A Sermon for the Feast of XMESS

A Sermon for the Feast of XMESS
Delivered from the Aisle of Inflatable Snowmen 🎄🛒

Beloved shoppers, cart-pushers, and people who came in for batteries and left with a twelve-foot reindeer,

We gather today beneath fluorescent halos, humming softly like overworked freezers, to ask a sacred question.
How did XMAS become XMESS?

Once upon a silent night, the story was simple. A birth. A star. A moment of radical humility. No gift receipts. No two-day shipping. No man named Chad body-checking you for the last discounted air fryer.

Now behold the modern nativity.

The manger has been replaced by a checkout counter.
The frankincense has become “festive scent number 4.”
The wise men arrived late because their tracking number said “delayed.”

And the star in the east?
An LED projection blinking SALE SALE SALE like it’s receiving messages from another, angrier galaxy.

Can I get an amen, or at least a store credit.

We say Christmas is about giving, but what we mean is acquiring with seasonal guilt.
We say it’s about family, but what we practice is competitive gift escalation.
“Oh, you got Dad socks?”
“Well, I got Dad a drone with a camera and unresolved emotional expectations.”

The child once lay in a manger.
Now the child lies about whether they like the gift.

And lo, the angels once proclaimed peace on Earth.
Now the loudest proclamation is “LIMITED TIME OFFER.”

Friends, we have taken a holy day and turned it into a long weekend of credit card repentance. We celebrate the Prince of Peace by yelling at customer service. We honor a story of humility by buying things that require an instructional video and a minor engineering degree.

This is not XMAS.
This is XMESS.

A mess of boxes.
A mess of wires.
A mess of wrapping paper that will never be folded correctly again.
A mess of expectations wrapped in glossy paper and taped with childhood trauma.

And yet.

Even here, even in the rubble of glitter and receipts, the old meaning still flickers like a half-burnt string of lights. It whispers quietly, because it has been drowned out by Mariah Carey since November.

It says maybe the miracle was never the gifts.
Maybe it was the pause.
The showing up.
The sitting still.
The moment when no one is selling you anything.

So this year, I offer a radical Christmas practice.

Return one thing.
Forgive one person.
Sit in one room without a screen.
And give one gift that cannot be boxed, scanned, or returned.

Attention.
Kindness.
Time.

And if you must worship, worship lightly.
Bow not before the algorithm.
Do not sacrifice your peace to free shipping.
And remember that the most dangerous thing you can do in a capitalist XMESS is be fully present.

Go forth, beloved.
Untangle your lights.
Recycle your guilt.
And may your holiday be merry, meaningful, and mercifully under budget.

Amen. 🎄✨