| Every December, American Christians reach for familiar words. Light. Joy. Hope. Peace. We speak of Christmas as if it were a shared moral inheritance—something that connects us across differences of belief and politics. Even those who are not particularly religious or who do not attend church seem to sense that this season carries a certain moral significance through the birth and teachings of Jesus. | | Christmas, taken seriously, is not nostalgic. It is demanding. It proposes a way of seeing the world and others that runs counter to many of our current patterns. If we truly believe, it demands that we be better. | | It demands that we not grow comfortable with a system that withholds care from the sick. We have learned to speak about healthcare in a lexicon of technical economic terms – cost, price controls, and coverage, while quietly losing sight of the real people, often very sick people, many of whom are children, at the center of those equations. Christ’s ministry was rooted in healing; the only qualification was being a child of God. A society that celebrates His birth while steadily narrowing access to care should at least notice the moral tension between the two. | | It demands that we not become numb to the suffering of migrants. The Christmas story begins with displacement: a family navigating political power, uncertainty, and danger. And yet we now accept, almost casually, images of children sleeping in detention facilities or families separated by policy. The inhumanity of ICE – children without parents and parents without rights – has abandoned Christ’s command to protect the vulnerable. Whatever one believes about borders and enforcement, indifference is not a Christian virtue. Moral traditions do not collapse all at once; they erode when compassion becomes optional. | | Christmas also demands that we not mistake cruelty for strength. Over time, the tone of public life shapes the inner principles of a society. When national leaders routinely demean, mock, and belittle—when the attack on a Congresswoman’s husband is met without genuine concern or sympathy; when a disabled reporter is physically mocked; when immigrants are described as “animals”; when women in the press are humiliated with language meant to silence; when a reporter’s question is dismissed with words like “Quiet, piggy”—something bigger than politics is unfolding. | | Add to this the indecent framing by our president of a recent personal tragedy, when Rob Reiner and his wife were found murdered, remarks that sought to turn tragedy into political grievance, and a pattern comes into view. Respect is extended selectively. Compassion is rationed. Decency is lost. | | Words matter not only because they offend, but because they form and teach character. What is repeated becomes acceptable. What is acceptable becomes normalized. Yet, Christmas points us in another direction — toward humility, toward compassion, toward restraint, toward the belief that dignity is not something to be earned or defended, but something to be honored. | | And Christmas does not ask for adherence to political associations. In recent years, Christianity has become entangled with political identity in ways that weaken its moral muscle. Faith is sometimes used less as a call of self-reflection and more as a marker of tribal belonging, sharpening an “us vs. them” dichotomy. When religious language is deployed to approve grievance or excuse contempt, it loses its capacity to challenge us to be better. Christ was a revolutionary; he did not build a movement oriented around dominance or power. He formed a community grounded in service to all. | | The celebration of the birth of Christ calls us to awaken to the humanity in all of us. “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:10-11. The Christmas lights, trees, gifts, and other traditions remind us that love, compassion, and “great joy” are for all people. | | I am not a theologian or a politician. I am an ordinary American who believes, however imperfectly, in the great teachings of Christ. I am especially cognizant of those teachings at this time of year, when we mark and celebrate His birth. Yet, when I listen to our public discourse, and when I watch cruelty be mistaken for confidence and contempt for candor, I feel a deep unease. Not because politics is exhausting—that is a given—but because something better seems to be slipping away: grace. | | As a mother and grandmother, I am aware that children are always watching and absorbing far more than we think. They absorb not only what is said, but what is unsaid; not only what is forbidden, but what is tolerated; not only what is condemned, but what is excused. They learn from what adults laugh at, from what passes without comment, from what is ignored in the name of political loyalty or emotional comfort. When cruelty is modeled from positions of power and met with silence, or worse, with applause, it teaches a lesson no American civics course can undo. It teaches that empathy is optional and that dignity is conditional. | | And having spent much of my professional life working in child protection law, I have come to understand that the law, for all its importance, has limits—especially when the habits of character it relies upon begin to erode. When that foundation of basic morality and humanity erodes, the protections we count on—especially for children—become far more fragile. | | Christmas does not require that we agree with one another. It does not ask for certainty or perfection. But it does demand a specific posture toward the world: humility over dominance, compassion over ease, truth over performative politics. | | The question the holiday season places before us is not whether we cite Christ’s name, in greetings, gift labels, and decorations, but whether we are willing to live, at least a little closer, to the spirit of His teachings. | | For many of us, that question lingers long after the lights and decorations come down. | | Kathryn Robb |
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