The Sacred Christmas Lesson I Learned from Mariah Carey
She is the Queen of this holiday, after all.
On October 28, 1994, the world was introduced to a musical sensation we had no way of knowing then would become the prevailing soundtrack to every single Christmas from that moment forward. That was the day Mariah Carey, she of the impossible whistle notes, released her iconic Merry Christmas album.
It was the year after my small, west Georgia town had been buried under a once-in-a-lifetime blizzard, sending everyone within a five mile radius to the top of Hospital Hill to throw themselves down on makeshift cardboard and plastic sleds, and the year before Hurricane Opal would send dangerous wind gusts to rip up the beloved pecan tree in our backyard, an event I slept through with the kind of skill only possessed by the quiet mind of a well-loved young child.
When you grow up in a fairly mild part of the country—save the humidity—you track core memories using major storm systems. And the release of Merry Christmas was the definition of a core memory.
I had just turned nine and had already spent a number of my childhood years doing my best to mimic Carey’s spirited belts and vocal runs. Alongside Christian artists like Amy Grant, Michael W. Smith, and DC Talk, Mariah Carey’s music filled our home on a regular basis. We carted her with us to the public pool where my mom was a lifeguard during the summer and blasted Emotions on a portable boom box from the window of the concession stand. We danced to “Someday” (on casette, of course) in the car on the way to school. I rollerbladed in the driveway with “Dreamlover” pulsing in my ears. (But only when the Discman didn’t skip.) Carey’s voice layered a bright, ethereal shine on top of my earliest years, and when I heard “All I Want for Christmas is You” for the first time, I understood somehow that I was experiencing something deeply spiritual.
I remember being surprised by the obvious Christian faith exhibited in Merry Christmas. Growing up evangelical in the 90s meant I was no stranger to the threat of cultural darkness offered by secular channels like MTV and VH1. These—with their celebration of drugs, immorality, and meaningless sex—were to be avoided at all costs if one wanted to maintain a pure, undefiled faith. Mariah Carey in 1994, with her angelic voice and lightly romantic lyrics, managed to find her way into many a Christian household. (The release of Butterly a few years later changed that when she—gasp!—danced around in a music video with all her midriff showing.) She was clearly gifted. Impossibly gifted, even. And a voice like that? It could only have been created by God.
Still, I was shocked when I heard a secular artist singing “Jesus, born on this day, He is our Lord and our Savior.” Not only had I enjoyed Mariah Carey’s music without guilt, I was now rejoicing in the knowledge that she understood the Truth. Such knowledge gave my tender heart a whole new level of joy that Christmas season.
We played Merry Christmas over and over and over again, and I never tired of it. My mother, an ASL interpreter, signed “Oh Holy Night” in the kitchen and made me cry. And on Christmas Eve, my siblings and I started a tradition that continued on-and-off for many years: cuddled together in one of our bedrooms, we all fell asleep to Mariah Carey singing about Santa Claus and Christ on repeat, welcoming our Savior’s birthday the next morning to the sound of her heavenly voice.
Even now, it doesn’t feel like Christmas until I’ve listened to “All I Want for Christmas is You.” I’m sure some of that has to do with nostalgia for years gone by, but lately I’ve come to realize that Mariah Carey’s holiday album evokes a deeper meaning for me, the same discovery I made at age nine when I understood for the first time that the sacred was not limited to my small, evangelical world:
God has a knack for showing up in places we don’t expect, and always on purpose.
In the music of a celebrated pop icon.
In the heart of a little girl in Georgia.
In a lowly stable filled with animals.
This is Christmas. This is the gift.
And I don’t know about you, but it’s what I long for these days. It’s what I’m seeking in this season of waiting:
The thrill of hope found in a Lord who is not defined by our limitations or expectations, but Who actively upends them for a Kingdom where we—made righteous by His glory—are invited to behold:
Christ came to us, and He came for us, and He came like us.
As a child, my belief in the sacred was largely defined by Focus on the Family and James Dobson. I refuse to degrade the efforts of my evangelical family by insulting them in my adult years because, in truth, I benefitted from their faith, even while I later had to deconstruct from their legalism and misogyny.
Now, the sacred is revealed wherever the Holy Spirit resides…and who am I to tell Her where not to go? To the Instagram story of a conservative podcaster who gets under my skin? To the progressive theologian whose exegesis doesn’t line up with my own?
Perhaps, for you, to the neighbor who never says hello, or the friend who is unavailable, or the parent who just won’t listen?
When they open the door to Jesus every December, He sees them the same way He sees all of His children:
Sacred and ordinary. Flawed and deeply loved. Forgiven and made righteous.
Sinners, made saints.
This is the gift of God born to earth, the greatest lesson I have ever learned about Christmas, outside of the miracle of Jesus Himself.
And I learned it from Mariah Carey.
"“In the end, and in the beginning, it's all about faith for me. I can't define it, but it has defined me.” -Mariah Carey, The Meaning of Mariah Carey
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If you’re in need of a quality, affordable tree this year, our family is delighted with this one. (No more sweeping needles for the sake of a “real” Christmas!)
Reading in The Nook
Y’all know if a WWII novel crosses my path, it’s going on my TBR. This one popped up on my Kindle Unlimited last week and it’s giving Where the Crawdad Sings mysterious-nature-girl vibes + betrayal in the face of impossible circumstances, a winning combination in my book.
I’m also delighted by this tale of a grieving protagonist who leaves her old life behind for the sake of a crumbling cottage and its little red phone booth on the English coast. It’s basically my ultimate dream in novel form.
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Paying subscribers, I have a fun question for you here.
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