Gordon Monson: Whether you love or dislike Christmas, you can at least feel this

For a whole lot of people, certainly not everyone, Christmas is a favored time of year. It is for me. Not just Christmas Day and Christmas Eve, but the weeks ahead and the weeks behind.

The good vibe is different for different people. And folks who don’t feel that positive vibe have their reasons, too, some of them deeply personal, but all of them legitimate.

If some dislike Christmas, or just want to ignore or get past it or don’t believe in what it represents, that’s their call. It doesn’t mean they’re the Grinch or Scrooge. They may have a different religious view. The holiday may hark to a painful past or intensify a painful present. Perhaps they grow weary of the hustle and bustle of the season. Maybe they just loathe the snow and cold.

As a Christian, I like the focus on Jesus, what he did and what he was. That’s hardly an original thought, and I don’t want to cram that belief down anyone else’s pie hole, but I’ll take it by the plateful. It means something significant to me, in my personal, religious and family life and the celebration of the King of Kings is all good, anyway you slice it.

And I like the renewed annual efforts during this time by many people to do what the King did. Or at least to try. To treat others with kindness, to help those in need, to donate to noble causes, to be a decent person.

When goodness overtakes badness

Set in juxtaposition to a world that too often spawns hatred toward others, that mistreats individuals with a different skin color or ethnicity or sexual orientation or religious or political view, those efforts might seem useless or, even worse, hypocritical. After all, if you’re kind and charitable in December, then why aren’t you kind and charitable in every other month?

It’s a worthwhile question. And who is that “world” anyway? It’s typically seen by the one to be the others, those guys over there somewhere. They’re the people who need to rearrange the way they think. They need to change.

But in this season, when giving is said to be better than getting, when we supposedly think of others, not ourselves, it’s also a grand time to get selfish in this single regard: to look inward, to take stock and to evaluate where I am. Me, myself and I. And if I look too closely, too candidly, maybe that’s why I can’t stand Christmas. If that’s the case, don’t look quite so closely. Back off a tad. Nobody’s perfect. We all screw up.

When I think of Christmas, one flip-side thought that frequently springs to mind is not how messed up the world is, it’s the goodness of people. For the better part of three decades, I hosted a radio talk show that welcomed and emphasized discussion, creating space for differences of opinion regarding sports. Sports are a lot like religion. Folks feel passionately about their rooting interests. That’s why they spend thousands of dollars on tickets to games, on parking, on cold beverages and marginal food that cost twice as much at the arena as they normally cost. And yet, in that setting, it all tastes oh-so-fine. A hot dog is a freaking tube steak at the ballpark. I digress.

Every year, just before Christmas, we did multiple shows from a homeless shelter, our broadcast equipment and table set up in clear view of people — men, women, mothers, fathers, children — seeking and finding a roof and some degree of warmth from the bitter cold. During the show, and part of the reason for us being there, along with other radio stations, we asked listeners for contributions to help those in need.

Those donations poured in.

They came from listeners from varying backgrounds and economic circumstances. Spence Eccles showed up with family members every year that I can remember and plopped a six-figure check into the pot. Steve from Sandy called in, offering up $20. Bill from West Valley City gave $50. Fred from Bountiful pledged $500. Susan from Murray donated $75. A fellow from Millcreek who wouldn’t give his name threw in a thousand big ones.

Meanwhile, volunteers outside took in food and clothing donations from people dropping goods off.

Charity never faileth

I distinctly recall observing all of that unadulterated goodness all around, and then spotting a little girl, in a ragged coat, smudges on her face, fear and desperation and tears in her eyes, her hand in the hand of her mother who wore similar tattered clothing, similar smudges, and the same fear and desperation in her eyes, as they made their way through the shelter, standing in line for some food.

And our phones kept ringing … John from Midvale, $250, Pete from Clearfield, $40, Mark from Holladay, $100, David from Layton, $60.

These were all listeners who on that day and every other day couldn’t agree on whether the Jazz were any good, whether Donovan Mitchell had a bad attitude and should be traded, whether the Utes’ offense stunk and the Cougars’ defense was blessed from on high.

I’ve never been able to get out of my mind the image of that little girl. Was she safe and dry that night, any night? Was she freezing? Was she hungry? Did she grow up? What became of her?

I don’t know. I was doing a show. But I also remember Spence and Steve and Bill and Fred and Susan and the unknown fellow and John and Pete and Mark and David and a hundred volunteers, giving what they could, be it service, time, food, money, charity and love.

That’s a large part of what Christmas means to me, and perhaps to a whole lot of others, as well, no matter their religion, their political affiliation, their finances, their race, their background, their sexual orientation, their whatever. Caring, giving, self-evaluating, seeing the world for what it is and what, in its better moments, it can be.

If it’s good in December, it can also be good in March and June and September and all the weeks in between.

I’ll go ahead and celebrate Christmas, then. And hope, whether you celebrate it or not, that you have a merry time, or a time that brings some degree of comfort to your mind and soul.