The shopping catalogs pour like a deluge out of the mailbox and across the countertops, a normal marker of the Christmas season.

Here in America, kids send off their letters to Santa Claus, and adults participate in frantic store hopping, hoping to put just the right gifts under the tree.

And in this season, I wonder, should we value the new over the old so much?

New. New. New. We want what is new, want to go new places, see new things, have the newest clothes and 'toys', keep up with the newest trends.

If time is a licorice stick, do we only want to eat the end? .. that doesn't make much sense (my metaphor and eating the end).

But amidst all this noise, this clatter, this show and sparkle, the blaring advertisements, the old Christmas hymns and traditions call to my soul and make me sentimental. My thoughts glow with warm memories of Christmas' past.

Yet the goodness of old things is not merely for purposes of sentimentality. It is in relevance to the present as well.

In an age of technology, it is easy to become discontent, to become a more frequent consumer. We see through the lens of efficiency and function and electricity and ease. Companies race to produce the fastest, the best technological and mechanical products, and the old ones, they break. We want the best; we want the newest.

Sometimes old is better, or more often, equal. We cannot see all of life with a consumer mindset.

Creeds do not become outdated. Scripture is not replaced. We have not become any smarter. Old literature, old poetry, old songs; they do not lose their value. And sometimes, slow is better.

Better to connect face-to-face than online. Better to sit long by the fire than long in front of the Netflix screen. Better to pore over Scripture written long ago than the latest self-help book.

In our rush to newness, we often forget the good of the old or become perpetually discontent. Old is equated with bad and new with good. Entertainment and society and business rush us on, trying to profit and profit some more. But that gets old. (ha.) When will it ever be enough?

I'm tired of playing the game, of buying the product.

It's upsetting to see this trend carry over into other areas,

like when we assign the older people in our lives to nursing homes because they are too much trouble, too slow. They don't fit into our fast-paced lives. Like when people say that God is a thing of the past, no longer 'needed.'

Really, "there is nothing new under the sun." There never will be. This age is not superior to the ages before us. God has not left the stage. He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. We can't efficiency ourselves out of death, can't buy ourselves out of pain in this life.

Take some time this Christmas season, to look back on ages past, to look back on your life past, and look forward to your death. I will be.

Some things never change. You can't buy happiness; you can't purchase a life given. And we know this, but we can forget it beneath all the wrapping paper. The promise of salvation in Christ does not lose its truth and beauty as we grow busier.

Christmas is more about reflection than impression, more grace than a race.

What will matter when folks gather around your grave? The clothes you wore? The presents you gave them?

Or old family ties? Relationships built long and slow? Conversations that interrupted your busy day?

All of life is not the pizza sauce in your fridge.

Some things never should be taken off the shelf.

Merry Christmas.