If all the world’s a stage and we must find our places upon it, how do we leave off play acting and find the moments of truth and of sincerity?

Crashing about, reacting to whatever comes our way, to a greater or lesser degree, sometimes feigning sadness or friendship — sometimes meaning it — sometimes not even knowing ourselves what we feel. About anything.

My cousin dislikes intensely the way her sister (also my cousin) celebrates Christmas. The mountains of gifts the family exchange, given insincerely in volumes where, in fact, nothing is needed, where people have everything and the whole business of Christmas becomes just that — an orgy of decorations, dripping in metallic paint — a gorge of eating far beyond comfort — a competition of spending. She thinks the point has been completely missed.

This year, she is taking off for B.C., where her two daughters live; she has not had the opportunity to spend Christmas with them for years. This is what makes sense of Christmas to her — not the stuff — the company.

Back to the basics. If there are too many trappings, can the essence be lost? What is Christmas all about?

Ah, yes, a little boy being born in a stable. Not in a four star hotel; not in a place with trappings but in as humble a spot as possible.

There have been a great many interviews and talks by people on the cusp of Christianity talking about Christmas and trying, I thought, to talk Christ out it, trying to claim it as a mainly human celebration.

Well, come Easter, there will be the annual debate about whether Christ was even born at all. At least, at Christmas, we are allowed to admit his birth, while others attempt to diminish its importance.

Actually, Christmas is about the miracle of the birth of a child who changed the world by declaring that we should lay down our swords and love our enemies. A tough lesson indeed. One that would pretty quickly knock us off the stage with the sincerity it demands. To love those who think badly of us. To turn the other cheek. To reward violence with the outstretched hand.

In a world of increasing violence, where Toronto the Good has become just another gun-ridden den; where countries that extol the virtues of western thought, with its democracy and freedom of speech, invade other countries without any truth in their motivation; where a man may hold the Nobel Peace Prize in one hand and a nation’s artillery in the other — this is a world that badly needs to listen to the Christmas baby’s challenge.

To rabbit on about the music, the lights, the length and cost of your child’s wish list; to worry about whom to invite — or not- to Christmas dinner — or for that matter, to worry at all about the volume and richness of the meal; to claim Christmas as a companion for other celebrations — all these are the pleasantries — not the point of Christmas.

I am grateful that churches are stock houses of great art and profoundly beautiful architecture; I am so glad that the monks were around to keep writing history and books while the world went through its series of dark ages; but Christ never talked about using his Father’s house for storage or keeping men restricted to barren cells for the sake of worship.

As long as we pace up and down on the stage, we can bluster and dodge the essence, keep the basics buried. As long as only money really counts for everything, we can never really achieve anything.

The greatest virtue of the absentminded way in which we celebrate Christmas is that, so far, things mostly grind to a halt to give us pause to concern ourselves with others. We are reminded of the facts that exist all year, that there are people much worse off than ourselves and we are prompted to do something about it, if only to dash a donation into the proffered pot collecting change.

Scrooge marches across our screens reminding us that even the meanest curmudgeon can be reformed by the Spirit of Christmas. But does Scrooge learn to love his enemies? Perhaps, after his reformation, he did not have any.

It is, in any event, a blessed time of selflessness which is not generally sustainable all year long. Let others lay marginal claims to this kindly season if they will join in its generosity.

Let the cherubs sing in the towers and let the candles brighten the stained glass windows. Would the songs and the light could last all year. But while we continue to remember the birth, perhaps one day we will recall His mission and His message.

Whatever you do this Christmas do it with all truth and sincerity; let the basic best of yourself shine in the eyes of others; give yourself the gift of forgiving an offence and learning to (at least) like the offender.

And from this writer, Merry Christmas, with all sincerity.