Decaf Christmas

Posted on December 19, 2012 by


Decaf Christmas
Justine Toh December 19, 2012

“I don’t understand decaf,” I once heard someone say. “It’s like sex
without the sex.” Coffee-mad Sydneysiders who scorn the dreaded decaf,
I imagine, would be inclined to agree.

So it may come as a nasty surprise that Slovenian cultural critic
Slavoj Zizek says that decaf products stripped of their essential
ingredient—like “coffee without caffeine, cream without fat, beer
without alcohol”—sum up modern life.

And nowhere is this more apparent than in the way we tend to celebrate

For many of us today Christmas consists of a series of rituals that
possess a much anticipated familiarity, pleasure and beauty. The
season is linked with summer at the beach, spending time with friends
and family, decorating the tree, exchanging presents and, for me,
passing out on the couch after eating one too many of Aunty Sylvie’s
rissoles at Christmas lunch.

Such routines are performed year in and out, becoming the source of
wonderful memories that make up a life. But they can sometimes leave
out what you might argue is the key element of Christmas—the content
of the original story.

The central character is often missing. And if we don’t get rid of
Jesus entirely, we make him safe and inoffensive. We decaffeinate
him—by sentimentalising him as a paragon of babyhood through nativity
scenes of the baby Jesus sleeping sweetly on a bed of straw. You can
also spot this icky portrait of Jesus in the carols we sing: Silent
Night says Jesus is “all tender and mild” while Away in a Manger
claims “no crying he makes”.

It’s understandable why people go for a decaf Christ at Christmastime.
Some people don’t believe in God, and so they emphasise Jesus’ human
nature. Others are open to the idea of God, but the notion that God
enters the world as a baby fails to convince. Then there are those who
have been burnt so badly by the Church, or Christians acting
appallingly in the name of God, that they want nothing to do with God
and his people ever again. That’s understandable.

But I suspect that for many it’s mostly the idea of true belief that
is discomfiting—just like too much caffeine can make your insides
squirm. The fear is that belief always gets taken too far and is
guaranteed, like nothing else, to turn ordinary folk into fanatics.

There’s something in that. But what seems an apparent solution—a
Christmas emptied of its troubling nature—drains the event of power
and, strangely enough, the danger that we might find appealing.

We’re not used to thinking of Christmas as risky business but maybe
that’s because we forget that Jesus actually grew up. And that Jesus
the adult was clear about his mission, recounted in the gospel of
Luke, to bring freedom for the prisoner, recovery of sight for the
blind, and relief for the oppressed.

In that passage Jesus quotes the Old Testament prophet Isaiah that
adds that he’s come to “bind up the brokenhearted… to comfort all who
mourn… to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes… a garment
of praise instead of a spirit of despair” (Isaiah 61).

If Jesus is God, as he says he is, then here is a glimpse into God’s
heart for broken people. All that afflicts people is in his sights, as
is the source of so much of the world’s discord—the dark human heart
in us all. If you are open to the truthfulness of this story, such an
agenda makes Jesus dangerous but if the outcome is healing, comfort,
and beauty then maybe Christ at full-strength is far preferable to his
decaf offering.

In C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series, Lucy trembles in front of the lion
Aslan. “Is he safe?” she asks nervously, though not even she would
seriously want a lion without a roar. “Safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe.
But he’s good,” comes the reply. If ‘dangerous but good’ is true of
Aslan, it’s also true for the Jesus to whom Aslan points, as well as a
Christmas full of Christ.

In a world full of fakes, people pride themselves on their ability to
hold on to the real deal. Maybe this year we can encounter Christmas
with the caffeinated Christ at its heart, and refuse to settle for the
story stripped of its significance and meaning.

Justine Toh is the Senior Research Fellow at the Centre for Public
Christianity and an Honorary Associate of the Department of Media,
Music, and Cultural Studies at Macquarie University.

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