The wise men fell down and worshiped the child  (Matthew 2:11).

Christmas can be the best of times. There are so many things about it I love: the focus on Christ’s incarnation, the humbling effect of remembering God’s entrance into our history and our flesh, the time with friends and family, the beautiful music, the giving of simple gifts as ways to say, “I love you.”

But Christmas can also be the worst of times. Too often there are too many demands and expectations, whether self-imposed or from others. For some there is the craziness of buying gifts and wrapping them; for others, there is the reality that it is another year in which loved ones won’t be getting any gifts because there simply isn’t enough money. Christmas can mean so many things to so many people.

For all these reasons, I find myself every year returning to this simple poem, written by friend and former member of Stone Hill, Jenn Hunt:

Christmas, I hate you:

the stress of you, the mess of you,

the fit in small black dress of you.

The fake of you, the ache of you,

the up ’til midnight bake of you.

The glitz of you, the blitz of you,

the party can’t be missed of you.

The bait of you, the weight of you,

the dread of late mail fate of you.

The rush of you, the slush of you,

the crumpled wrapping mush of you.

The whet of you, the get of you,

the deeper into debt of you.

Jesus, I love you:

the fuss of you, the muss of you,

the come and walk our dust of you.

The why of you, the lye of you,

the love I could not buy of you.

The serve of you, the nerve of you,

the not what I deserve of you.

The calm of you, the balm of you,

the feel here in my palm of you.

The catch of you, the patch of you,

the death has met its match of you.

The near of you, the far of you,

the take me where you are of you.