It's that time of year again. It's that month where people go crazy planning and hoping for so many things all to happen on one or several days, then that general emptiness when it's all over. When the food's gone, the drink is no more, the games have been played, songs been sung, the relatives and friends have left, and the tree and decorations have come down. What is it all about? A few years ago I would've simply said 'family fun', 'sharing', or 'loving one another' perhaps. All important, all justified, all well-received. But to be honest, the real meaning of Christmas goes beyond that. I don't care how tacky or cliched this sounds. 
Put simply, Jesus is the reason for the season. It is in his death and resurrection that we can experience what real family is, for God the Father calls us His children if we accept Jesus into our lives, and we can also know what real love is, for God, who gave us the capacity to love, saw his only son go to the cross for all of our mistakes. That is real love. Giving presents is not. To be a child of God, wow! We are so unworthy. Love truly came down at Christmas time, and not in the form of a fictional character invented by Coca-Cola, but in the form of Jesus Christ, Lord and Saviour to all. His love is the greatest gift of all, and will NOT see parents racking up countless credit card debts! This is something many don't realise though. I think it's time parents stopped lying to their kids and told them the truth, and if they don't know the truth, that we as Christians worldwide step up our seasonal evangelism. I was walking around Leeds last December doing a bit of last-minute Christmas shopping with my Dad (as us blokes tend to do), and I was wondering where God was in all the busyness and bustle. I'm glad He's always at work, but at times like this, where people refuse to acknowledge Him or have never heard of Jesus, it can be hard to see. This is what I tried to capture in the poem below. Enjoy:)
'Looking for God in Leeds at Christmas'
Chavs kicking pigeons, the afro on the head,
Goths sucking face drinking lattes with nutmeg
The bracelets, the makeup, the hats with the beaks
Do they know you Lord as they pace these streets?
The frowns, the cigarettes, the hoboes with their mags,
The prams, nappies, screams, shoppers laden with bags
Hats, horns, chains, dyes, I-pods, heels, glitter,
The fat men who will no doubt soon resolve to go get fitter,
Kids pointing snot-nosed, mothers barking negatives
Young girls with un-brushed hair, arms full of gifts
Boots, gel, scarves (head and neck), bouncers on the door
Their money buys them lots of things, but still they ask for more
Mulled wine drinkers in the park, mistletoe for sale
A man with balloons he can’t get rid of, mince pies going stale
Wrinkly mutton, lipstick smeared, drooling over lockets
Old men shivering, eyes squinting, hands deep in their pockets
Taxi drivers driving through the centre, nowhere fast
Cheers and wishes from within we know will never last
Bins are bursting, food is wasted, pigeons ask for more
Fathers rush their kids on home to check the final score
Men with clipboards selling things they wouldn’t buy themselves
The greatest gift of all is unobtainable on the shelves
People darting oblivious to those they smack as they pass
The trains are overcrowded, these shoppers shop en mass
Jesus, where are you in this crowd? Do they know you’re there?
You’re being trampled on the ground; they have no time to spare
To listen to the real reason for the time they fill with food
I look to you my Lord and King, and wish that you would move
In these hearts that have been warmed by artificial means
Thousands void of emotion, becoming like machines
And in this bustling metropolis of materialistic lies
A prostitute extends a freezing hand, and you have saved a life
Chavs kicking pigeons, the afro on the head,
Goths sucking face drinking lattes with nutmeg
The bracelets, the makeup, the hats with the beaks
Do they know you Lord as they pace these streets?
The frowns, the cigarettes, the hoboes with their mags,
The prams, nappies, screams, shoppers laden with bags
Hats, horns, chains, dyes, I-pods, heels, glitter,
The fat men who will no doubt soon resolve to go get fitter,
Kids pointing snot-nosed, mothers barking negatives
Young girls with un-brushed hair, arms full of gifts
Boots, gel, scarves (head and neck), bouncers on the door
Their money buys them lots of things, but still they ask for more
Mulled wine drinkers in the park, mistletoe for sale
A man with balloons he can’t get rid of, mince pies going stale
Wrinkly mutton, lipstick smeared, drooling over lockets
Old men shivering, eyes squinting, hands deep in their pockets
Taxi drivers driving through the centre, nowhere fast
Cheers and wishes from within we know will never last
Bins are bursting, food is wasted, pigeons ask for more
Fathers rush their kids on home to check the final score
Men with clipboards selling things they wouldn’t buy themselves
The greatest gift of all is unobtainable on the shelves
People darting oblivious to those they smack as they pass
The trains are overcrowded, these shoppers shop en mass
Jesus, where are you in this crowd? Do they know you’re there?
You’re being trampled on the ground; they have no time to spare
To listen to the real reason for the time they fill with food
I look to you my Lord and King, and wish that you would move
In these hearts that have been warmed by artificial means
Thousands void of emotion, becoming like machines
And in this bustling metropolis of materialistic lies
A prostitute extends a freezing hand, and you have saved a life
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