I find it galling that each and every blessed year when Christmas is glimpsed on the distant horizon, killjoy Christians start trying to instill guilt about a fundamental, sacramental part of the celebration of Jesus' coming - the giving of gifts. It's a birthday party, for God's sake! You bring presents!
The wise men knew it, and behaved accordingly. Children know
it, and glory in it - and except ye become as little children, ye shall not
enter in. George Bailey's neighbours knew it, and brought all they could
spare.
To heck with the unreformed Scrooges of the world and their
workhouses and poor laws, skipping Christmas parties and turning the portly
gentlemen from their doors! To
heck with the Grinches of the world, stealing the presents from all the Whos
down in Whoville!
Tell those humbuggers it's the heart of the bleak midwinter, and if
we want to cheer the people we love by bringing them gold, or frankincence, or
myrrh, or Tickle Me Elmo or a box of chocolates or a 52 inch flat screen plasma
tv, or playing our drum for them, or pouring expensive perfume all over their
feet, then we'll damn well do it!
This is not the time to measure out our love, or our cheer, or life
itself, with coffee spoons – all the ladles, serving spoons, gravy boats,
pitchers, punch bowls, roasting pans and bathtubs in the whole house shouldn't
be enough to contain it! Full measure, pressed down, shaken together and
running over, poured into laps!
For with the measure we use it will be measured unto us.
