What Christmas Looks Like Now

Christmas was yesterday.

I've been mulling over what this holiday means to me now. What does it mean after leaving not just the Mormon church, but Christianity entirely.

The entire holiday is supposed to be a celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ over 2,000 years ago on the other side of the planet.

Feeling so far removed from that idea now makes it hard to remember certain feelings and memories associated with the holiday.

But some things I do remember.

What I Remember

I remember going to my maternal grandparents' house. Each year during my younger years, we would do a reenactment of the story in Luke 2. We would dress up like shepherds, like wise men, like Mary and Joseph. And since it seemed like there was usually a relatively new baby in the family, that child would get to play Jesus. I remember one year wearing my dad's robe and a towel on my head to simulate a shepherd.

I remember my parents' tradition of doing a flannel-board story of Luke 2. It was another fun way to interact with the story rather than just listen to or read it. It made it feel more alive.

I grew up believing in Santa Claus. I can still vaguely remember when my mom told me he wasn't real. I remember it happening in my parents' bedroom. I think I was sitting in a large orange chair upholstered in something kind of like velvet. That day the holiday lost some of its magic.

I remember some years sitting in the dark living room with only the lights on the tree illuminated. To this day, there is still something soothing about sitting in a darkened room with red, green, blue, yellow, purple, and orange Christmas lights glowing softly.

Along with sitting in the living room, I closely associate the holiday with the music of Mannheim Steamroller. I don't like a lot of vocal Christmas songs, but Mannheim always brought a little bit of peace and joy to the holiday.

While the world has largely commercialized Christmas, I'd say my parents and family did a good job of trying to keep the holiday Christ-focused. The gifts were supposed to be ancillary, even if they were typically the most exciting part of the day.

The Question

So here's the question that comes from that:

What does Christmas look like when you don't believe in Christ?

For a long time, I wasn't sure how to answer that. Even now, I'm still wrapping my head around it. Without the religious framework, what's left? Just consumerism? Just tradition for tradition's sake?

But I've been thinking about it. And I think there are still solid principles associated with Christmas that are easy to take into a more secular life.

What Christmas Means Now

Being good to each other. Not just during the holiday, but throughout the year.

This is still one of the predominant takeaways. We are all living this life together. Why make it harder for each other than it has to be?

The idea is that we should set aside our competitive natures and move toward our cooperative ones. Working together tends to take us far further than working separately.

I don't need to believe in Christ to recognize that kindness matters. That how we treat each other matters. That choosing compassion over cruelty makes the world more livable for everyone.

The holiday marks an astronomical event: the winter solstice.

It's the time of year when (in the northern hemisphere) we experience the longest periods of night and shortest periods of day.

After this time, the amount of daylight begins to increase again.

And for a man struggling with depression, this is always a good thing.

The return of light isn't only metaphorical. It's literal. The days will get longer. The sun will stay out later. The world will tilt back toward warmth and growth.

That's worth celebrating. Not because a deity ordained it, but because it's real. Because it affects my mood, my energy, my ability to function.

The solstice reminds me that even the longest nights eventually end.

It's as important to give as it is to receive.

I would often hear during this holiday that "it's better to give than to receive." I think I would modify it now.

I would say: it's as important to give as it is to receive.

In our relationships. In our communities. To ourselves.

We can't be purely receivers. That would be selfish. We can't be purely givers because our capacity is finite.

Rather, it's vital that we not only give of our time, talents, and efforts, but that we make ourselves willing to receive.

To receive care.

To receive attention.

To receive love.

To receive basic human dignity.

I spent decades giving endlessly: to the church, to callings, to missions, to expectations. I was taught that giving was righteousness and receiving was less desireable.

But that's not balance. That's depletion.

Now I'm learning that receiving is also an act of courage. That letting people care for me doesn't make me weak. That accepting help isn't failure.

Christmas, in this light, becomes a reminder: give generously, but also receive graciously.

What Remains

The truth is, I don't miss the theology.

I don't miss believing that this holiday celebrates a virgin birth, or that a god became incarnate to save humanity from sins we inherited, or that this moment in history was cosmically significant.

But I do miss some of the feelings.

The sense of magic when I was young and believed in Santa. The warmth of being surrounded by family doing silly reenactments. The peace of sitting in a dark room watching Christmas lights glow.

Those feelings weren't dependent on Christ. They were dependent on connection, on ritual, on being present with people I loved.

And those things? I can still have those.

Building New Traditions

This year, I'm thinking about what I want Christmas to be going forward.

Maybe I'll sit in the dark with just the tree lights on and listen to Mannheim Steamroller. Not because it's sacred, but because it's soothing.

Maybe I'll find ways to give—not out of religious obligation, but because it feels good to make someone's day a little easier.

Maybe I'll practice receiving—letting people care for me, accepting invitations, allowing myself to be seen.

Maybe I'll mark the solstice. Light a candle. Acknowledge that the longest night has passed and the light is returning.

Maybe I'll have a conversation with a brother about what I do believe, not just what I no longer believe.

Not because a god commanded it, but because it's true. And sometimes truth is enough.

What Christmas Looks Like Now

Christmas looks quieter than it used to.

Less crowded with expectations. Less weighed down by theological significance I no longer believe.

But also more honest.

I'm not performing belief I don't have. I'm not pretending the holiday means something it doesn't mean to me anymore.

Instead, I'm finding what does mean something:

• Connection with people I care about
• The return of light after the longest night
• The balance between giving and receiving
• The reminder that we're all in this together

That's not what I was taught Christmas should be.

But it's what Christmas is becoming for me.

And maybe that's enough.

Maybe finding meaning in the solstice, in kindness, in balance, in the glow of Christmas lights in a dark room. Maybe that's more real than the theology I used to wrap around it.

Maybe the magic wasn't in believing the story.

Maybe it was in being present with the people I loved, in a moment set apart from ordinary time, in the quiet peace of a season that asks us to slow down and notice each other.

That's what Christmas looks like now.

Not perfect. Not sacred. Not commanded by a deity.

Just human. Just real. Just enough.