Thought experiment inspired by Makoto Fujimura and Walker Percy, and the guy who was whistling "Little Drummer Boy" at O'Hare International Airport in March.
Imagine that you are roaming the local mall when you find yourself swept up in a mystical current of air, ushered from where you find yourself to a new and strange place, as yet largely unreached by Western markets and Christian missionaries. You check your calendar: it is the day after American Thanksgiving—it is Black Friday.
This place has never known Christmas.
It looks as though you're going to be here for the duration, and it seems that someone has prepared a place for you, a nice ranch single-family household with a porch and a small tree in the front yard and a picture window visible from the street. The weather is, by and large, identical to the weather at home. You may not be in Kansas any more, but you are, effectively, living your old life in this entirely new place.
Your neighbors are friendlier than most, and they greet you warmly at your door, welcoming you to the neighborhood. Not that you'd want to, but you can't seem to avoid them. They're curious about you, genuinely interested in who you are and what you're about.
How do you prepare for Christmas? Do you prepare for Christmas? How will you celebrate? Will you celebrate? How will you explain the holiday to your neighbors? Will you explain it to them? What does Christmas mean for you, what does it look like for you, when you remove it from here, and now, and this, and that?
Thank you for the days,
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me.
I'm thinking of the days -
I won't forget a single day believe me.
I bless the light -
I bless the light that shines on you believe me.
And though you're gone,
You're with me every single day believe me.
Days I remember all my life.
Days where you can't see wrong from right. . . .
Now I'm not frightened of this world, believe me.