Joy to the World

There is more of moroseness than of merriment to my holiday season nowadays. It is a remembrance of people and times that no longer exist, a sort of month-long funeral service. No carols are sung, no ornaments are hung, no wreaths of holly are nailed to the door and no twinkle lights are strung on the tree, for there is no tree. There is no Christmas feast and no roast beast, and no Who's down in Whoville to eat the beast. There are no brown paper packages tied up in string. It is not the most wonderful time of the year. But when all the tinsel is trimmed away, when all the colored lights are switched off and all the candle flames extinguished, and the candied yams and the leftover gravy and the remaining parts of the turkey and the dressing and the green beans in the pumpkin and the chest pies have wrapped in foil and committed once for all to the freezer, what have we left? Perhaps, at last, Christmas itself, the Christ child, the light of the world, born in the dark of a manger. Let all the rest live in its time, and yet this one thing live forever. Tidings of great and solemn joy.