Any connection between the god-child cribbing in Bethlehem and the bleary-eyed mall Santa making dreams come true is beside the point. However blessed the birth of the Savior--if you count Him one of your own--He has been gobsmacked by the marketing machine that requires spending gobs of money on presents in lieu of disappointing loved ones.
We all know on some level, however subliminal, that it's true: Christmas is a flat-out fake.
In my own household this transition from God to godless has been made manifest by the erection and dismantling of our very own 100 percent fake Christmas tree. In years past we made a big deal out of doing the right thing by tromping through the frozen tundra of Vermont, there to cut our own and drag the sucker back to Mammon on the back of a snowmobile. No more. That tradition, however traditional, gave way to buying a cut-down tree grown in North Carolina at the City Market in El Jebel, Colorado. In turn, the five minutes the tree spent atop the car has been replaced by our own plug-in tree bought once and now assembled twice. The only thing left of the original tradition is a lapel pin showing a Christmas tree atop a station wagon during happier times.
I can't even tell you why we have a tree at all any more, other than a place to put the presents and thus to forestall seasonal affective disappointment disorder. (Really SADD.) But there it sits, all dressed up with no place to go, as far removed from the original as religion is from Christmas.
The point is I really like our fake tree even though I can't wait for it to come down. (Is there anything sadder than a Christmas tree lingering after New Year's Day?) There are no needles to pick up in the aftermath and no worries about unloading the tree in a socially acceptable manner. (Confession: one of our real trees was once left furtively by the road in Woody Creek by a couple that will remain nameless.)
No muss. No fuss. No losing my religion. Fake or real, without Christmas, what would there be left to believe in?