A Christian Who Doesn’t Celebrate Christmas?

What do you call a Christian who doesn’t celebrate Advent or Christmas? Well, you’re looking at one. I’m that person. But before you gasp, let me clarify—I do love the cozy glow of lights during the dark winter months.

Two years ago, my husband gifted me a Hue lighting system. Yes, tiny little lights, and he even climbed up on a chair to hang them for me. (I know, the romance!) With a tap on my phone, I can change their colors. And when it’s 5 p.m. and already pitch black outside, I simply snap my fingers and voilà, instant glow. Behind the couch, there’s even a light strip—shining in the same cheerful hues as my string of lights. It's like I’m running my own personal light show. And the best part? These lights aren’t just for November and December—they shine year-round!

I get my love of twinkling lights from my mom, who used to say, “I must be like a magpie, drawn to shiny things.” I guess I’m following in her footsteps.

But back to Advent... and Christmas. I don’t celebrate either of them. I can’t focus my attention on just His birth, or spend so many days waiting for it. I am so blessed with Him, with who He is to me now, that I celebrate Him all year long. I read the Bible. I walk with Him. And honestly, I’m starting to think that’s my Advent calendar—one verse at a time, every day, all year. Often more, often a chapter, diving deeper. I love it so much. Well, I’m pretty sure the lights are on, even if the calendar’s a little… untraditional.

Secretly, I suspect my decision not to celebrate Christmas anymore is a reaction to the way Christmas was observed in the church I grew up in. You see, we Dutch have two Christmas days. And as an orthodox girl, I spent those days in church not once, not twice, but three times—because maybe, just maybe, Jesus would be born in the filthy stable of my heart. Maybe.

It wasn’t guaranteed, though. First, I had to discover just how filthy the stable was. Not casually, but in the proper, deeply introspective, spiritually approved way. And it had to be real. If the Holy Spirit didn’t lift the swaddling cloth and reveal the baby Jesus Himself, well, then He’d never be born in my heart. Christmas was essentially an intense “look inside yourself and find true guilt and brokenness” kind of day.

The Christmas tree? Forbidden. Tinsel and fairy lights? Out of the question. But as a child, I did receive a single orange and a book about a kitten named Marja at the elementary school Christmas party.

Which brings me to this question: could it be that, in rejecting Christmas entirely, I’ve thrown the baby out with the bathwater? Perhaps—at least partly.

And yet, it feels so freeing to let go of specific days, months, and rituals. To simply live in the joy of His presence every day. Or, as the song goes:

Give Me Jesus

In the morning when I rise, give me Jesus.

And when I am alone, give me Jesus.

And when I come to die, give me Jesus.

Refrain:

Give me Jesus,

You can have all this world,

But give me Jesus.

• All photos were taken by me at an earlier time.
• I write about my childhood and the church of my youth HERE.