The Grinch was on last week. Twice. I watched it both times. I can’t get enough of that story. For me, it’s not Christmas without the Grinch. Funny thing is, I can recite just about the whole thing from memory. It’s a story I used to read my daughter all the time, and I’m just now realizing that I need to rectify the fact that I haven’t read it to my son in a long, long time. Even though I know it so well, it never gets old, never gets boring, and is as much a part of my Christmas season as “Silent Night” and egg nog.
Even though it has nothing to explicitly do with Jesus.
Maybe that should bother me, but it doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Nor does it bother me that Christmas trees were probably pagan first, or that Jesus probably was not born on December 24th. Or 25th. None of this stuff bothers me. They’re all things that point me to God’s arrival and continuing presence in my life. The Grinch is the same way. My favorite part is:
And the Grinch, with his Grinch feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling. “How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags?” He puzzled and puzzed ’til his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas- perhaps- means a little bit more.
Every time I hear that I just want to jump on my couch and yell “Yes! Exactly! Yes!” Then he saves the sleigh from going over the cliff and rides into town and, well, I’m getting all choked up just thinking about it. Who care’s if it’s not explicitly Christian? It helps point me to God’s continuing presence in my life. That’s all I really care about.