Thirty years ago, at the age of 47, my life was in chaos.  Two years earlier I separated from my wife, and had lived in a series of apartments, and I was in the middle of moving to Europe. My job as a tenured professor was in jeopardy as my department chair and the Dean were trying to get rid of me for various reasons, and I was completely broke. My pregnant fiancé and I were staying in an apartment in Milan Italy that was still being renovated. Right after New Years I would need to return to New York to deal with a host of problems.

A few days before Christmas my fiance came home from shopping with a small (about 2 feet) plastic Christmas tree. It had a few ornaments on it – bells and balls, and there was a star on top. She said “better than nothing, all things considered”. She put it on top of a large cardboard box we had not yet unpacked.

I stood still in the living room, staring at the tree. “What is it?” she asked me, “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and couldn’t speak. I could feel a tear rolling down my cheek. “This is the first Christmas tree I have ever had”. I told her.

Probably most readers know that I was born into a militantly communist and atheist family, and no religious holidays were ever celebrated or acknowledged in my house growing up. But I knew what Christmas was, it was all everybody in school and on the street ever talked about for at least two weeks in December. I heard the music in the stores, saw the plays and TV shows, learned what everyone I knew had gotten for Christmas, and had even seen some magnificent Christmas trees in my friends’ houses.

My first wife refused to have anything to do with Christmas, as it went against her own family’s (Jewish) traditions, so even as an adult, I never had a tree. Now, almost a believer, and starting to think about the possibility that God might actually be real or at least something to consider, I still thought of Christmas as a silly but cheery holiday for families and friends to celebrate being together. It was a holiday for almost everyone, but not for me, and I thought it never would be.

Yet now, there I was staring at this miniature, poor excuse for a Christmas tree in my own home, such as it was. As the tears fell from my eyes, I felt that I had finally, after so many years, and so many trials, reached a safe harbor, a place that evoked the words of my favorite Christmas carol that I used to hear in department stores in December. Those words: “All is calm, all is bright” had given my ten year old self hope and peace. And now here I was, with my own tree. Finally, finally after all that time, I began to understand the first thing about Christmas. Yes, it was about hope and peace. But perhaps, I thought, even more, it’s about joy.

The years continued to pass, and now I have a Christmas tree every year, a large real pine tree, decorated with lights, and ornaments, and presents under it. And even better, I have learned that the meaning of the holiday is to celebrate the miraculous birth of a baby who was God incarnate, who would grow to become the promised savior, the Messiah, the Son of Man.

One day, after years of struggle, I had cried out “I believe” and have been a  deeply devoted Christian ever since. After I was baptized in this faith, I came to learn the most important meaning of the day we celebrate that birth with gifts and songs, and plays and yes, with trees and ornaments. And that meaning is love.  

Amen, and Merry Christmas to all.