c. 2005 Religion News Service

(UNDATED) It was one of those bitter-cold nights, when the snow crackles under your feet and the stars have to twinkle just to stay warm.

We were driving on a two-lane highway, winding our way north out of southern Ohio. On our right, the Ohio River was threatening to make good on a promise to freeze. To our left, trailer homes and houses no bigger than shoe boxes trembled within spitting distance of cars and trucks whizzing by on their way to somewhere else.

I groaned from my nest in the back seat, propped up with my favorite pillow and my long winter coat bunched up behind my head. I hate long car rides, especially in the dark, and we’d been on the road for at least two hours when I shifted my weight for the 10th time in as many miles and looked out at the humble homes that could barely brag a set of front steps, let alone a yard.

That’s when I saw the Christ in Christmas.

For weeks now, we’ve had to listen to normally sedate human beings threaten, complain and grandstand as they insist that Christ is being forced out of Christmas faster than you can say “Happy Holidays.” All this squawking aimed at commercial America is mighty confusing to those of us who can’t help but notice there’s not one reference in the New Testament linking Christ to retail.

Nevertheless, some Christians get downright testy this time of year, squeezing all the happy right out of holiday as they grouse and grumble their way through conspicuous consumption, stubbornly waiting for someone else to conjure up an image of Christ.

Catalogs swell while the number of Christmas cards gets slimmer every year. Those e-cards are no cards at all, sad substitutes for the pretty squares of glitter and flock that my mother used to hang over the archway in the living room.

“Time to take them down, Jane,” my father would say every New Year’s, but Mom would always argue that it’d be a shame to throw them out when those elves that came with her bottles of Lemon Fresh Joy were still leaning against the Nativity scene on top of the TV set.

We were probably the only kids in America who thought the Wise Men brought along their own elves, but Christ sure was in our Christmas. Every year, there he was, smiling up from his straw bed in the manger, which we imagined most any baby would do if he came face to face with two guys wearing pointy ears and striped pajamas.

Such simple holidays are no match for the Lawn Olympics of today. Yard exhibits get bigger and brighter with each passing Christmas as neighbors try to out-Disney one another with their festive feats. This year, there appears to be an abundance of inflated cartoon characters and mechanical wildlife that jerk their heads around like bored relatives who are startled awake and then forget what they were going to say.

But on that cold, restless night in the car, we had left behind such alarming big-city sights only an hour or so before, and I guess my head was still reeling from the sight of so many puffed-up Homer Simpsons when I finally sat up and peered out the car window.

That’s when Christ showed up in our Christmas, right there on that two-lane highway, one humble home at a time.

One after another, those tiny houses with no chance of even a neighbor walking by were glowing with Christmas cheer. Santa and his reindeer pranced alongside a trailer home. Blinking wreaths winked out of front windows. Strings of lights draped like petticoats over fragile evergreens.

They didn’t care that no one they knew would see their handiwork. They didn’t seem to mind that only total strangers would catch a glimpse of their efforts from the road.

It’s Christmas. Time for giving. And so they leave their gifts on the side of the road like anonymous donors dropping presents on a front stoop with one push on the doorbell and a quick getaway.

I stared out at the lighted houses, silently thanking the kindness of strangers for the memory of a simpler time. A time when Christ was still a baby, and all he had to do was smile at elves to make a believer out of me.

MO JL END SCHULTZ

(Connie Schultz is a columnist for The Plain Dealer of Cleveland.)

Editors: To obtain a photo of Conni Schultz, go to the RNS Web site at https://religionnews.com. On the lower right, click on “photos,” then search by subject or slug. If searching by subject, designate “exact phrase” for best results.