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by Tim Davis

"How could I preserve what makes me nostalgic for Christmas, without actually celebrating it?

Come along with me on a little journey—one that I hope is instructive to others who are struggling, not only with Christmas, but with the religiously based baggage that most of us carry from our cultures of origin.

When I think of Christmas and the holiday season, my mind drifts back:

I'm seven or eight. I wander into the living room, lit only by the lights on the Christmas tree. I lay on the floor for what seems an eternity, mesmerized by the twinkle of the red lights and the movement of the ornaments, as the tree turns slowly in its electric stand.

I'm 16 and at the Christmas Eve church service. As midnight approaches, the congregation stands and encircles the pews, holding candles. The candles are lit as a flame is passed from person to person. The pastor speaks a few words and then there is a moment of silence. In the stillness, I become acutely aware of the connections between each of us. The quiet is broken by the singing of "Silent Night". As we raise our voices in song, I feel a warmth and beauty that is difficult to describe.

I'm in my early 30s, and hosting a neighborhood association holiday party. In each room, there is a tree covered in ornaments, and the tables groan under an array of foods, including a Bouche De Noel (Yule log cake). The rooms are filled with chatter and the laughter of neighbors. Christmas is not the focus of the chatter, but the holiday season provides the reason (or excuse) for putting aside neighborhood business and sharing a precious moment together.

Nostalgia for such moments, the fear of loss of a part of my cultural self and potential disconnection from my family's traditions drives me to hang on to the holiday, despite a lifelong journey that proceeded from questioning and skepticism, to agnosticism and finally to atheism.

As part of this journey, I have slowly shed the trappings of Christianity, starting with the obvious—Sunday services—but it took years to abandon Christmas Eve services. I have continued to hold onto certain traditions, especially an appreciation for Christmas music and Christmas ornaments. In renovating a Victorian house, my Christmas decorating expanded. Much of what we know to be a "traditional" Christmas was formed in the Victorian period, and it felt only natural to celebrate this history.

In doing so, I built a collection of Christmas ornaments. Every room of the house featured a tree with a different theme. At the heart of this collection is a tree filled with Earth's globe ornaments. While this collection started because of an academic interest in geography, I now appreciate how this tree also embraces a more global view of the world, as many carry the message "Peace on Earth." A number of ornaments feature children from a range of ethnicities/cultures and there is little reference to Christian imagery.

This love for Christmas has given me a reputation as a Christmas enthusiast, and I have hosted holiday parties for a wide range of groups. I think you can say that my fondness for Christmas peaked around 2003. What has changed since that time? While not directly tied to my changing relationship to religion as a whole, I have come to see just how senseless certain aspects of the season are. For one, I have become less and less focused on possessions, and the gift-giving-game with distant relatives has lost its attraction. Secondly, the difficulties of traveling at Christmas have become unbearable. With full flights, poor weather and occasional mechanical problems, I have been stuck in more airports at Christmas time than I care to count. Despite this, I still held on to a general fondness of the lights, music, and parties associated with the season.

So……enter atheism. While I have been a skeptic since I was a teenager and non-believer for some time, it is only in the last couple of years that I have embraced the term atheist to describe myself. At first, my atheism was a solitary journey, driven to new levels by the recent upsurge of books by prominent atheists. As I became more comfortable with thinking of myself as an atheist, I began to realize that this would change how I represented myself to others. As a gay man who has served in the trenches of the identity politics wars and understands all too well how religion, identity and politics are intertwined in America, I knew that my position on religion was not merely a private matter, but something that would become a core part of my outlook and activism. This had led me to seek out institutions of atheists and non-believers, and as a result, Harvard's Humanist Chaplaincy.

Connecting to other non-believers has helped me to identify more specifically with humanism. Through this connection, I have gotten the sense that you don't have to throw out everything you are to be an atheist, but that you can honor certain of your cultural traditions, while attempting to secularize those traditions. By applying this philosophy, I hoped that I could balance my love for Christmas with my belief in atheism. Christmas's roots are Christian, pagan and secular (for a history on Christmas traditions in America that provides an excellent view on the way in which the meanings and traditions of Christmas has changed over time, see Stephen Nissenbaum's 1996 book The Battle for Christmas). Knowing this, I felt that my task was to reveal this history to others, so that we could disconnect the holiday from Christianity and redefine it as a secular holiday. I would continue to celebrate the holiday, but with a humanist message. This message could be expressed through my trees, with themes celebrating humanist ideals such as peace on earth. In addition, I could encourage the holiday known as Human Light. Human Light is a humanist celebration during the holiday season, but is scheduled for December 23rd so that it does not coincide with Christmas Day or the winter solstice.

As I began to think about this essay and read additional sources on atheism and Christmas, I started to question this approach, however. Among some of the columnists and bloggers that I read there were, of course, those who dismiss Christmas out of hand and are happy to ask for its abolition. Intellectually, I understand this argument. For those who were raised outside of Christianity, whether as non-believers or members of other religions, the dominance of Christmas in America is overbearing. There are also those who were raised as Christians, but for whom the Christmas season only brings up bad childhood memories or seems to be too intertwined with forced gift giving and unwanted family obligations. One of the most prominent critiques of Christmas comes from Tom Flynn's 1993 book The Trouble with Christmas. Flynn helped me to more deeply question my perspective and realize just how difficult it would be to separate Christmas from Christianity. More importantly, it helped me to recognize that to really look at our society and its future from a global perspective, I should acknowledge and support those from cultural traditions for whom Christmas has no meaning at all. I am forced to acknowledge the Christmas Conundrum: I have an emotional attachment to the holiday, but I cannot intellectually support its continued celebration. I am torn.

Thus, I have been forced to think about a life with no Christmas. This is where I found Flynn's book to be less helpful. While The Trouble with Christmas revealed how difficult it can be to avoid Christmas, it did not speak to just how difficult it can be for some of us to step away from our Christmas traditions. For me, abandoning Christmas feels like losing a deep part of my personality and history, not to mention some of the last connections with my family traditions. I feel that I am in mourning.

What would my life without Christmas look like? How could I preserve what makes me nostalgic for Christmas, without actually celebrating it? What I have realized in answering this is that while in the short term I may hold on to a few moments where I let the nostalgia take over and sing or play Christmas music or decorate a Christmas tree, I must challenge myself to continually shed those elements of my life which have religious connotations. This is not easy. It requires looking inside oneself to discover what is important.

Looking back at the warm holiday memories, I identify four needs which Christmas has traditionally served for me: the need for awe, reflection, celebration and togetherness. I think most humans cherish these same needs, and which we can find alternative means to serve. We can all think of some examples of ways in which we can meet these human needs, but the following are a few thoughts.

Awe: The beauty of Christmas lights and passing of the candle flame were moments of awe. The lights and flames bring light to an otherwise dark period of the year and transport us away from our daily lives. In this respect, I plan to be mindful of ways in which I can keep such moments of awe in my life. One secular way that I have seen this is Providence, Rhode Island's WaterFire, which is held a dozen times over the summer/fall each year. Imagine bonfires, placed in the middle of Providence's downtown rivers. Firetenders in boats and gondolas slip silently along the river. Dramatic music plays and street lamps are covered or dimmed to enhance the atmosphere. Donations are accepted, but no price is charged to attend, and throngs of people, enthralled by the scene, stroll along the river banks. Some are couples walking hand in hand, but you also see multi-generational families enjoying the night together. This truly inviting, secular event draws people from across the spectrums of race, ethnicity and income.

Reflection: As a child, it was the quiet moments such as the Christmas Eve service and the moments for silent prayer in weekly services that provided a time for reflection. If we seek them out, there are many such moments available to us. Moments for reflection can be found sitting on a beach or by a mountain lake, driving down a country road or as part of a regular meditation routine.

Celebrations and Togetherness: We seek special times together. It is difficult to bring people together for the simple reason of getting together. It can be done, but having an external reason is helpful. Birthdays and group accomplishments are a start. All too often we let tradition dictate when these occasions occur—and we have come to expect December to be the time for togetherness. We must find other times during the year to have such moments. Indeed, it always seems that while December is a crush of events, most of the rest of the winter suffers from boredom and isolation. Let us fill the dark, cold space between the holiday season and the onslaught of spring charity events with times for getting together and simply celebrating ourselves and enjoying each other's company, without the expectations that Christmas brings.

I'm not fully ready to give up the Christmas season, but this year I will make some marked changes. Following what has become an every-other-year trend, the Christmas decorations will stay safely tucked away in their storage boxes. More importantly, I'm not going home for Christmas. While the difficulties of traveling home at Christmas certainly helped me to make this decision, the result will be a test for me. I have NO plans for Christmas Day. While I wish I could say I'm going to be fine with it, this year will mark my first Christmas away from my family. I'm not looking for invitations to friends' homes and, in fact, I think I might say no if I am asked. I see these changes as part of the process of shedding a skin in which I am no longer comfortable, but I'm also still not fully comfortable in the new skin I have.

I have learned something valuable from this experience, however. By pulling apart Christmas from what made it special for me, I look forward to discovering new sources of awe, reflection, celebration and togetherness throughout the year.