In the weeks before Christmas, many years ago, a little girl in my extended family pleaded with her mother for a My Little Pony. You might remember those pastel, plastic ponies with pink and green manes and tails, complete with tiny brushes and combs. It was her heart’s desire. Her family was financially challenged at that time and she was told, no, not possible. I was there when she unwrapped the gift from her parents. As she lifted out those ponies, she went silent. Turning to face her mother she quietly said, “Mommy! I am going to love you forever!”
That was not about consumerism. That was the experience of “true gift,” balm for a child’s heart. It was a salvific moment, full of grace. The sensation of hope fulfilled shapes a child, indelibly. Sure, to an unimaginative adult it may be an artificial toy. But you’d be surprised what these vintage ponies are worth now. So many adults still attached to favourite childhood toys collect them. Not for the thing itself but for the sensual memory.
Children do not need a lot of gifts. The more there are, the less they are appreciated. But should you have an opportunity to give a gift, consider praying for inspiration. Many families are under financial restraint. Gifting can be a burden. Ask for insight about the very right, inexpensive thing. We are not governed by the secular model where a price tag increases worth.
What forms the Advent imagination of children? If raised by secular parents, it may be a Winnie the Pooh Advent calendar, the Grinch, Snoopy, a visit with Santa in a mall, Rudolph, gift advertising and nativity scenes with candy canes and a magic star. Not to forget toy soldiers and a drummer boy. Some of that is fun and some of it is utterly banal. For children raised in homes where there is awareness of the sacred in the Christian understanding and waiting for the coming of Christ, it may be Advent candles and songs, shepherds, wise men, angels and a special baby. Plus, almost inescapable, all the secular stuff listed above.
Are these two in conflict? Not for children. Their imaginations are pliable. But for parents, godparents, extended family and the parish family, the diminishing of the first and the strengthening of the latter are a sacred task.
The last time I was in the audience at a Christmas musical, the lyrics were fun and the children’s chorus enthusiastic. Afterwards, there was a sing-along from a booklet of Christmas songs and carols. We ploughed through all the verses of “We Three Kings” and came to a verse with very heavy theology: “Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying / Sealed in the stone cold tomb.” An awkward clash. The crucifixion does not sit easy between onehorseopensleigh and wewishyouamerry. What do children make of that? That it’s all the same; that it’s all make belief until you grow up and shed Santa?
Awe, wonder, intrigue, mystery, strangeness and celebration; all of these will impact children. Who gets to do the impressing? The rec centre background music? The mall’s giant, over-decorated tree? The candles and music of Christmas Eve in church? All of them, whether done well or not, leave an impression. They compete for space. New, permanent neural networks are formed in the young brain, some of them not positive. This is not an argument in favour of restraint in Advent or against merry celebration at Christmas. It’s a caution about curating the environment.
When my niece MW, now a grandmother herself, was young, she was an industrious crafter of decorations and cards. We kept some of them: the knitted candy canes and the sparkly stars made of shells. My favourite of her creations is a tiny baby Jesus, wrapped in tissue swaddling clothes and laid tenderly in a walnut half shell. So delicate, the Lord so vulnerable—He who is also the lord of life. What was she thinking when she made that? She was thinking five-year-old thoughts. Will there be chocolate in my Advent calendar tomorrow or will my brother sneak it? Can we go to a farm to see the animals bow down at midnight on Christmas Eve? Can we get a puppy this year? Ouch! I put the needle through my skin. “Away in a Manger,” she hummed.
