling my greed a victory.
This year, my mindset is changing. I have been given an opportunity to move away from my childhood habits and it seems the adults might win for a change, though I do not feel the loss so poignantly as I did when I was younger. This year, instead of buying gifts, my grandparents volunteered our family to support The Hunger Project, a four-star charity dedicated to empowering local communities across Africa, Asia, and India with the infrastructure and start-up funds to become self-sufficient. Erasing the handout mentality and replacing it with one of independence, skill and security is a permanent solution to the issue of chronic hunger.
Making a donation to a reputable charity as a family, in replacement of the gifts we would typically exchange with each other (and soon forget) was an incredibly special event. I'm only 21, and I still have a tremendous way to go on the path to ultimate happiness, but I felt a distinct change in the level and type of happiness receiving (giving) such a gift brought me. I noticed the same change even in my younger siblings, whose ages range fro 8 to 17. Gone was the disappointment in not having precisely what you asked for. In fact, gone was the "not having" mindset altogether. In its place, there seemed to be an overwhelming sense of joy.
Whether it is because we don't think about it or because we don't seize the opportunities to do it, we only experience the joy that comes from helping others without any thought of recompense on special occasions. Try as we might to be "good people", there is always room to spread more light, to be kinder and more giving of ourselves--not necessarily of things. Sure, giving things is great, too, if they are heartfelt and useful. But fueling an attachment to the material is in some ways cruel: it is helping to keep that person from attaining what true happiness may feel like.
I've been taught that I will only reach a permanent state of happiness when I completely relinquish ties to the material world (stop seeking selfish fulfillment from things) in favor of being of service to others, not just in my community but around the world. This does not mean that everyday I need to donate my time or money to a particular charity, or that I even need to consciously seek out good deeds to do, acting as some modern day superhero. In fact, the goal is to have this altruistic behavior become ingrained second-nature, such that you seize the everyday opportunity to improve someone else's life.
This is what it means to love thy neighbor. And for those that care about this sort of thing, it is only by becoming closer to (more loving of) those physical beings around us that we can become more like, and move closer to, the metaphysical spirit of God. If this is what Christmas is about--opening our eyes to ways that we can daily bring light into the world by reaching out to those around us--then maybe the old folks are on to something.