Skip to content

Commercialized Christmas Essay Titles


Holidays: Christmas

A 'Beary' Merry Christmas
A Caroling We Go
A Christmas To Remember
A Holly Jolly Christmas
A Season Of Love And Laughter
All Hearts Come Home For Christmas
All I Want For Christmas
All Is Calm, All Is Bright
All Wrapped Up
Away In A Manger
Baby's First Christmas
Bah Humbug
Believe In Miracles
Believe In The Magic Of Christmas
Christmas Cookies & Holiday Hearts, That's The Way The Season Starts
Christmas Cuties
Christmas Is A Claus For Celebration
Christmas Is A Time To Believe In Things You Can�t See
Christmas Is Filled With Kids & Kisses
Christmas Time Brings So Much Pleasure When You Have Good Friends To Treasure
Christmas Time Is Family Time
Christmas Tree Shopping
Dear Santa, Define Good
Dear Santa, I Want It All!
Dear Santa, I Want One Of Everything
Dear Santa, I Was Very, Very Good
December Delights
Delights Of December
Enjoying The Holly Days
Families Are A Special Part Of Christmas
Family Is The Best Part Of Christmas
Frosty The Snowman
Glad Tidings We Bring!
Hark The Herald Angles Sing
He's Making A List
Here Comes Santa Claus
Here We Come A-Caroling
Holiday Hoopla
Holiday Memories Warm Even The Coldest Of Days
Holly Days
Holly Jolly Christmas
Home For The Holidays
Home Is The Heart Of The Holidays
Homespun Holidays Are Stitched With Love
I Believe
I Believe In Santa
I Can 'Bearly' Wait For Christmas
I Can 'Bearly' Wait 'Til Christmas
I'll Be Home For Christmas, You Can Count On Me
I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas
I'm Gettin' Nuttin' For Christmas
Jesus Is The Reason For The Season
Jingle Bells
Joy To The World
Just What I've Always Wanted
Keep The Wonder Of Christmas In Your Heart
Lets Leave Christ In Christmas
Let's Meet Under The Mistletoe
Love Is The Light Of Christmas
Love Is What's In The Room With You At Christmas If You Stop Opening Presents And Listen
May Christmas Be Evergreen In Your Heart
Meowy Christmas!
Merry Christmas Baby
Merry Grinch-Mas
Meet Me Under The Mistletoe
Misltoe Magic
"Mooey" Christmas
Naughty Or Nice?
No Peekin'
Not A Creature Was Stirring Not Even A Mouse
O' Christmas Tree
O Holy Night
Our First Christmas Together: The Best Gift Is Each Other
Peace On Earth
Please Come Home For Christmas
Reindeer Games
Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree
Santa Baby
Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
Santa Express
Santa Stops Here
Santa Was Here
Santa's Little Helper
Silent Night
The Little Drummer Boy
The Night Before Christmas
The Spirit Of Christmas Is All Around Us
The Twelve Days Of Christmas
There's No Place Like Home For The Holidays
There's No Time Like The Presents
'Tis The Season
Tree-mendous
Tiny Tots With Their Eyes All A-Glow
'Twas The Night Before Christmas
We Believe In Santa!
White Christmas
Who Needs Santa When You Have Grandma!
Winter Fun
Yes Virginia There Is A Santa Claus
You Light Up My Life
You'd Better Not Pout!


I grew up in a white, liberal, East Coast family, Unitarian with Presbyterian roots, and we celebrated Christmas in a typical American way: the tree, the school pageant, the Burl Ives carols, the Claymation Rudolph on television. Most of my memories of the holiday are happy ones. But one year—I was 9 or 10—things took a bizarre turn: I woke up and raced down to the tree, inspected all the gifts, and found, to my horror, that out of all of them only two or three were marked for me. My brother (it seemed) had gotten six times as many. It was the younger child's worst nightmare: left out, given the scraps.

I burst out crying and threw a screaming fit. I was shown the little packages underneath that contained the things I really wanted—a Swiss Army knife with my name engraved on it, a Bruce Springsteen tape. But it took an hour to placate me, as I remember.

I'm sure most American adults can dredge up a similar story from their childhood. Of all the holidays we celebrate, Christmas is the one with the highest stakes, the most payoff, and no one understands this better than children. The threat of lumps of coal in the stocking is, in a certain perverse way, very real to them: not because they fear getting nothing but because they fear not getting enough. Parents, too, understand instinctively that presents on Christmas are a test of their love and act accordingly.

Anthropologically speaking, there's nothing unique about our slightly mad celebration of abundance and good fortune at the darkest point on the calendar, with its attendant hangover. I witnessed this some years ago when I lived in Hong Kong during the lunar New Year, which the city celebrates with the same brazen commercial fever it applies to everything else. The highlight of the celebration for children is the distribution of red lai see packets filled with money.

For the last 11 years, I've been a student of Korean Zen, and as an American Buddhist I'm not quite sure how to feel about Christmas. It's not that I feel disloyal celebrating the holiday. Mahayana Buddhism, the larger tradition to which Zen belongs, encourages coexistence among religious traditions. When I asked one of my teachers recently how he feels about Christmas, he said, "When I'm at the temple, we celebrate Buddha's Enlightenment Day [the first week of December]; when I'm with people celebrating Hanukkah, I celebrate that; when I'm with people celebrating Christmas, I celebrate Christmas."

In many ways, I love Christmas, and not just because I generally enjoyed it as a child. There are many parallels between the Christmas story and the story of Buddha's birth. East Asian Buddhism even has a figure strikingly analogous to Santa Claus—Budai, or Hotei, the enormously fat laughing monk, whose name literally means "cloth sack," a reference to the beggar's bag he carries. Budai's bag is said to be always be full of presents for children; he is often pictured with tots climbing all over him. In China and Japan he is a symbol of abundance and sometimes even overindulgence.

But at the same time, I can't help feeling that something is intrinsically wrong with the contemporary American version of Christmas. It's not simply that the gift-giving has become unmoored from the religious content or that the holiday has become "commercialized." (As Leigh Eric Schmidt's book Commercial Rites: The Buying and Selling of American Holidays makes clear, Christmas in the United States has alwaysbeen a commercial ritual.) What's awry, from a Buddhist point of view, is that for the most part we've lost the ability to let gifts make us happy. The means—gifts—and the ends—happiness—have become detached. Overwhelmingly today, we assume that the way to make people happy at Christmas is to give them what they have told us they want. This is true of children and adults. The whole process of wish lists, of clear and defined expectations, is in a sense what makes the contemporary American Christmas possible.

Wish lists, however, mean that the giver takes no responsibility for—no ownership of—the gift. From a Buddhist point of view this is inherently a mistake. Whatever we give to someone else we also, in a sense, receive ourselves. The gift itself has only the existence and meaning we assign it. Another way of saying this is that gifts are an extension of our karma.

The most obvious examples of this are gifts that are dangerous or inappropriate—a rifle for an 11-year-old, a car for a 16-year-old who hasn't learned to stop at stop signs. But consider a more benign example. Say that you have a 16-year-old daughter who is dying for a pair of $500 skis. You can afford it; you've budgeted that much to spend on her; and buying them will make her extremely happy, in the short term. On the other hand, you feel it's inappropriate—even outrageous—to spend that much money on a present for a teenager.

Well, so what? It's not the end of the world to have a daughter who has expensive tastes. If you look at the gift simply as a transaction—I have this money, what would you like me to do with it?—it makes no sense for you to censor your daughter's desires. Nonetheless, after you buy these skis, the world will be slightly altered. She will feel validated about receiving extravagant presents as tokens of love, and you, by participating in the transaction, will have affirmed her choice. Nor do your guilt and frustration just disappear: They become part of the exchange itself, part of the price of herhappiness. Your relationship is shaped by the gift, instead of the other way around. It's such a subtle shift that you may not ever be aware of it, but the consequences, ultimately, are real.

There's no easy way to extricate ourselves from these binds of obligation and reassurance. For those who want to cut down on expense or shopping there are now many Web sites dedicated to making the season simpler—a worthy goal. But Christmas isn't just about being virtuous; it's about feeling lucky to be alive and grateful for the abundance we share, without letting that abundance drive us crazy. This requires a sense of proportion—an instinct for when more becomes enough. I'm certainly no paragon here: After reading this essay, my wife pointed out that my Amazon wish list has 79 items on it. Many of those titles have been up there for years, and I don't really expect anyone to buy any of them. But the little boy in me wouldn't mind at all.