Every December I tell myself that I’m going to keep Christmas simple this year.

I imagine quiet nights at home with Christmas movies and hot chocolate. Fewer errands and trips to the store. Less presents and more presence. I tell myself this year I won’t get pulled into the business of the holiday.

And then December actually shows up.

The music starts before Thanksgiving is finished. The ads pop up everywhere, on my phone, in my email, even in places that used to feel neutral. Somewhere between Black Friday and mid-December, I’m worrying about Christmas lists and holiday plans, and wondering how I ended up here…again.

If that sounds familiar, you’re not alone.

Christmas in America comes with a prewritten script, a Hallmark movie on steroids. Everything has to be perfect and polished, quietly reinforcing that happiness can be purchased, that love can be wrapped, and that joy should arrive by Christmas Day whether we’re ready or not.

Advent pushes back against it all.

Advent doesn’t rush us toward Christmas. Advent asks us to slow down, to take a moment, and to pay attention. It invites us to turn away from the world and toward Jesus.

That’s why the ideas of spending less and giving more fit well together. They aren’t about guilt or even budgets. They’re about the orientation of our heart and where we’re facing when the season arrives.

What Shapes Your Heart Is Already Winning

Jesus once said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).

We like to use this line in church, especially when we talk about money. But when he said it, Jesus wasn’t giving financial advice. It was intended to be spiritual.

In Jesus’ world, most people lived close to the edge. A bad harvest, a sick animal, or a Roman tax could push a family into crisis. When Jesus talked about treasure, He wasn’t imagining “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous”. He was talking about whatever people relied on for security, identity, and hope.

This is still a serious issue today.

The difference is that today, entire industries exist only to shape our desires. Advertising doesn’t just sell products; it sells stories about who we should be, what a good life looks like, and what will finally make us feel happy and whole.

By December, those stories are everywhere.

Spend enough, and your family will be happy.
Buy the right thing, and you’ll feel complete.
Miss out, and you’ll regret it.

Jesus doesn’t scold us for feeling this pressure. He warns us because He knows how easily hearts can drift. Attention follows investment. Anxiety follows attachment. And before we realize it, Christmas becomes about protecting a feeling instead of welcoming a Savior.

Advent interrupts that drift. It forces us to ask uncomfortable questions:

What is shaping me right now?
What story is my life telling?

Contentment Learned the Hard Way

When the apostle Paul writes, “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances” (Philippians 4:11), he is writing from prison.

Paul knew seasons of stability and seasons of scarcity. He knew what it was like to rely entirely on the generosity of others. He knew hunger, uncertainty, and vulnerability.

Most of us know something about that too.

Many people can remember a time when money was tight, when help came from a neighbor, a church, a relative, or a friend. And when we think back on those seasons, it usually isn’t the stuff we remember most clearly. It’s the people who showed up. The ones who noticed. The ones who didn’t look away.

Paul’s point isn’t that hardship is good or that we should pretend everything is fine. His point is that our worth and peace are not tied to stuff. Contentment doesn’t come from having more. It comes from knowing we are held, even when we have less.

That insight quietly dismantles the way Christmas is often sold to us.

If the moments that shaped us most were relational rather than transactional, then maybe we’ve misunderstood what we’re actually longing for.

God Didn’t Send a Gift. God Showed Up.

John puts it simply: “The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us” (John 1:14).

God moved into the neighborhood.

In the ancient world, gods were thought to stay removed from ordinary life. Power stayed up high. Divinity didn’t mix with dirt and struggle. John is making a radical claim: God crossed the distance.

And the first people to hear about it were shepherds.

In the Roman world, shepherds lived on the margins. Although important at times, they didn’t matter much in the social order. And yet, they are the first ones invited into the story. Because God came for ordinary people.

The shepherds don’t receive wealth or status for their loyalty. They receive relationship. And after encountering Jesus, they go back to their fields exactly as they left them, but forever changed.

That’s the joy Advent points toward. A joy rooted in presence, not presents.

The Gifts That Don’t Fit in a Bag

In Acts 3, a man sits at the temple gate begging for money. Peter looks at him and says, “I don’t have silver or gold, but what I do have I give you.”

What Peter gives the man is his time and attention. He gives him back his dignity and restores his life.

This feels especially relevant now.

Loneliness is widespread. Families feel stretched thin. Many people move through their days unseen and unheard. The most meaningful gifts most people need won’t show up on a store receipt.

They need someone to sit with them.
Someone to listen.
Someone willing to be present.

That kind of giving costs time, not money.

Spending less isn’t about depriving ourselves of something. It’s about making room in our lives. And giving more isn’t about wealth. It’s about making ourselves available.

When we are less consumed by keeping up, we are more capable of showing up.

A Different Way to Live December

Advent gives us permission to choose a different pace. To resist the idea that meaning has to be manufactured. To believe that joy might already be closer than we think.

Spending less and giving more isn’t about doing Christmas “right.” It’s about turning toward Jesus, the God who came close, who still comes close, and who invites us to do the same.

A lighter Christmas doesn’t mean an emptier one. It means a fuller one.

Full of presence.
Full of connection.
Full of moments that actually last.

I want to leave you with those famous words from “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” by Dr. Seuss:

“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. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

A Prayer for Advent

God of nearness,
You did not come to us in noise or excess,
but in quiet vulnerability,
in the middle of ordinary life.

As this season pulls at our attention and our wallets,
slow us down.
Help us notice what is shaping our hearts
and gently loosen our grip on anything
that is pushing You out.

Teach us contentment in a world that always wants more.
Remind us that joy cannot be purchased,
that love cannot be wrapped,
and that Your presence is the greatest gift we receive.

Give us the courage to spend less when spending distracts us,
and the freedom to give more of what truly matters:
our time, our attention, our compassion,
and our willingness to show up for others.

Help us turn toward Jesus again as Emmanuel, God with us.

May this Advent shape us into people
who live more simply,
love more deeply,
and carry Your presence into every space we enter.

Amen.