Given that Christmas is a time of blatant commercialism, which puts unbearable strain on the poorest in our society and reminds the depressed and bereaved of their pain, I sometimes wonder why I still love it so much.
There are obvious reasons, such as having had the good fortune to marry into a large and Christmas-loving family, where none of the adults is jaded and cynical about the season.
Then there is the fact of being mother to small children, and watching each of them in turn discover the magic of Christmas morning. They are all young enough not to be greedy. There are no long lists for Santa, although the eldest at seven has cannily figured out that modest requests prompt Santa into greater generosity.
And of course, there is the opportunity to indulge my own dubious taste, fortunately fully shared with my husband. We plaster the house with decorations of which the kindest description would be gaudy. Or perhaps tacky.
As for our crib - after a few years of rescuing precious and beautiful china figurines from sticky little fingers, we bought eminently practical plastic figures with which the children could play. Although it can lead to some rather curious and unorthodox juxtapositions, such as the Blessed Virgin Mary sharing space with Pokemon figures.
An attempt to remove them was met with relentless four-year-old logic. Why shouldn't Pikachu and Raichu visit the crib? Why not, indeed? I drew the line at Team Rocket kidnapping Baby Jesus, even though I was earnestly assured that Team Rocket always lose in the end.
Much as I love Christmas, I do hate the horrible contrast between our lives and the increasing number of people for whom Christmas is an intolerable burden. The children are resigned to the fact that Christmas signals a clear-out of toys which must be given to those who are not so lucky, although I have to admit that some of our children are more resigned than others.
The bag marked for giving away has to be closely guarded so that everything does not mysteriously end up back in the toy cupboard. Of course this regular sharing of toys is just a tiny gesture, probably more designed to make me feel better than of any real value.
Unfortunately, the reluctance of at least some of our children to share is mirrored in the adult world. It is harder and harder to point out that people are in real poverty. The mantra is that anyone who wants to work could be in a job. Over and over you hear about the fall in unemployment, which is of course wonderful, but little is said about the large numbers now in poverty in low-paid dead-end work. And in order to qualify as a rampaging Leftie, all you have to do is point out that it was not necessary to reduce the top rate of tax in the last Budget, that those resources could have been better spent elsewhere.
It is true there is something sick about the conspicuous consumption which has come to be the hallmark of the privileged in our society. The irony is deepened by the fact that this is supposed to be such a significant year, a celebration of 2000 years of Christianity.
But it is a very human kind of sickness, to which none of us is entirely immune. We condemn commercialism and then by our participation in it keep it rolling merrily along. It is the oldest human self-delusion in the book to believe that the possession of things can somehow bring happiness. It is a delusion which carries within it its own antidote, simply because no amount of possessions ultimately satisfies.
True, some of us are slower learners than others. Our society is so structured that time for reflection is almost non-existent, which does not help the learning process. But it is not accidental that our prosperity has coincided with a massive rise in the consumption of alcohol, particularly among young people, and with catastrophic rates of suicide among young men. At some level, people know that they have lost sight of some essential quality, something which satisfies the human heart even though at first glance it looks unattractively like sacrifice.
Until recent times, there were powerful forces in the culture which prodded people into questioning the relentless refrain of acquire, acquire, acquire. Since our economic growth is dependent on keeping us restless and dissatisfied, those voices which prompt us to be satisfied with less, to look elsewhere for fulfilment, must be drowned out at all costs. But the human need for meaning keeps asserting itself, the restless search for something more, which the marketers would dearly love to channel into more acquisition, but do not always succeed in doing so.
Not that nostalgia for the past is any answer. Christmas in the past may have been more of a family time, but it was also often a time of great sadness, with heartbreaking letters from the emigrants we exported almost casually. And there is no great virtue in moderation when it is the only option.
What we need now is to look to the future, to realise that we are building a society where human values are often drowned out. We are acting like greedy children on Christmas morning who insist on eating every sweet in the stocking. Like those children, we end up sickened and dissatisfied. Unlike those children, as adults we have the option to question our behaviour and how we structure our society.
Behind all the conspicuous consumption, a very human longing to love and be loved often lies buried. The Christmas story speaks to me of compassion for all the crazy things we do in search of happiness, of forgiveness for all the fractures in the human heart. Christmas is a promise, repeated yearly, that those longings for something deeper do not always have to be frustrated.
Because the fragility, vulnerability and awesome promise of a newborn baby lies at the heart of the Christmas story, Christmas is ultimately about hope, without which the human spirit withers. So while the jangle of commercialism tries to drown or domesticate that hope, it never entirely succeeds. Which is, I suppose, ultimately why I still love Christmas.
bobrien@irish-times.ie