For those of us who miss attending Mass tonight, here is a video to remind you of the magic and magnificence, coupled with the simplicity and power of the reason for the season. Christmas is no longer as much about religion as it once was – it’s about something so much more. 

That expansive idea, of spirituality and a universal love, is sparked by Christmas only when we take the time to push aside the commercial circus and return to a place of purity and humanity. 

The older we grow, the darker our holidays seem to get. But even at the ripe old age of 46, I still find moments of magic and wonder, especially on this most magical night of the year. While the world anxiously awaits the explosion of gifts and wrapping and mayhem on Christmas Day, it is the supreme calm of Christmas Eve that I’ve always enjoyed more, even as a boy.

A sense of serenity imbues the calm before the storm, and in many ways there’s no greater storm than Christmas morn. Christmas Eve is that pocket of time that suddenly feels hushed, not rushed – a break in the relentless lead-up to the main event, as if the world is slowly taking a deep breath before letting all hell break loose again. 

In that quiet space and solemn time, my parents always took us to Christmas Mass, where I usually served as an altar boy. The packed crowd and their winter clothes darkened the cavernous place, lending a cozier atmosphere, one charged with the reminder of why we were all celebrating: the simple story of the birth of Jesus. A straw-laden manger, topped with evergreen boughs and twinkling lights, was populated by statues of the characters of the story – and for Christmas mass the baby Jesus finally made his miraculous appearance. 

The message of this silent evening – the appearance of the miracle of hope and goodness, of light in the darkest night – always struck through all the wish lists and frantic running around that otherwise signaled the season. It grounded me, even as a child who could have been forgiven for flying off on childish fancies. Over the years, Christmas Eve retained that stillness and silence, even if it was fleeting, even if it came saddled with the growing pains of family and life and a world that felt increasingly hostile. For this one night, everything could be peaceful, everything calm. 

On a tree spun from silver tinsel, a shiny ornament hangs. 

There, in that small space, a simple sliver of perfection sparkles and shines.

An encapsulation of Christmas, and all its purity and falseness laid bare.

A thing of beauty, purposeless but for its prettiness, as if being pretty was ever enough unto itself.

As if it wasn’t. 

Christmas divines such magic, while putting faith and trust in so few words grants them greater import than were they to get lost in a longer post. 

We break the week with a view of my childhood home, and the Christmas tree that Mom finally decided to put up this year. It’s a happy scene, and lends light to a corner of the living room that is normally hidden in shadow during the winter months, blocking a door that is only open when the warmer weather allows for access to the backyard. This is happy substitute until such time we can go comfortably outside again, and given its faux nature, they can keep it up for far longer than usual. Andy keeps ours going until January 6 at least, and many years a week or two beyond that. Light, even in the form of a Christmas tree, is most valuable at this time of the year. It lifts the soul and combats the darkness and seasonal depression that sometimes result from these shorter days. 

On this second day of winter, the anticipation of Christmas is strong. That alone raises spirits for the moment, and living in the moment is important when winter has only just begun.