The Charlie Brown Christmas Tree

The year my father died, my mother wasn't much interested in celebrating Christmas. Her gift shopping was half-hearted or incomplete, the number of cookies and candies she prepared dropped exponentially, and she simply didn't have the energy to prepare Christmas for guests, no matter how small a group. When I came home from the Twin Cities two days before Christmas to be with her, I also discovered that she had left the house totally undecorated, including, worst of all, no fresh Christmas tree. It looked like if I wanted to have any amount of holiday cheer, I was going to have to create it for myself.

Granted, my mother didn't drive a car, so her access to Christmas trees, gifts, and groceries was quite limited, especially since our tiny town was at least twenty-five miles from any commercial center of any significant size. But I was determined that our front picture window would at least continue the tradition of having a brightly lit and decorated tree to share seasons greetings with our neighbors whose houses were so festooned. So, almost immediately after arriving home, I jumped back in my car to search the surrounding towns for a tree to brighten our holiday.

After at least seventy-five miles of driving through four towns I knew had Christmas tree lots, I came up empty. It looked as if I was either going to have to pony up for an artificial tree or go without. But, then in the last town I drove through, I saw one last Christmas tree lot, with a few stragglers left behind. Of the handful of trees to choose from, most were either clear fire hazards, too tall for our window, or otherwise unacceptable. But then, off to the side, I saw what at first looked like a branch lopped off from a much larger, fuller tree. Yes, it was scraggly, but its needles were still green and firmly attached, and it was three feet high, max, perfect for the front window. While I gulped at the amount the seller demanded, I nevertheless proudly loaded it into my trunk and headed home.

Unloading into my mother's living room, she looked at it and said, "Oh, David, why did you waste your money on THAT?" And indeed, away from the other trees to which it was clearly superior, it looked even more scrawny than I realized. This was truly Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, come to life. Still, I trimmed the trunk, put it in the tree holder, and proceeded to attempt to decorate it. The branches may have still been healthy, but they could barely hold the weight of the string of mini-lights I attempted to wrap over them. It took several efforts before I succeeded at finding just the right spots to position them so that the branches did not droop sadly into one another. Likewise, only the lightest of ornaments could find a home on the meager fronds.

The amazing thing is, once I carefully hoisted it into the front window and arranged our few packages beneath it, the tree seemed to suddenly blossom. Standing proudly there, for all the world to see, it seemed to fill out before our eyes, announcing Christmas joy in a voice that resounded through our neighborhood. Of course, if you looked closely, you could see how fragile it still was, tenuously holding those few ornaments and lights. But no matter, Christmas had arrived to the Lott household, and not just in the front window. Admiring this ugly duckling tree turned into a semblance of a swan, my still-grieving mother likewise brightened, and asked me to take to do the holiday shopping she normally loved but that up to then had defeated her.

Ours was not a religious household, despite my seminary education, but somehow I knew that Christ had come to us, as he had in biblical times, in the most unexpected way that seemed nothing short of a miracle. Yes, it was still something of a blue Christmas for us, because of our shared loss, but it was not a lost Christmas, as it appeared it might be when I entered my childhood home. Indeed, it was a lovely day. That wisp of a Christmas tree came to us as new life and possibility. As in Jesus' time, Herod's threats were for naught; death would not have the last word among us.

It is tempting to indulge those feelings of sorrow and sadness, telling ourselves that it is the honest and compassionate thing to do for those who simply don't have the heart or energy to celebrate at this time of year. And indeed, it is wrong to somehow try to command joy from those who are suffering in this way, or to try to overlook these very real sensations of loss or grief. If we can't give people the "perfect" image of Christmas that we think they want or deserve, we may drive away, not paying attention to the vulnerable, the unbeautiful, even the outright ridiculous that might have the power to transform the day from one of pain to something at least resembling joy and gladness, if not filled with the real thing.

You see, the Charlie Brown Christmas tree is often used to counter the commercialization of this holy day, or as a sign against what we now call the "war on Christmas." Or, we see the tree as a metaphor for the poor, the lonely, the unloved whom we tend to ignore amidst our own private concerns and stresses of the season. But what if that tree is Christ himself, the One whom we so easily overlook because, as the Isaian prophecy notes, "He had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him"? And yet, lying in a humble manger, or hanging on the cross, we are invited to behold a glory that we had not seen before, a glory that can transform us, yes, miraculously.

Christ will indeed come this Christmas, no matter how blue we may feel, no matter how crassly commercial the season becomes, no matter how stressful things become, no matter if we feel pressed to wish others "Happy Holidays" rather than "Merry Christmas." We are the ones who have taken Christ out of Christmas, not the culture, not corporations, not family expectations. But, if we look in the nooks and crannies of that very last lot in the last town, we just may find him, ready to receive our attentions and show us his glory and love, lifting us out of our self-indulgence or sadness to a hope and vision that may have seemed beyond us. That is where we experience the miracle of Christmas.