by a mildly weary but spiritually hopeful parish priest who has definitely earned a nap.
If Christmas Day is the glorious crescendo of the season, then Boxing Day is the theological equivalent of a long, slow exhale. It is also the day when half the country stampedes toward the mall as though the Magi themselves are handing out discounted frankincense at the food court.
I, however, have opted out of the Great Boxing Day Migration. After all, nothing in the Creed requires us to chase a bargain, and even St. Paul — who had a great deal to say about running the race — never once suggested doing so in a department store while competing for the last electric kettle.
No, today I am engaging in a more ancient, more dignified spiritual practice: sitting very still.
It is a powerful discipline. One that requires deep faith, patient endurance, and the ability to ignore the siren song of half-price pajamas.
The Rectory this morning looks as though a small and determined herd of festive goats passed through during the night — ribbons, wrapping, one slipper in the hallway, and a mysterious piece of shortbread on the staircase that simply cannot be accounted for. Boxing Day is aptly named, for everything now waits to be placed in a box: recycling, leftovers, new gifts you’re not entirely sure what to do with, and the last fragments of your own exhausted self.
But here, in this gentle aftermath, is a quiet holiness.
For Christmas is not only about the dazzling moment of the angels’ song. It is also about what comes after — the world catching its breath, Joseph finally sitting down, Mary pondering in her heart, the shepherds returning to their fields with stories to tell and laundry to catch up on.
And so today is our turn to ponder. To breathe. To remember that God often speaks not in the headline moments, but in the hush that follows them.
Perhaps the true gift of Boxing Day is permission:
Permission to rest your feet.
Permission to sit among the wrapping paper and know you are blessed.
Permission to be still long enough for gratitude to catch up with you.
If you find yourself tempted to race to the mall, pause. Remember that peace is rarely found in a checkout line. Instead, consider settling into a chair, wrapping your hands around a warm mug, and letting your soul untangle itself like a string of lights on December 1st.
For the One whose birth we have just celebrated bids us come — not to a sale, but to rest.
And I, for one, am answering that call wholeheartedly… preferably while wearing my new pair of comfortable socks.
A Companion Prayer
Holy and Resting God,
On this gentle day after the miracle,
Grant us the gift of stillness.
Help us breathe deeply of Your peace,
Find joy in the quiet,
And receive the grace of unhurried time.
As we rest in Your presence,
Renew us for the days to come,
That we may carry Christ’s light
With refreshed hearts and thankful spirits.
Amen.