Can Christians Redeem Christmas?

A Discussion on Purism, Idols, and the Question of Christmas

“The altar sanctifies the gift.” — Matthew 23:19

I’ve been reflecting on a conversation I had after one of our festival music concerts—a moment that has stayed with me for both its sincerity and the questions it raised about worship and discernment.

We were sitting in the sprawling music tent three Novembers ago, surrounded by more than 1,800 people, whose spirits had just been lifted. The choir and orchestra had offered one selection after another, each magnifying the Lord, drawing us into His presence, and empowering us with the nearness of His love. As the final strains of glorious worship faded into a roar of applause, it was clear that the ovation wasn’t directed at the mere vessels on stage but at the glory and nearness of heaven. We felt renewed—washed in God’s love, graced by His presence, and bound together in a shared experience of praise.

As people began to file out, many stopped to express heartfelt gratitude and share what had most blessed or touched their hearts. Amid the joyful crowd, a gentleman approached me. His face reflected the sincerity of a Christian who had been deeply moved by the worship. Yet with humility and respect, he posed a question that was clearly burning in his heart,

“Sir, please tell me--why would y’all sing songs from groups out there who share none of your values, who teach false doctrine, and whose witness dishonors the church?”

It took me a moment to realize he was referring to the fact that we had sung a couple of songs from groups like Bethel, whose practices are often (perhaps rightly) criticized as being “out of balance” by some in the more devoted corners of the Christian community.

I cannot sufficiently emphasize how grateful I was for the kindness, respect, and humility with which this brother—until that moment a stranger—expressed his concern. I wish all Christians would dialogue with such a spirit. Yet his challenge got me thinking, not just about worship songs, but about a broader question:

What can be redeemed, and what cannot?

And since we are in the season, that question leads very naturally to Christmas.

The Spirit of Purism

In contrast to this brother’s distinctly Christian spirit, I have often encountered videos and comments from ministries that seem to define their mission by finding fault with other Christians. These purist ministries specialize in pointing out errors, compiling histories of doctrinal missteps, and condemning songs they believe carry the “wrong spirit.”

Perhaps there are those who engage in such critiques with grace, but I have yet to meet them. What I have seen, far more often, is that these efforts infuse the church with more arrogance, judgmentalism, sectarianism, disunity, slander, and backbiting.

I fear that these groups—lacking inspired insight into the church’s foundational brokenness and offering no profound vision for healing—distract believers with what are often peripheral symptoms, the knowledge of which merely puffs up the flesh. When the body intuitively senses its sickness, it seeks a diagnosis—preferably a simple malady that can be vanquished with a single pill. Many purist ministries seem to exploit the “cancer patient” of a suffering church by offering “cold remedies” for a “runny nose,” so to speak. As the Lord lamented through the prophet Jeremiah, “They heal the wound of My people superficially” (Jer. 6:14).

So I don’t find it all that helpful to divide Christians over specific beats, the origin of melodies or lyrics, or the inclusion of certain instruments—especially when so few churches, including the critics, are demonstrating sustainable fruitfulness in marriages, families, congregational unity, or the life and power of the Spirit. I would be far more inclined to consider criticisms from united, fruitful, thriving congregations that display uncommon power and joy in the Holy Spirit.

The Real Danger: Intellectualism

Ironically, in fleeing from what they see as excesses in charismatic movements, these purist ministries often lead the church into another trap: an ever-deeper dependency on the tree of knowledge. This reliance on human rationalism elevates intellectualism—the greatest idol in human experience and, I believe, the predominant idol within Christianity today.

This kind of intellectualism substitutes endless speculations about God for a genuine relationship with Him. Theology becomes a platform for pride rather than a means of worship, and the God who is Spirit is sidelined in favor of humanity’s most pervasive idol: the mind.

Intellectualism is insidious because it feels virtuous. It appeals to our desire for control, clarity, and certainty. But it quietly robs us of the vibrant, Spirit-filled relationship that God calls us to (John 17:3). In seeking to preserve our own version of “purity,” we risk losing the very heart of worship: an encounter with the living God.

The Arena or the Bleachers

Some sit comfortably in the bleachers of safe spaces, hurling critiques at the pioneers in the arena—those bold enough to reclaim the grace and power the church has lost, to dare the fullness promised through Jesus, and to press toward the restoration of all things that alone will usher in His return.

These armchair critics are quick to sneer, quick to point out “how the strong man stumbled, how the doer of deeds could have done better.” Beneath their pious facades, does a darker shadow of envy lurk? Envy of those who broke free from the chains of fear that still bind them? Envy of those willing to risk everything—reputations, comfort, friendships, safety—to take their place among those “forcefully advancing” the kingdom of God, while the critics remain on the sidelines, muttering their high-minded objections?

When a pioneer stumbles—when he falls face-first into failure—the critics don’t pause to help. They swarm like piranhas drawn to blood, tearing mercilessly at the wounded. It’s a grotesque spectacle: a feeding frenzy of self-righteousness masquerading as concern. I can’t help but turn away when the same voices who stayed silent in the struggle now rush to dissect the failure. It’s as if his fall justifies their own passive, preserved existence—sealed off like a mausoleum, where risk is buried, the Spirit is restrained, and the status quo rules unchallenged.

But it doesn’t stop there. The armchair critics work to erase every mark of progress made by those who stumbled:

“Discard every revelation from Scripture that surpassed your understanding.
Reject every practice that unsettled your comfort zone.
Dismiss every word of truth that pierced your pride—because, after all, look how he fell.”

By this logic, we’d have to rip Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Solomon from the Bible—after all, look how Solomon ended.

No. We will not abandon what is of God simply because a messenger faltered. We won’t throw out salvation by faith simply because Luther fell into antisemitism. We will hold fast to what is true, to the beauty of the Lord’s design. And we will remain grateful for those who advanced the cause of Christ, even if they themselves fell short in the end. Their sacrifice still mattered. Some of their works may yet endure, though they lose their own way along the path. Their failures will not erase the truth God revealed of Himself through imperfect vessels.

Examining Practices Without Becoming Defined by Rejection

At the same time, it is wise to critically examine the customs and practices we inherit, lest we venerate as doctrines of God what are, in fact, merely the traditions of men . . . or even worse. As the ancient adage goes, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” When we discover that something we do has questionable origins, this realization demands heightened prayer and consideration of whether its practice violates God’s Word or ways.

But this cautious approach can become unbalanced. Christians may begin to define themselves less by who they are in Jesus and by His grace, and more by what they reject and whom they consider themselves superior to. I remain wary of the overconfident purism that identifies itself primarily by rejection—whether of certain music styles, expressions of worship, or particular holidays.

Let’s first ensure that we have discovered and are living out Christ’s vibrant, fruitful, and sustainable corporate life in our families and congregations—and then reject whatever truly threatens that precious reality and life.

The origin, etymology, or history of a practice is not irrelevant, but it is also not the most critical factor. Scripture repeatedly shows that many practices God condoned for His people had counterparts—even prior histories—with dark or pagan roots.

The Pitfall of Chronology and the Pattern of Redemption

Many who uncover pagan influences in various practices are driven by sincere concern for the church. But when they stop at historical roots and fail to address deeper issues—faulty theology of salvation, disorder in church governance, a lack of openness to the Spirit—they often drift into a purist posture.

This Puritanical mindset divides the church, exalts human effort, and quietly enthrones the tree of knowledge in place of Christ, the Anointed One. It fixates on perfecting external forms rather than the heart of worship, turning Christianity into a system where every practice must pass a “purity test.” Well-meaning as it is, this approach distracts from the transformative work of Christ and replaces vibrant faith with lifeless legalism.

By contrast, Scripture reveals a consistent pattern of redemption: God takes forms that were once used for evil and reclaims them for His glory. Few forms of art, beauty, or ritual are inherently evil; many can be expressions of worship when placed under His authority. In fact, it may be a Christian duty to identify what is genuinely beautiful or true in human culture and redirect it toward the One who alone is worthy of glory, honor, and power.

Just a few of the many Biblical examples:

• The Tabernacle and Its Symbols
  Long before Moses, ancient Near Eastern religions used portable shrines, ritual tents, and altars. God did not reject these forms on principle. Instead, He gave Moses a precise pattern and transformed them into the tabernacle—a sanctified dwelling for the one true God in the midst of His people (Exod. 25–27; 29:45-46). Familiar shapes were repurposed under a radically different authority.
• The Bronze Serpent
  The Greek god Hermes carried the caduceus, and Egyptian iconography often featured cobra motifs. Despite this widespread pagan use, God instructed Moses to craft a bronze serpent and lift it on a pole to bring healing to afflicted Israelites (Num. 21:8-9). This was not a concession to paganism; it was a God-given sign of deliverance. The purists of our day would have shrieked that Moses was bringing Egyptian symbols into the congregation and would have produced reams of evidence demonstrating its origins in the various Babylonian and Egyptian deities that preceded the Greek Hermes. Centuries later, Jesus used that very image to prefigure His crucifixion, despite the bronze serpent having become an idol in the days of Hezekiah. And crucifixion itself—a barbaric symbol of Roman terror—Christ transformed into the supreme emblem of love and salvation (John 3:14-15).
• Circumcision
  Circumcision existed as a cultic practice in Mesopotamia and Egypt before Abraham. God did not invent a brand-new form; He took a known cultural practice and infused it with covenantal meaning—commanding it on the eighth day and tying it to His promises to Abraham and his descendants (Gen. 17:10-14). What once lived in pagan cults was redefined as a sign of belonging to God’s people.
• Sacrifice
  Sacrificial systems—altars, blood, fire—were widespread across ancient religions. The Levitical sacrifices did not reject these forms; they purified and re-anchored them. Under the covenant at Sinai, sacrifices became acts of atonement, covenant renewal, and communion with the living God (Lev. 1–7), not attempts to manipulate capricious deities. Pagan rites were distortions of the original God-ordained sacrifices of Abel and Noah; through Moses, God restored the right use of a corrupted form.
• Jesus’ Teaching on the Altar
  In Matthew 23:19, Jesus gives a hermeneutic for form and context: it is not the gift that makes the altar holy, but the altar that sanctifies the gift—and not the altar that makes the temple holy, but the temple that sanctifies the altar. Holiness flows from God’s larger context and order, not from the bare object. Elements once used in profane ways can become holy when placed within God’s ordained pattern1—ultimately, within the temple that is Christ’s Body.
• Babylonian Songs in the Psalms
  Scholars have noted parallels between certain psalms and ancient Babylonian hymns. If that is correct, it simply underscores the same pattern: during the exile, Israel’s singers redeemed poetic forms and melodic lines once sung to false gods and redirected them to Yahweh. These redeemed songs were not only sanctified; they became Scripture itself. God seems to specialize in reclaiming every gem of beauty and every true emotion.
• Names with Pagan Origins
  Apollos carried a name tied to a Greek god, yet Paul accepted and honored him as a trusted co-worker without making any effort to change his name (Acts 18:24-28; 1 Cor. 3:5-6). Esther and Mordecai bore names derived from Ishtar and Marduk, yet God used them to rescue His people (Esth. 2:5-7). Their lives so thoroughly redefined those names that “Esther” now evokes courage and faith, not a pagan goddess.

Taken together, these examples expose the pitfall of chronology: assuming that because something was first misused, it is forever disqualified. Scripture shows the opposite. God is not intimidated by the past of a symbol, a tune, a ritual, or a name. He looks at the present context, purpose, and lordship. Under His hand, what was once hijacked by darkness can become a vessel of light.

A more recent example is attributed to William Booth, the founder of the Salvation Army. As the story goes, Booth was at a revival meeting in a Worcester theater, enjoying a popular Christian chorus titled "Bless His Name, He Sets Me Free." Booth was surprised to discover that the song’s tune came from a music-hall ditty, "Champagne Charlie is My Name." Turning to a family member, he exclaimed, “That settles it! Why should the devil have all the best tunes?”

This pattern of redemption, seen throughout Scripture and in historical Christian reforms, is exactly what we must keep in mind when we ask what can and cannot be redeemed in our own practices—especially at Christmas.

Can Christmas Be Redeemed?

Some argue that Christmas is a pagan holiday, that Santa Claus is a symbol of deception, and that any participation in the season is tantamount to idolatry. Others see this time of year as one marked by goodwill, open hearts, and peace among people who might otherwise be strangers.

Is it possible to honor Christ, celebrate His birth, and foster family, friendship, and peace on earth through Christmas?

I believe it is—because that has been my experience, first as a child and now as an adult raising six children.

But the question deserves deeper exploration, and that means beginning with the objections.

Taking the Objections Seriously

It’s important to acknowledge that objections to Christmas are not without merit. Christmas has, in fact, absorbed elements from pagan winter solstice celebrations. Traditions like the Yule log, evergreen trees, mistletoe, Santa Claus, and even some aspects of gift-giving have come to us in part through pagan festivities. These solstice celebrations were often among the most debauched and violent nights of the year.

Some Christian leaders in earlier centuries, disturbed by such practices, sought to redeem and transform these celebrations. They aimed to shift the focus from drunken revelry to the commemoration of Christ’s birth. This was not merely a quiet expropriation of a pagan holiday—it was a deliberate hijacking. What had been a season of chaos became a time to celebrate the Christ Child, promoting peace, charity, goodwill, and joy, particularly toward children.

There are two ways to understand how early Christians reclaimed days once tied to pagan festivals. One view sees it as syncretism—adapting Christ to the world’s rituals in violation of Paul’s injunction not to be conformed to the patterns of this world. That concern is legitimate. The other sees something potentially more defiant and intentional: Christian leaders repulsed by the immorality of pagan feast days and seeking to displace them with worship of Christ. Tertullian, for example, condemned Christians who joined Saturnalia and the midwinter feasts, calling such participation “unworthy of believers” (De Idololatria 14). Gregory of Nazianzus urged believers, “Let us not celebrate the feasts of the heathen . . . but the day of Christ’s birth” (Oration 38). Chrysostom likewise declared of December 25, “This day is holy, not because of the birth of the sun, but because of the birth of Him who made the sun” (Homily on the Nativity).

Later councils even prohibited Christians from observing the Kalends and Brumalia—pagan winter festivals—on the grounds that such days were “empty of Christ” (Council in Trullo, canon 62).

These statements do not prove a single coordinated approach, but they reveal at least a consistent effort: to replace pagan revelry with Christian worship. Perhaps analogous to Paul standing on Mars Hill and searching to find and use one altar “to the unknown god” as a bridge to proclaim the true Lord, were some early believers blatantly subverting idolatry with Christian practices and worship? We cannot x‑ray every motive behind the development of Christmas; we can examine our own hearts and reasons: What does Christmas mean in our homes? Who does it honor? Why do we celebrate it?

The Reformation, Idols, and a New Idol

The Protestant Reformation rightly challenged the excesses of the Roman Catholic Church, including its compromises with paganism and its indulgence in extra-Biblical traditions. Gothic and Baroque art, statues of saints, extravagant cathedrals, and gilded frescoes became focal points of worship that obscured the simplicity of Christ. They had very little in common with a king born in a barn, who rode a donkey, broke bread with fishermen, and folded His grave clothes at His resurrection.

In response, Protestants turned to iconoclasm: the systematic destruction of religious images, the whitewashing of churches, the stripping down of sanctuaries, and the adoption of austere worship spaces.

In many cases, this purge was necessary to cleanse the visible church of blatant idolatry. But in tearing down visible idols, Protestants often failed to recognize the rise of a subtler idol in their place: the idol of human rationalism.

Over time, intellectualism and theological debates about God became the bigger, more insidious idol, replacing the iconography of Catholicism. The rationalist approach exalted knowledge about God over an intimate relationship with Him, contrary to Jesus’ declaration: “God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth” (John 4:24).

The trick of the false god is to distract the eye with the shattering of idols while subtly insinuating himself—a bigger and more powerful idol of human rationalism—in their place. The Reformation’s emphasis on stripping away physical idols inadvertently left room for the elevation of intellectual pride, turning faith into an academic exercise rather than a vibrant relationship with Christ.

It was the Puritans who first railed-against and outlawed Christmas. And their same imbalanced approach also scarred history with blights like the Salem Witch Trials.

This same spirit shows up today in a different arena: debates over Christmas and its “pagan roots.”

Modern Purism: Tearing Down Without Building Up

This spirit of intellectual purism persists in a Christianity that defines itself primarily by tearing down counterfeits. Its adherents are preoccupied with tracing the pagan roots of holidays or the etymology of words, shrinking their worldview into a narrow sphere of hollow intellectualism. They scour history to prove, “This was once pagan,” as if that alone settles the matter.

But this, too, becomes a form of idolatry, insofar as it purports to save us from idols—not by the power of the sanctifying Spirit and the redeeming identity and context of Christ—but by purported doctrinal precision and rabid subscription to legalistic principles that displace the Holy Spirit. The hope quietly shifts from Christ in us to our correctness about Him. The aim is no longer to walk in the Spirit but to avoid contamination by impeccable research.

The New Testament gives us a better pattern.

As noted, the Apostle Paul did not demand that Apollos—a fellow laborer in the gospel—change his name, even though it derived from the Greek god Apollo (Acts 18:24-28; 1 Cor. 3:5-6). Nor did Paul require Christians to avoid meat sold in pagan markets, even though it was often consecrated to idols. Instead, he instructed believers to eat “whatever is sold in the meat market without raising questions of conscience” (1 Cor. 10:25), and he affirmed that “nothing is unclean in itself” (Rom. 14:14). His only qualification related to concern not to be a stumbling block to brothers weak in the faith who might misunderstand the liberty of mature believers as being permission to actually engage in idolatry (1 Cor. 8:4-14).

Sin does not arise from external objects but from the intentions, motives, and context that give them meaning. The same piece of meat could be eaten as an act of idolatry or as an act of freedom and gratitude to God. The physical object didn’t change. The worship did.

By that standard, the question is not, “Did some pagan once misuse this?” but rather, “In the whole context and sacralized life of Christ’s Body, does this practice honor Christ, or does it defy Him?”

So again, when Paul speaks of believers’ freedom to eat meat sacrificed to idols, he makes the pivotal issue not the object itself, but the conscience of a brother. “If food causes my brother to stumble,” he says, “I will never eat meat again” (1 Cor. 8:13). This becomes the guiding principle for Christian liberty: every action must be measured not by our personal understanding alone, but by its impact on those who see it differently. For example, if Christmas decorations or carols would be viewed as offensive or even antisemitic in Israel, we must not cause one for whom Christ died to stumble. Whatever our practice, it must be done in love—with the weaker brother’s conscience and worldview always in view.

What Christmas Is Now—and What It Could Be

Rather than obsess over the historical roots of the 25th of December, we should examine its current form in our homes and ask:

• Which aspects of this holiday magnify Jesus?
• Which bring peace to our homes?
• Which draw us closer to one another and to our Savior?

For many families, the commercialization of Christmas—where parents feel pressured to reward their children’s covetous consumerism—does not produce peace or gratitude. Scripture warns clearly against covetousness and greed (Luke 12:15; Col. 3:5) and against envy and selfish ambition (James 3:16). Covetousness is the real idolatry! These, tragically, are among the driving forces behind modern holiday consumerism.

Because of that, we have chosen to moderate gift-giving, focusing instead on celebrating Christmas through family traditions like holiday cookies and special foods, caroling, group games, festive parties with neighbors, storytelling, reading the Christmas story, and enjoying a restful time together.

Our children weren’t raised with heaps of presents they rip open and toss aside in pursuit of more. Instead, we relish simple joys that foster relationship: a season of more games, treats, and shared experiences. My wife and I often prepare stockings for each child, filled with thoughtful but inexpensive items like special treats, small school-year items, or a little puzzle. This approach captures the joy of gift-giving while resisting greed and materialism.

The question is not whether giving gifts is “pagan,” but whether the spirit and pattern of our gift-giving cultivate gratitude, humility, and love—or covetousness, comparison, and entitlement.

Why We Don’t Do Santa

Santa Claus does not feature in our celebrations—not because we see him as the incarnation of satan, nor poor Rudolph as a demon from hell, but because we recognize the importance of honesty and pure love between children and parents.

There are historical accounts suggesting that a charitable Christian named Nicholas may have inspired the legend. But creating a fictional, quasi-magical figure and attributing gifts to him risks undermining our children’s trust in us and quietly shifting their focus away from Jesus. When a child discovers that a beloved figure, solemnly affirmed by adults, was fiction, it becomes harder for them to distinguish where truth ends and make-believe begins. This isn’t about Santa’s history—it’s about integrity and trust between children and parents.

We want our children to know that the joy and generosity in our home come from real people, moved by a real Savior—not from a myth that eventually collapses.

Christmas Trees, Pagans, and God’s Green Beauty

As for Christmas trees, they are undeniably beautiful. While in Colorado this past year, our then three-year-old Ella pointed out every Blue Spruce we passed—“Look! There’s a pretty Christmas tree!”

It is true that evergreens once carried mystical significance for ancient European pagans. They saw winter as an annual descent into death culminating in the winter solstice, and springtime as rebirth. So they looked to plants that did not seem to die—evergreens, holly, mistletoe—as if these things were imbued with the life of the gods (never mind that once cut, even evergreens wither and brown).

But must the Christian conclude that because pagans misconstrued the only living plant in winter, we must therefore avoid God’s greenery in winter as well? Should we block out the moon because pagans worshiped it as a goddess? Should Christians avoid sunlight because ancient peoples mistakenly believed it to be a deity? Should we forego sunset pictures because ancient people painted and depicted the sun as a deity? Of course not.

We can reject the misuse of God’s creation without becoming frightened of the creation itself. God made these things. Their beauty belongs to Him. Their meaning is determined not by pagan imagination but by the God who called the world into being and declared it good.

Indeed, the very rhythm of the seasons—death in winter and the promise of rebirth in spring—points us to the Creator and to the renewal of His Spirit. We are thankful that God placed resilient, evergreen plants in the coldest, darkest, bleakest time of the year—tokens that quietly preach that new life is coming.

To the extent that greenery or trees are used to express belief that demons inhabit certain trees or that sacred power resides in the object itself, that should be rejected outright as dumb idolatry. But to the extent that green boughs represent God’s own spark of beauty in an otherwise barren season, they can be enjoyed and celebrated without compromise.

Some Christians have felt caution toward a glitzy, gaudy tree—covered in “charms” and ornaments, with roots in ancient fertility symbols. But does that caution determine whether we use a tree at all—or how we use and present it? Each believer must weigh this before God, with a clear conscience.

And this is precisely where Paul’s teaching becomes indispensable. He writes:

“We know that an idol is nothing in the world” (1 Cor. 8:4).

“Food sacrificed to idols is nothing” (1 Cor. 8:8).

“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it” (1 Cor. 10:26).

“Nothing is unclean in itself” (Rom. 14:14).

In other words, the object is not the issue; the conscience and context are. I struggle to see how the modern use of a Christmas tree is more questionable than eating meat sacrificed to idols—something Paul clearly permits if one’s conscience is clear. What matters is not what others once attributed to the object, but how the believer understands and uses it. As Paul says, “The faith which you have, have as your own conviction before God. Happy is he who does not condemn himself in what he approves” (Rom. 14:22). Yet even this liberty is subject to love: if it causes a weaker brother to stumble, then liberty must yield to love (1 Cor. 8:9).

If someone attributes spiritual power to the tree itself, it becomes a snare for him. If someone, in weak conscience, feels compromised by its presence, then for him it is unclean (Rom. 14:14). But if another believer sees only a symbol of God’s created beauty—a reminder of life in winter—and receives it with gratitude, then for him it is clean.

No child, and no ordinary, unstudied adult, would likely associate a Christmas tree with pagan worship unless someone first told them to. Left to itself, the Western cultural experience of the tree carries nothing dark, nothing occult, nothing suggestive of ancient, ignorant superstitions. Children do not bow down to it, chant to it, or imbue it with sacred power.

I acknowledge that some songs might cross the line, and some families may begin to speak of the tree as if it were almost sentient, rather than simply enjoying its fresh scent and charm. But I’ve seen just as much object-worship from children and adults toward vehicles—and we don’t ban cars, only the idolatrous mindset. (In fact, surveys show that over 40% of Americans name their cars, nearly 50% consider them part of the family, and 4% admit to kissing their vehicles goodnight!)

This alone reveals something important: the “problem” is not in the tree, nor generally in the way culture uses it today. The problem often lies in the over-scrupulous, research-driven impulse that goes digging through ancient ruins to resurrect meanings very few alive are actually practicing. It is a kind of theological archaeology that unearths dead idols and then warns the living church to fear them, though no one had stumbled over them until the researcher dug them up.

This does not seem to be how Paul approaches moral discernment. Nor is it how Jesus teaches us to evaluate practices. Jesus tells us to “judge a tree by its fruit” (Matt. 7:17-20)—no pun intended. The more important question is not, “What did pagans do two thousand years ago?” but rather, “What fruit does this bear in my family, my home, my relationships, my spirit?”

Bad fruit is our cue to make changes—not bad research. Chasing down origins alone will always prove insufficient. Assessing fruit is the way of wisdom.

This appears to be Paul’s consistent approach:

“Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind” (Romans 14:5).

“Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin” (Romans 14:23).

So if a Christian cannot, in faith, place a tree in his home without feeling compromised, he should abstain. And if another Christian can, in faith, receive it simply as a token of God’s goodness and cheer in the dead of winter, he is free.

Paul’s teaching makes something beautifully clear: objects do not define us—Christ’s temple and our part in it does. An evergreen in December is not a god unless we treat it as one. And it does not glorify God unless we intend it to. It is one’s heart, not the history of the object, that determines whether something becomes idolatrous or becomes an ornament of gratitude to the Creator.

Christmas Lights and the Real Slippery Slope

I often feel that many arguments about Christmas are completely misplaced. The real issue is not what some ancient European thought a Yule log could do, or what the word “Yule” originally meant, or whether December 25 once overlapped a pagan feast. I have never seen any of those elements, in any real-world Christian context, bear obvious bad fruit.

But the elements we talk about less—consumerism, material excess, competition, entitlement—these have touched almost every family I know.

Recently, my kids asked me, “Daddy, why do we not put up Christmas lights?”

In that moment, what I wanted to say was something like this:

“Because it’s a slippery slope. Even if I think we could do it in a healthy way, if I do it at all, it might ‘green-light’ others to take it far beyond what is helpful. I don’t want to be a bad testimony within my own Christian tradition and congregation.”

But maybe that’s a cop out. Maybe there is a proper way to view and even use these elements.

I think of Paul’s admonition that our moderation should be known to all (Phil. 4:5). And perhaps the biggest challenge with Christmas is precisely this: it is a time that does not naturally invite moderation. Because the engines of an economy of wants and mimetic rivalry cannot survive without the explosion of consumerism at Christmas, competition has been activated and weaponized as the fuel that keeps those engines running.

So moderation becomes difficult. Whether we realize it or not, we start to measure ourselves and each other by our gift choices, our decorations, our light displays. And I sincerely feel that this is the greatest danger. There is no harm in decorating a house beautifully. That can be a wonderful, fitting expression of family culture, and it should be loved and respected by those who enjoy it. I personally see no inherent harm in decorating tastefully—whether with greenery, trees, or lights.

But can we step onto this conveyor belt of excess and competition and not be swept away toward ever-grander, more excessive expressions of indulgence and pointless consumerism? That is a very narrow path to walk.

So I don’t feel comfortable insisting on rigid rules in these matters—as if a few modest strands of lights are sin and zero are holiness. But I also don’t feel comfortable becoming flippant or careless when we invite into our homes dynamics and a spirit that can quietly disrupt our joy, our peace, our simplicity, and our modesty in Christ as a community of His humble children.

To the extent that Christmas becomes synonymous with competitive consumerism, to that extent Christ and the story of the Babe in Bethlehem become little more than a marketing hook—religious wrapping paper to get people spending money they don’t have, reaching for goods they don’t need, outdoing one another in base competition. Not to build the kingdom, but to build the coffers of the manipulators pulling strings behind the scenes.

Can we be mature enough as Christians to decorate, to celebrate, to give, and to thoroughly enjoy this season without being sucked into dynamics that work against our witness in Christ—against our simplicity, peace, contentment, modesty, and the greater message and meaning behind this time? “All things are lawful,” Paul says, “but not all things are helpful” (1 Cor. 10:23).

I know, in my own family, that Christmas continues to be one of the most joyous and edifying times of the year—for adults and children alike. I do not want to look back a few years from now and realize that, somewhere along the way, I lost something of the essence, the heartbeat, the substance, the holiness, the spirituality of this season. And I also don’t want to lose, in the present, the joy and brightness and festivity of an awfully fun time of year.

God help us to walk humbly and awake—not only to ancient origins, but especially to the modern dynamics that play havoc with what most Christian families truly desire from this season.

Note: I recognize that throughout our church’s history, we’ve approached these issues from different angles. I deeply respect every effort that has increased our awareness, deepened our love in Christ, and separated us from the world’s counterfeits. But part of maturing as a body means distinguishing between a model suited to a single local church family and one that serves a broader network of congregations. Wise parents often say to their children, “I don’t care what Johnny’s parents allow—this is our house.” That’s not judgment; it’s responsibility. Likewise, our spiritual “parents” have led us through seasons with love and insight, bearing much fruit—praise God. But there’s a difference between family-specific practices or seasonal cautions, and a broader, Scripture-grounded framework that can unify us all. That’s the shift we’re discerning now: asking what belongs to a single church family setting, and what forms a shared framework of approach that can unite us all.
It’s been observed that rockets expend the vast majority of their fuel in just the first few minutes after launch—overcoming Earth’s gravity and initial inertia. The most force, the greatest strain, and the heaviest resistance all occur during those first few moments—just breaking free from the ground. That’s exodus. But if the rocket kept burning fuel at that rate, it would never reach orbit—it would flame out. Sustained flight requires a different posture: less thrust, more precision, guided trajectory once escape velocity has been reached. In the same way, the energy, urgency, and methods required to escape Egypt’s gravity are not identical to those needed to navigate the heavens. If we can honor the sacrificial force that got us off the ground, while also adjusting for the flight path ahead, we can reach the destination God intended all along.
In another analogy, consider the westward-bound pioneers traveling across America on the Oregon Trail. Along the way, their pianos, their grandmothers’ rocking chairs, and even their great-grandmothers’ china became too heavy for the arduous journey. These treasured things were left along the wayside in order for them to become pioneers at all.
Yet this did not mean it was wrong to one day furnish their new homes. It did not mean a rocking chair was somehow not useful, or that a piano or fine dishes had no place. It simply meant that the new land was worth abandoning everything for and receiving again only what would fit into the new world. And once they were established in the land, they could build up homes that would feature the beauty, stability, and fullness of their new life.
So perhaps the pioneers of our faith have abandoned a few “rocking chairs” along the way in order to break free from the old culture—the old world. But we rejoice in the kingdom we have received, and we long to furnish it with the good gifts that God Himself would bring.

A Simple Test for Parents

If children emerge from Christmas less grateful for God’s gifts in their lives, more competitive about what others received, hungrier for the consumerism that feeds the worldliness of this age—how is that anything but sinful on the part of parents?

But if children emerge with deeper connections to their families, a sense of awe over God’s incarnation in Christ, joy in giving to others, and delight in celebrating family and love—then that feels like success. That is a blessing that should not be stripped from a family-centered culture.

The fruit reveals the root far more clearly than its historical etymology.

In Summation—

Can Christians redeem elements of culture once used for evil and turn them to God’s purposes? Absolutely.

• David captured a pagan stronghold—Jerusalem—and it became the forever City of Yahweh, the place of His name.
• Our church in Manhattan chose Friday nights for midweek services—the night most associated with temptation and debauchery in the city—to reclaim it for God.
• Circumcision was a pagan ritual before God sacralized it as the sign of covenant with His people.
• Pagan religions used tent sanctuaries, altars, animal flesh, blood, and fire in their devil worship, but that didn’t keep Yahweh from re-sacralizing these very forms for Israel’s worship.

As we said above, Jesus Himself taught that holiness comes from context. In Matthew 23:19, He explains that it is the altar that sanctifies the gift, and the temple that sanctifies the altar. Worship elements are not inherently holy or evil; their meaning largely depends on their placement in God’s design.

Gilded serpents were icons of pagan worship for followers of Hermes and Egyptian occultists alike, but God used a bronze serpent as a symbol of deliverance for His people (Num. 21:8-9), and Jesus later used that very image to point to His own crucifixion (John 3:14-15).

Synagogues were developed by Jews scattered in exile, many of whom never returned to rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem. Those spaces were, in one sense, a monument to spiritual compromise. Yet Jesus and Paul preached in synagogues weekly, and they became a kind of prototype for Christian congregations.

The pattern is clear: God is not intimidated by the fact that something has been misused. He reclaims, purifies, and redeems it.

Sin is not inherent in objects or traditions but arises from how they are used and the intentions behind them. Likewise, the pagan origins of certain holidays or traditions do not define us unless we allow them to.

What matters is the purpose and spirit behind our actions.

Defining What Christmas Should Be

Rather than focusing primarily on what Christmas shouldn’t be, let us define what it should be:

• A time of peace, humility, and gratitude.
• A time to remember Christ’s birth and honor His life.
• A time to cherish our families and strengthen relationships.
• A time to read Scripture, play games, share stories, and foster goodwill.

By centering our celebrations on Christ and guarding against the materialism and indulgence of modern culture, we can ensure that Christmas remains a holy and joyful season—a living reflection of God’s grace and goodness, not a capitulation to either paganism or purism.

Not every Christian must celebrate Christmas. Not every tradition must be adopted. But for those who, in faith, redeem this season for Jesus, Christmas can be one more arena where the Lord proves that He is still in the business of taking what the enemy meant for evil and turning it to good.

And in doing so, we proclaim not only that God can redeem people, but that He can redeem times, symbols, practices, and even whole seasons—until all of life rings with the good news of great joy: that a Savior has been born to us, who is Christ, the Lord.