A couple years back, I was getting gas the day after Christmas to prepare to visit family on the other side of Ohio. It may not be a psychologically or spiritually healthy practice to yell at the car radio, but not one of the blasted radio stations that had been cranking out “Sleigh Ride” since the week after Halloween had a single song, hymn, or carol for me to hum along to. So I yelled.
Every year, I gripe about the November onslaught of Christmas music, lights, and yard displays. I then bemoan their premature disappearance on December 26, because I deeply love the Christmas music and festivities and think them highly important. Secular Christmas songs and art that celebrate the mystical quality of winter and warmth of family gatherings foster an appreciation for the good and beautiful. And we can catch a glimpse of heaven and God’s love and glory in the Christmas carols and hymns that directly invite us into the mystery of the Incarnation.
By this winding way I come now to almost my main point, which is that Catholics ought not play Christmas music and engage in full-scale Christmas decorating until very late Advent, or at very least definitely not before we have had a chance to enjoy Thanksgiving.
But this is actually only the “shadow” or negative space around the real (and actually happy) idea that for the Christian, the Christmas season ought to be full of a palpable, mystical, and even almost magical sort of reverence that invades the spaces of our lives such as our homes, offices, and churches. It ought to because the time has been dedicated to calling to mind the historical and yet earth-shaking fact that God took on our nature to save us from eternal death and offer us eternal life. Indulging in Christmas festivities before the proper time undermines our preparation for this holy season, the same way eating several candy bars at 5 PM ruins your enjoyment of an otherwise excellent steak dinner.
This is not just personal preference. The Church has set aside a specific liturgical season, Advent, for preparing our hearts to enter into the next liturgical season of Christmas. The music and when we choose to listen to it and what we fill our homes with are a significant part of how we go along with (or thwart) this preparation.
Dragging Christmas music and decorations too far away from the time they are meant for can cause a sort of “inflation,” making these beloved songs and hymns hit with less impact or significance than they should. It would be unwise for a priest to wear vestments around on his errands or while he slept. Vestments are good, but they are set aside for something holy. Taking them out of that proper liturgical zone wouldn’t spread the holiness around; it would devalue and desensitize our response to it.
One of the major forces driving the sea change of the past few decades in the preferences of younger Catholics (priests and laity) for more traditional liturgies is that they desire that the Mass and prayer life of the Church be “reverent.” Reverence is showing proper respect for a person, place, or thing. And showing respect usually translates into dressing, speaking, and acting in ways that are not ordinary.
When we opt for Christmas festivities during Christmastime (whether Christian carols or secular jingles, Nativity sets or green wreaths), we reinforce that this time is sacred, different, and deserving of awe. Partaking in them too far in advance undermines the attitude and practices of hopeful anticipation that should fill the preparatory and lightly penitential season of Advent. And casting them aside so soon after December 25 runs the risk of closing our hearts to God’s desire for us to enter into this mystery and be formed by it.
We carve out sacred places in the forms of churches and prayer spaces in our homes because we are physical beings, and it benefits us to have separate areas for various activities. Exercise is a good thing, but doing dead-lifts or jogging in church would distract others and desensitize yourself to what you are supposed to focus on while there. Similarly, we carve out distinct times throughout the year so that we can focus on and re-enter into divine mysteries, and to have our hearts and minds sculpted by their author. We fast and don’t sing “Alleluia” on Good Friday because it is good for us to gravely enter into Our Lord’s Passion and death, just as we don’t do those things on Easter Sunday because it is good for us then to be open to his joy and the hope and power of the Resurrection on that day.
So when is it okay for a Catholic to play some classic Frank Sinatra or listen to Mariah Carey? I like the fourth Sunday of Advent. But a much more helpful suggestion to fostering better observance of this holy and happy time would be to ask yourself,
- Are my house and what I listen to on November 1 indistinguishable from what they look and sound like on the morning of December 25?
- Am I utterly sick of Christmas carols and decorations before New Year’s?
If the answer to either is “yes,” you might want to hold off on the Christmas tree and Spotify playlists for a week or two longer than you normally would, so that you can focus on Advent and enter into and enjoy the whole of the Christmas season.
I deliberately say “hold off” and not “dial back.” Christmas is a time to dive in and celebrate. We ought to rejoice more than any time, with the possible exception of Easter. But celebrating in an incarnate reality takes work and energy, and it’s sad when we wear ourselves out before the party has really begun. (My hunch is that it will be different in heaven, but we are not there yet!)
So while enduring your local Grinches’ “it’s too early for Christmas music” lectures this year, please charitably forgive their crankiness. Take it as a call to reflect on the beautiful truth they are most likely trying to share. We ought to joyfully yet seriously use Advent to get ready for God’s birthday, because it is, in many ways, “the most wonderful time of the year.”