Below is an article that I came across today that has so very much to say about the Christmas season and the tug that we feel from both the Bethlehem stable and the world. It was written ten years ago and originally published int he Yale News of Yale University. -Pastor Wayne-

BRYCE TAYLOR 12:00 AM, DEC 05, 2008
One would be hard-pressed to invent a scene more beautiful than that of the Christmas nativity. The newborn child, his young mother and her betrothed, the shepherds, the wise men, the ox and the donkey, all with the Star of Bethlehem beaming gaily — this, no doubt, is the stuff of poetry. But poetry aside, the nativity scene represents a story of hardships and terrible difficulties. Mary must bear the shame and unbridled gossip that accompany premarital pregnancy; Joseph must decide either to part with Mary or to raise a child who is not his own. Even the wise men, to quote a poem by T. S. Eliot, have “a hard time” of it, traveling through “the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly.”
But of course, the utmost hardship in the story is that of the little baby lying in the manger. In the form of this baby, God himself, has stepped down from heaven, put on flesh, adopted the lowly nature and the vulnerabilities of the humans he created. The infinite and almighty has assumed finitude and dependence. Throughout the Christmas narrative, we find as a recurring motif the idea that adversity must be met with self-sacrifice: Mary’s sacrifice for her child, Joseph’s sacrifice for Mary and her child, and above all Christ’s sacrifice for humanity.
More than 9 out of 10 Americans celebrate Christmas. The Christmas narrative has exerted an immeasurable force on our societal conscience and consciousness. And yet we have achieved the remarkable feat of coupling that narrative with another, that of the commercial.
The commercial tells us that a successful and fulfilling Christmas is one in which we receive the newest iPod, the latest gaming system, the highest-definition television screen and (to make it a December to remember) a brand-new Lexus. The meaning of Christmas is twofold: Celebrate the birth of Christ and get a lot of sweet new stuff — and not necessarily in that order. On the same day we pay homage to self-sacrifice and self-indulgence, difficulty and ease, suffering and convenience. We will bow to the manger, but only on the condition that some gold, frankincense and myrrh be tossed in there with the child.
This is an exaggeration, of course. Most Americans would survive a Christmas in which they failed to receive the most expensive new gadget, and many, it is true, deem themselves more blessed in giving than in receiving. Nevertheless, the distinctly American ability to pair the spirit of the nativity scene with the spirit of the commercial points to a tension lying deep within our national heritage and identity.
Our dominant political philosophy has told us that we have an inalienable right to pursue happiness; our dominant religion has told us to carry a cross. Our prevailing economic system is premised on self-interest; our most prevalent religion is premised on the commandment to serve the interests of others. The characteristically American attitude towards money says more is better; the characteristically Christian attitude towards money says, in the words of G. K. Chesterton, that “to be rich is to be in peculiar danger of moral wreck.”
But somehow, we manage, during the Christmas season, to hold together these two contraries — what we might call the “will to ease” and “receptivity to hardship.” This we see in the young Jewish girl in the Christmas story who sacrifices her convenience, her plans, and her reputation in a gesture of openness to the gift of new life? What is more worthwhile: the life that seeks convenience, or the life that accepts the call to sacrifice? Sincere contemplation of the nativity scene yields an unambiguous answer.