I grew up Catholic. In a neighborhood where almost everyone had come from some place in Europe - or the United Kingdom. They brought bits and pieces of their culture, customs, history, and heritage with them. And of those was how to build a church. This is the Altar from the Church I grew up in: St. Michael's in Cleveland, Ohio.
Now I know you Protestant Faith folks will recoil from the obscene amount of wealth and power displayed in this, an ordinary church for an ordinary Parish in what was then called: "Ohio City." It opened in 1895 ...and it made the Germans so mad at how beautiful it was...they went back across the river to Downtown Cleveland and built a truly opulent Cathedral of their own (still Catholic tho!).
That one is called: St. John's Cathedral - and is the home of the Bishop, and the seat of the Diocese,
It was because of displays like these - at least partially, that the Protestant Reformation developed. But back in the Middle Ages, when most people, at least the serfs, peasants, and commoners, lived in hovels, imagine what something like that altar looked like to them?
A combination of seeing the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, Rainbows, A King, Queen, and all combinations of everything beautiful, powerful, and awe inspiring...to them, it was the Glory of God writ in Stone and Statuary. The Stained Glass Windows told the Story of Christ, to folks who couldn't read. The Stations of the Cross with the the pain, distress and suffering of Jesus, frozen in time in horrendous detail...made the price HE paid for us all....clear.
So don't be too hard on us...it was just a different way to get the message out.

I tell you all this, to tell you what a little inner city kid, not even as tall as the smallest of those statues, felt like at Christmas, in a Church that would have fit well in almost any country in Europe in the 1300's. And what did I feel most?
Cold.
Pretty isn't hot. Neither is cold stone. And with Cleveland having damp, wet, and sometimes snowy Christmas Eve's- our feet were always freezing. We always went to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve....and if you want to experience "eternity" go to that Mass or a Catholic Wedding...you will get the point.
It was packed to the gills, and the women and girls, well, they were covered in flowers, garlands, corsages and the prettiest hats you ever did see. Men were in Suits, with properly tied ties, creases that could cause paper cuts, and the smell of freshly barber cut hair was everywhere.
The huge pipe organ in the Back, with the entire Choir sitting in front of it singing Christmas Songs - in both Latin and English- lent the voices of Angels to reach out across the entire church, melt hearts, bring tears to eyes, and open souls to the birth of God's Son. Oh, yeah, it was a spiritual event ...always. Unless you were a child, then those cold feet kept distracting you from the more heavenly aspects.
And that Choir....when I was a kid, most Parents had grown up on Radio before the War. So when they heard a song they liked, they ran to the Music Story, bought the "Penny sheets' with the musical notation on it, and the lyrics...and then formed a small group, band, or orchestra and played the song.
So everyone in that Choir could not only play an instrument, but sing. Competition to get in it...was wicked. Sometimes it was years until a spot opened up, because the Choir Loft had a seating limit.
I just remember the powerful sounds rolling over the church from the back. The Acoustics...making the music arch into the building itself...glorious. Even the few Gregorian Chant songs sung on Christmas...gave a sense of peace, power, and protection over us sinners.
There was always a Nativity Scene...and for weeks, there was no "babe" in the cradle. The smell of straw dominated the first few rows back from that scene. The one outside the Church was even bigger, and made from walls of hay bales....and so you got the sense of animals huddling in the cold...and how poor the family must have been. Even a child got the message.
You would look through the throngs of people sitting in the different pews...trying to see your school buddies, and maybe for the first time seeing their parents or older (or younger) siblings. After the Ceremony you might introduce your parents to your friend's parents. ...and then it was home to bed for the little ones. And a long night getting set up for Christmas morning for the Adults, who had to take hidden packages out of hiding, or bring them over from someone else's house. And, of course, the women were finishing up all the cooking and baking. No wonder my Mother always kept two pots of coffee going on Christmas Eve and the Next morning.
Our church clothes were hung up when we got home. Into our Pajamas...and everyone wore PJ's when I was a kid. And then, just like in the Movie a Christmas story, we would bolt down at first light to a sea of gifts, and a house full of overwhelmed adults sipping coffee and smiling as we tore through the wrapping paper like gremlins.
The energy in the room was always one of surprise, giggles, smiles, and the occasional : "Not socks. I don't need socks". With laughter pouring out over that
comment.
Then there was a brief lull, from about 10 AM, until Four PM...then dinner. And Christmas Dinner in our house, made Thanksgiving look like it tried. But that will have to be another drive down memory lane.
So I learned Christmas as a Spiritual Launchpad first, and a gift giving family Holiday... second. And that is still the way I think of it.
Merry Christmas Everyone.