Let's Talk About Kirihimete

Lately, I’ve found myself in several conversations where the topic of Christmas comes up, often with the casual remark, “I know you don’t celebrate Christmas, so…” It’s left me both amused and bemused.

Growing up in our whānau, we were taught the Christian narrative of Christmas—the birth of Jesus in Nazareth, the manger, and all the associated stories. We would share kai, attend church, and head to the beach for a walk. But noticeably absent from our tradition was the Christmas tree adorned with decorations, a pile of gifts beneath it, and of course, Santa and reindeer.

As a child, while everyone else eagerly awaited presents from Santa, I occasionally felt a little left out. But because I knew no different, it didn’t bother me much—we had everything we needed. Ironically, the one place I felt most conspicuous for not receiving gifts was at church, when the Pastor would inevitably ask the children, “What did you get for Christmas?” . “How come you don’t celebrate christmas?” other kids would ask, as if that were the vital ingredient. That was and is the cultural norm.

I didn’t fully appreciate at the time how unconventional my parents were in choosing not to follow mainstream Christmas traditions. “If it’s Jesus’s birthday, shouldn’t He be the one receiving gifts, not you?” they would say aloud. And so, instead of presents, we learned the message of radical love taught by Jesus—a social misfit in the land of Palestine 2,000 years ago. We came to understand that, “What you do for the least of those, you do unto me.” In other words, the way we care for the invisible, the unimportant, the impoverished, and the oppressed—that is the real gift.

Now, as a Māmā to an 8-year-old, a 6-year-old, and a 3-year-old, we once again find ourselves swept up in the cultural tide of Christmas mania and tradition. I’m increasingly intentional about what we weave into our whānau traditions—and just as mindful of what we consciously choose to leave out. Our children’s eyes are curious and perceptive, noticing the tinsel, the Santas, the elves that “watch,” and the excited anticipation from their peers about what they’ll “get” for Christmas. What will their experience be?

My social media feeds are full of reels showing people opening endless temu parcels wrapped in plastic, with every kind of plastic decoration imaginable for Christmas trees. The notion that you may style it differently again next year because it’s just ‘so affordable’. There are ideas on how to wrap gifts aesthetically or what to “get” for people you barely know or don’t particularly like.

Recently, I walked past stores glittering with holiday cheer. As I hummed along to nostalgic carols, my mind wandered elsewhere. I thought about the recent report that 57,000 wahine in Aotearoa are homeless and  living without safe or stable accommodation. 

And as I listened to carols about Bethlehem, my mind turned to the present-day reality of Bethlehem in the Occupied West Bank—terrorized whānau, demolished homes, endless persecution, and olive trees destroyed by marauding Israeli settlers. My stomach churned, and I quickly walked out of the store.

The birthday of the Man this holiday is named for—Jesus—was a man born on Palestinian soil. He taught radical love, compassion, and the importance of not being attached to material possessions or titles. He fought for justice and championed the poor and oppressed, preaching tolerance over judgment, universal love, and whanaungatanga. His unflinching commitment to truth ultimately cost Him His life.

It’s hard not to notice the irony that this holiday, which celebrates Jesus, has been so heavily co-opted by capitalism and Western cultural imperialism. So much so, that Jesus now looks European, far removed from His origins.

As I wrestled with all these paradoxes, I felt a wave of gratitude that Matariki, our home-grown celebration, has not yet been swept up in the same powerful forces.

Where to From Here?

As a whānau, we love celebrations and learning about cultural traditions. There’s something so contagious about the nationwide anticipation of Christmas. We want to create meaningful traditions with our tamariki—traditions that reflect our whānau values—while being mindful of what we embrace and what we intentionally reject.

As I began reflecting on what I want our tamariki to remember about Christmas—and what values I want them to practice—it became clear that many of these align with our whānau values.

Aroha ki te tangata: How can we use this season to show love to others, not just within our immediate circles, but in meaningful ways? How can we extend love to “the least of those” — the oppressed, the marginalised, the poor, the homeless—those with very real needs right here in our own takiwā?

Whanaungatanga: How can we elevate and prioritise our whanaungatanga this season? How do we shift the focus from “What will I get?” to “What can I give?” Let’s invest time, energy, and effort as an expression of aroha for our whānau and community. Who needs family during this time? How can we be inclusive, open, and generous?

Kaitiakitanga: In the spirit of kaitiakitanga, what choices can we make to ensure this season is low-waste and as sustainable as possible? If we choose to purchase gifts as an expression of aroha, let’s ask ourselves: Are these items well-made and high-quality, or are they just tokens that will eventually end up in a landfill?

Manaakitanga: How can we be hospitable and generous in a way that costs us something—time, resources, energy, or attention? It’s easy to give away something we no longer want, but the real challenge is to give something that stretches us. That’s the feeling I want our tamariki to experience.

New Traditions

This year, we’re thinking of starting a couple of new traditions. One idea is a whānau trip to the library before Christmas to choose books for each other. We’ll wrap them up as gifts to enjoy over the holidays, but happily return them after! 

Another tradition we’re considering is a whānau “secret santa,” where the rule is that gifts must be made, not bought. The goal is to spend time, intention, and energy thinking about what someone else might appreciate—showing love through a thoughtful, homemade gesture.

I also came across an advent calendar based on “acts of service,” which I might tweak and adopt for our whānau.

A Gift to Ourselves

It’s been a tough year for many. The economy hasn’t been kind, and many people are feeling stretched and worn out. Maybe our gift to ourselves this season can be to do less—expect less, buy less, and give less. Let’s double down on quality time and shared experiences instead.

A Final Invitation

So here’s my invitation: Do Christmas in a way that feels authentic to you, your whānau, and your values. Even if it doesn’t look like the Christmas you’ve seen before, it’s still okay. And it’s still Christmas. Tree or no tree. Gifts or no gifts. Matching pajamas or not. Let’s take a deep breath, step back from the rising tide of expectations this season brings, and decide for ourselves what this time of year truly means.

Meri Kirihimete e hoa mā.