Unafraid

By Joy Ibsen

The opposite of fear is love. 

Part 1 ("Pulpit to Pew") includes twenty-five selections from candid sermons (reconstituted from his notes) by Joy Ibsen's father, Harald Ibsen, as presented to listeners in rural Midwestern congregations. Organized according to the church year rather in time sequence (Advent, Christmas, Epip

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781648959837

Joy Ibsen

Joy Ibsen is a dynamic writer and musician who lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico. In addition to Unafraid, she has published several other books including Here and Hereafter: The Eternity Connection; Songs of Denmark, Songs to Live By; and  Poetry in the Porkies.Joy's work is influenced by Danish American values and spirit, especially the philosopher-theologian-poet N. F. S. Grundtvig, along with modern culture and current spiritual quests toward a new period of enlightenment. The new edition of Unafraid features "Parables and the Pandemic," which is based on her father's sermon notes from biblical parables that Joy applies to personal spiritual journeys and incredible opportunities for growth.

Book preview

Foreword

Pastors are chided that they work only one hour a week. In Unafraid, Joy Ibsen, daughter of Danish American pastor Harald Ibsen, unveils parish ministry, especially rural, small-town ministry, as a 24/7 affair. But even that is an understatement. What Joy has done is to grant us a glimpse into the eternal. She is offering not only her father’s sermons but the impact that her father’s ministry had upon flesh-and-blood human beings, with their fears, doubts, joys, sorrows, and their impact upon him as well.

The narrative structure of Unafraid interweaves Harald Ibsen’s sermons with the complex interrelationships of his parishioners, and vice versa. Harald served as a pastor during times of great hardship and challenge for the American people—World War II and the Cold War. Nevertheless, the people we encounter in Unafraid develop courage and resilience in their struggles, in light of the good word, which they are given from the pulpit. We have much to learn from them. Life-affirming Grundtvigian spirituality, the heritage of both Harald and the people he served, is the alchemy enlivening the relationships within these various congregations and communities, and it provides for profound transformations in these parishioner’s lives.

Grundtvigian spirituality affirms that the earth itself is sacred, a fitting vessel for God’s communication to humans. The spiritual direction of the Danish poet, historian, theologian, linguist, and translator, N. F. S. Grundtvig (1781–1872), as mediated through the reflections of Søren Damsgaard Rodholm, dean of the Seminary, and other teachers at Grand View College in Des Moines, Iowa, permeate the life and thought and the faith and mission of Harald Ibsen. Even though this tradition had minimal impact on wider American culture, because the number of adherents in this country was small, we glimpse its life-giving influence in this book. Through it, Harald is permitted to share with and learn from his parishioners on their own terms and not from a self-righteous, world-denying piety or an entrenched conservative dogmatism.

Harald Ibsen’s sermons are an outgrowth not only of the Word, which he hears from God, but also the words and deeds that he hears, sees, and interprets from his parishioners and neighbors. In light of his Grundtvigian spirituality, Harald does not close the door on new insights from the modern—even secular—world, but is open to them and opens them to his people. The liberalism, we might say, of the Rodholm tradition, as the distinctive emphasis of Grand View College (and Seminary, now a part of the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago), is striking and bold. Most Upper-Midwest Lutheran churches during Harald’s era, culturally isolated in various ethnic-related synods, were socially conservative. Harald’s references to evolution, Darwin, Nietzsche, and God as mind in his preaching are very unusual for the time. The boldness with which Harald engaged the world is truly distinctive for his context.

Lutherans have long held that the extraordinary is mediated through the ordinary. The weekly cycle of Sunday morning worship, the rhythm of the church calendar of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter, and Pentecost, provide a safe and stable framework in which to grow and learn. Each of Harald’s sermons, though, are kairotic—an in-breaking of God’s eternity into time, a sanctifying of each moment as holy and meaningful.

Joy Ibsen offers here not only a tribute to her father and to the Grundtvigian-American tradition, but her own deep insight, gained from reflection and experience, that we humans are wholly relational, that our lives and stories are intertwined with the lives and stories of others and, ultimately, with God. It is this truth that encourages us to be unafraid wherever we go and whatever we do. This is the profound wisdom that can be gleaned from this book and can be shared.

In many respects, Harald was the greatest beneficiary of his own ministry. Much can be learned through his people. Now through Joy’s sharing, this ministry is shared with us as well, and from that, we have much to gain.

—Mark Mattes

Professor of Religion and Philosophy

Grand View University, Des Moines Iowa

(Mark Mattes wrote this in 2008 for the first edition; it is as true today.)

Preface

Five years following my father’s death, my mother asked me if I wanted my dad’s sermon note cards. She said, You can throw them out if you want. I can’t.

At the end of the day, the late Nebraska sun streamed through the curtains of my mother’s home, forming intricate lace patterns on the sermon cards that covered my mother’s living room floor. I was very excited! I had rediscovered my father’s heart, his inquiring mind and life-loving spirit. His simple, direct sermons gleaned from his notes were amazing—they could not, should not be lost!

The power in his sermons—the power to overcome fear and enjoy life—is derived in part from the work of theologian, philosopher, educator N. F. S. Grundtvig. Grundtvig (1783–1813) was central to my father’s view of life, and he continues to be a major influence in my life. (See introduction and appendix for more information on Grundtvig.)

I wondered how my father managed to accomplish his work BC—before computers. He served in rural areas without a library. Fortunately, he had a fairly good library of his own, and he read and thought deeply throughout his life.

A short bio: Harald Ibsen was born in Irene, South Dakota on November 2, 1898, but raised in Denmark, where his mother returned with her three young children in 1904 following her husband’s death. In Denmark Harald was in the Royal Guard and served at the Amalienborg Palace in Copenhagen.

Image 2. Harald Ibsen in the Danish Royal Guard c1919

His formal education consisted of the Askov Folk School in Denmark, Grand View Seminary in Des Moines, Iowa, from which he graduated, and a summer at Garrett Biblical Institute, Evanston, Illinois, where he studied psychiatry and religion in 1940.

From 1934, when he graduated from the Danish Lutheran Seminary in Des Moines, Iowa, until June, 1965, Harald Ibsen served several Danish American congregations, first as a seminary graduate in Oakland, California, a mission church where Lauritz Melchior came and sang.

Harald Ibsen graduated from the seminary during the Depression. In order to reach his first post in Oakland, he rode the rails from western Nebraska to the San Francisco Bay. His account of that challenging journey is a story of a faith that never left him and is included in the appendix of this book.

In the dusty late thirties, Harald Ibsen answered his first call to Diamond Lake, Minnesota, which has neither diamonds nor lake, but where the dew sparkles brightly! From there he went to Kimballton, Iowa, with its rich hilly terrain, a Danish community that now has its own Little Mermaid fountain.

In 1948 our family moved to the Ibsen ancestral homeland of Viborg, South Dakota, where my great-grandfather originally settled as an immigrant, and the love of prairie still beckons. Finally, Harald Ibsen served his last congregation in Kronborg, Nebraska, the beautiful country church near a dusty deserted crossroads, imaginatively named for Hamlet’s elaborate castle.

Married late in life (at age 38), he and my mother, Asta Juhl Ibsen, raised three children—my older brother, David; me, Joy; and my younger sister, Karma. My parents lost their infant son, Paul, before I was born.

My father would often read stories to us. I grew up with Hans Christian Andersen’s stories; my favorite was The Tinder Box. Dad also liked traditional fairy tales, especially The Three Billy Goats Gruff, which we performed regularly, each kid going over the piano bench bridge, smallest to largest, as Dad, who made a clever troll, snarled beneath us.

Norse mythology was embraced in our home along with Christian theology. Listen, my father would say as we sat on the front porch during a cloudburst. It’s Thor. He’s bowling.

Dad had a workshop in the basement and liked to solve theological problems like he was building a bookshelf, sanding each board layer with study and thought, honing the rough edges, examining all sides.

Image 3. Harald Ibsen in his study in Viborg, SD.

Note picture of N. F. S. Grundtvig on the wall

Harald liked to sit out of doors. We would see him looking out into space, oblivious to everything around him; getting his attention was difficult. Reigion must make sense. One needed to spend time thinking, not just reading and writing.

But sometimes my father would make illogical statements with certainty. Toward the end of my first pregnancy, Dad said the baby would be born May 24th, prior to my due date, apparently because it was his brother’s birthday. Uncle Ernst lived in Denmark and had no possible connection to my baby’s birth.

When we called my parents and announced Mitch’s birth (on Ernst’s birthday), Dad did not mention his prediction. He never made I told you so comments.

When he drove me to Grand View College my freshman year, he gave me some advice: You have grown up in our church, and it is the only religion you know. Now that you are in Des Moines, look around, go to other churches, look into other faith traditions. My father wanted his children to have a religion that was meaningful, one we owned.

One comment I hear about my father: What I remember about your dad is his laugh. When something struck him funny, how he could laugh!

I hope he is laughing now!

Acknowledgments

This new Unafraid was rewritten to include an entire new section, Parables and the Pandemic, after Covid-19 turned our world topsy-turvy and we had moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment.

Enchanted, shortly after moving to Albuquerque, I became a member of the newly formed Vineyard Writer’s Club. My special thanks to my fellow writers (Delora and Bob Savilteer, Margaret Tessler, Bill Cissna, and Don Lenef) for their ideas, feedback, and encouragement as we lived and wrote together, gradually finding our way through pandemic confusion.

I greatly appreciate the critiques of my manuscript from my good friend, Reverend David Hyndman, my sister Karma Ibsen, my daughter Thea Martin, and my son Mitch Martin.

I thank my friends and family who reviewed early drafts of the original Unafraid (2009), which now renewed, lives on in part 1, in preparation for a new world disorder. Thank you, cousin Janet Jensen, sister Karma Ibsen, and daughter-in-law Susan Martin!

I also thank the Trout Creek Writer’s Group in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for their helpful responses and encouragement in the early stages of writing this book, when the tone for future chapters was set. What a pleasure to listen to one another’s writing projects as we traveled our life journeys.

A great big grateful thanks to my husband, Don Lenef, for his consistent support throughout the years and also to my son, Noah Martin!

Last, but absolutely not least, it wouldn’t have been possible to write and publish Unafraid without the spiritual support I have received from so many sources. My deepest gratitude to my incredibly wise teachers, committed fellow students, dear friends, and loving family for your prayers, intentions, insights, and support.

—Joy Ibsen

Prologue

Most visitors had left the mortuary by nine o’clock in the evening, June 14, 1972, the night before Harald Ibsen’s funeral. Our family gathered in a little room next to the casket, grateful to be together for a few minutes before going home. My first husband, John, sat next to me, wanting a cigarette. Across from me, stoic tears streamed down my pregnant sister’s face. At the end of the room, my exhausted brother sighed, drained of all emotion.

Mother crossed her ankles. Having made it through the visitation, she was already preparing herself for tomorrow. Her dear friends Hans and his wife, Sena, sat on either side of her; Sena was holding Mother’s hand. Soon it would be time for everyone to go home. Then the day of the funeral would come and following that, another day, and yet another.

We chatted, attempting to match names with faces of the many people who had come to the visitation, recalling some of their remarks, saying how surprising it was to see this person or that one, celebrating how many people had come from the different midwestern congregations where my father had served as minister.

Gradually, I became aware that my father was also in the room. His dead body was to my left in the casket, but his spirit was to my right, devoid of pain and age. Almost immediately, he began an unspoken conversation.

Take care of Asta, he said.

In spite of his several years of illness, we had never discussed such matters as taking care of my mother.

Yes. Yes. Of course we will, I mentally answered.

I have always loved all of you.

Oh my god, I thought. It really is Dad. It was not typical of him to tell us he loved us, but although inaudible, my father’s voice pattern and accent were unmistakable.

I miss you, Dad. I miss you so much!

Again he said, I have always loved all of you.

I know. I know. How is it? How are you?

I have seen so many of my friends today, he said, as if he were attending a church convention.

Did you know you were going to die? I asked. I regretted not seeing my parents the day they left on their trip to Nebraska to visit friends in his last congregation.

Yes, I knew it that day.

In his spiritual shape, a curious Starship Enterprise kind of disembodiment, my father’s form moved next to my brother. David, who was going through a marital crisis, and was at a low point. Dad seemed concerned about him, wanting to comfort, help his son.

I was more worried about my pregnant sister, Karma, who kept crying soundlessly. I couldn’t help but wonder if Dad, in his new state of being, might know the future. My sister’s first baby, sweet little Kirsten, was born with Down syndrome; all of us were nervous about this second pregnancy.

And so I asked, Will Karma’s baby be all right?

Yes, it will be all right, my father said with his familiar inflection of certainty. While his answer could mean almost anything, I believed him.

Take care of Asta, he said again.

I will, I answered. I promise.

He moved again closer to my brother as if to bless him.

I have always loved all of you, he said again.

My husband was asking me a question. I placed my forefinger in front of my lips, motioning him to be silent, but he continued interrupting me, wanting us to leave. Please be quiet, I said. I’m talking to my dad.

John appeared startled for a moment, then nodded to the place in the room where my father stood behind my brother. Is that him over there? he asked.

Yes, I answered, grateful that John, not given to spiritual visions, could also see my father. Please be quiet.

Can we talk again? I asked Dad, who was fading away. I desperately wanted him to stay. I did not want him to leave us.

Not very often. It would not be a good thing.

I did not know whether he meant such conversations would not be good for him, for me, or in general.

I miss you so much, I said. I’m so glad you are…all right. My father, who had wrestled with multiple illnesses for almost ten years, was now ageless, unburdened, happy, lively.

But while I have felt his presence since that evening, we never talked again like we did that night.

Blessings on your way, Dad!

Introduction

Here it is! An amazing updated new Unafraid—a book of sermons and stories about the listeners from 1938–1964 and 2020–2021.

This new edition of Unafraid was rewritten with the addition of a new section, Parables and the Pandemic, because Covid-19 turned our world topsy-turvy!

The worldwide pandemic, along with catastrophic natural disasters attributed to climate change, and a time of major political unrest has caused considerable fear as we experience unprecedented concern for the future of our world.

Everyone everywhere is affected. My response? An entire new section to Unafraid about the spiritual life of parishioners during a time of palpable fear.

The state of being unafraid is more than simply lacking fear or not responding to danger. Individual fears, combined with cultural changes, require spiritual transformation.

Unafraid, the second edition, has two sections. Part 1 consists of twenty-five selections from the thirty-six sermons and short stories published in the original Unafraid in 2009. Part 2 has twelve new chapters of sermons and short stories taking place during the pandemic.

The entire book consists of spiritual and mental dialogues between the sermons and the listeners who are experiencing personal challenges as well as cultural changes.

The first section, part 1 (Pew and Pulpit), takes place in churches located in rural Midwestern states during four decades. Rather than a linear time, the stories are organized by the church season (Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, etc.), with chapters including stories from different decades. Each sermon is followed by a fictional story about a listener experiencing common personal problems (career, marriage, child-rearing, war, financial crises, terminal illness, grief, loneliness, etc.).

The second section, part 2 (Parables and the Pandemic), takes place more than fifty years later in a fictional protestant church in the city of Albuquerque, New Mexico, during the Covid-19 worldwide pandemic (May 2020 to May 2021). Part 2 follows a linear timeline.

The sermons in part 1 are given by Pastor Harald Ibsen over twenty-five years. The sermons in part 2 are reconstructed by notes from Ibsen’s sermons and are given by a fictional clergywoman, Pastor Maria, who is in the same age range as Harald Ibsen’s seven granddaughters. She reflects a composite of the characteristics I knew in my father and which I perceive in the granddaughters: Laura, Lisa, Andrea, Thea, Kate, Thais, and Kirsten.

All the sermons are reconstructed from the sermon notes left by Harald Ibsen.

In part 2, the ordinary personal problems experienced by parishioners are often exacerbated or eclipsed by the Covid-19 pandemic.

Obviously, between part 1 and part 2, enormous changes occurred (9-11, the Afghanistan War and Iraq Wars costing trillions of dollars, massive technological improvements, increase in women’s rights and gay rights, as well as greater awareness of racism, poverty, income inequality and the impending dangers of climate change.)

Part 2 begins in 2020, when many people expected a more perfect twenty-twenty world vision, but which, unfortunately, introduced a large menu of life-changing and life-threatening problems.

More than six hundred thousand Americans died from the pandemic during the first year of the pandemic.

Instead of the usual expectations of technological and other improvements, we had an uncertain, uncontrollable future to face because a pandemic virus was sweeping the world. Long-term values such as loyalty to democracy, beliefs in universal truth, honesty, responsibility, and trust teetered under controversy and uncertainty and were often either ignored or rejected by worried people.

However, the pain, discomfort, and grief from the unexpected worldwide pandemic has caused most Americans to respect the importance of support from other people, the dearness of family, and the need for community.

Power and wealth suddenly has become less relevant and even less interesting as they once were. Success is being redefined. Clearly we have a need for a new paradigm!

You are likely to find this book of sermons and stories unusual and a possible contribution to the construction of a new paradigm. What is special about the content of this book?

The sermons and the stories in Unafraid reflect the teachings of N. F. S. Grundtvig, the Danish philosopher, theologian, poet, and educator who influenced my father’s (and my own) theological-philosophical framework.

A super quick overview of Grundtvig’s primary contributions to living a better way of life can be gleaned by considering two core beliefs from his early work, as noted by Ove Korsgaard.¹

1. Human First, then Christian

2. Freedom for Loki as well as for Thor

Human First—what does that mean? It is simply the fact that all human beings have in common one truth: we are all human beings.

It is a historical fact that human beings came before Christianity or any other religion. This implies that we can learn to relate to each other—human being to human being, first and foremost—without regard to race, religion, social status, ethnicity, or any other characteristic.

Each human being has the capacity to contribute to society. Whoever we are, wherever we live or come from, whatever we believe, we are capable of contributing to society. We can live peacefully together based on the simple fact that we are all human!

For the purposes of this book, I would like to amend the motto from Human First, then Christian to "Human First, then Any Religion." This is not a statement or priority but rather a statement of historical fact and what we have in common.

We do not share the same religion, but as human beings, we have much in common. We come from a common source. Realizing that we all have human first in common has the potential of making significant positive changes in our individual lives as well as society!

We can live together peacefully if we first acknowledge each other as fellow human beings. We are each part of what Grundtvig called the divine experiment.

Religion need not prevent us from working together for the common good of all people. Religion can be a sublime help to living our lives meaningfully, or it can be destructive and divisive.

What is meant by Grundtvig’s statement, Freedom for Loki as well as for Thor, the second-core belief?

Thor is the major Viking god of thunder and the sky, the god who wields a magic hammer. Thor is also the god of truth. (As a child, I did not believe in Santa Claus, but during thunderstorms, I certainly believed in Thor.)

Loki is a Norse god, an unethical trickster who can change not only his form but also his gender; Loki is the god of lies and deceit who causes great mischief and an abundance of trouble.

Grundtvig’s definition of freedom insists on equal accountability for those who are cunning and untrustworthy as well as those who hold powerful, reputable, honorable positions. Without equal justice, there is no justice.

Another element of Grundtvig’s definition of freedom has to do with its basic limitation: My freedom is not freedom if it has a negative effect on your freedom (and vice versa). If your freedom negates my freedom, it is not freedom!

Of course, there is much more to Grundtvig than these two core beliefs, and I hope you will pursue learning more about his teachings. I have added information on the four principles of Grundtvig in Appendix C.

In conclusion, Unafraid, the Second Edition offers a reading experience about ordinary yet very special people who, by experiencing sermon messages and responding to what they hear, help us live beyond fear, loving life, even in times of major challenges!

Part 1

Pew and Pulpit

(1938–1964)

Chapter 1

Christmas 1939

By eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve, the Diamond Lake country church was overflowing. After squeezing in latecomers—Hans and Anna Hansen, Pete Petersen, Jorgen and Lena Andersen, Viggo Jensen, and Astrid Sorensen—into the few remaining spaces in the pews, the ushers set noisy metal chairs along the back of the church and down the center aisle. Human cares of crops and wartime had been carefully placed on a pantry shelf, stored over the Christmas holidays, to be taken out and dealt with in the New Year. A gift of well-being and familial excitement enveloped the congregation. Christmas was here!

The Danes loved their Christmas, a time when sons of Thor and daughters of Mary mixed preparations for the Christian arrival of the God-baby with ancient pagan customs. Their Christian faith merged seamlessly with timeless celebrations of life—a fresh-cut evergreen, a myriad of burning candles, homespun gifts, songs, and feasts.

Harald Ibsen, the minister of the church, was lean and strong and a good speaker. In preparing his sermons, he studied the meaning of the Bible lessons, often focusing on a paradox or important detail and then relating that meaning to everyday life. At times he would share a question or problem that puzzled him and suggest the best solutions he could offer.

His three-year-old son sat in the front pew—Kere lille Dave (dear little David), as he was called by the older members of the congregation, who rolled the Danish words with genuine affection. Dressed up in a blue hand-knit suit lovingly crafted for him by his bedstemor (grandmother), David sat quietly, leaning against his mother, Asta, named for the morning star. Her head was a mass of light brown curls. A city girl with slim beautiful ankles, Harald’s young wife was a musician/schoolteacher transported to the prairie.

It would be Asta’s first Christmas without Paul, their infant son who had died the winter before. His death had left a depthless ache in her heart. She would never forget him, and when she would die fifty-five years later, his name, Paul, would be the last word she would ever speak.

Now as Asta stood for the Gospel lesson, the new life in her womb moved. (The unborn child in the womb is the author.) She smiled. Such a restless child, so different from Paul or David. All that bouncing around concerned her. At the end of the hymn, she watched her husband step into the pulpit. For a moment, Ibsen looked out at all their faces. Then he began to speak:

Again we are gathered to celebrate the birth of Christ. May God help us to celebrate this day, to receive the Christmas message deep within our hearts, that we may have a treasure of spiritual wealth to satisfy our soul’s demand not only today, but also in the days to come.

Before the Gospel came to this world in and through the Son of God, there was a time of Advent. Or we may say, the Gospel has a prologue, which can be summed up in the words of John the Baptist in the wilderness of Judea when he spoke to the multitudes, Repent ye, the Kingdom of God is at hand. His is the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord. Make his path straight.

As we are about to celebrate Christmas this year, these words seem more real than ever before. We hear the voice of one crying in the wilderness of the world, Prepare ye the way of the Lord.

The Christmas season of 1939 finds this world in a state of wilderness, in bewilderment, perhaps more than has ever existed in the history of the world. Nation after nation is drawn into the war. No one knows where it is going to end. This war with all its suffering is only what we see on the outside of the body of humanity. I believe the war is only a symptom of that disease from which the whole world is suffering—sin, neglect, greed and selfishness. From that world of sin and suffering there seems to arise a faint cry for help: Prepare ye.

I do not know whether it is the voice of the body of humanity, the millions who suffer in so many ways, the soul of this generation, or whether it is the voice from God. It seems as if it comes from the child whose birthday we are celebrating today. Perhaps it is all of these, since mankind is made in the image of God, something we must never forget.

One of the deepest reasons for the bewilderment in our world is that all too many of us never let the Christ child grow to maturity. There is too much romanticism and not enough realism in our Christmas celebration. Christ was not always the little child in the manger. He grew to maturity, in favor of God and man. John writes, We saw His Glory, It is not the glory of the manger, but the glory of his death and resurrection.

In one of our beautiful Christmas Carols we sing Joy to the World, the Lord is Come. In the last stanza we sing:

He rules the world with truth and grace

And makes the nations prove

The glories of his righteousness

And wonders of his love.

It is a beautiful song, a beautiful dream. It has been the dream of the Christian Church for centuries. I love that hymn, but the sad thing is that it is not true. He does not rule the world. If He did, this world would look much different. He rules only as far as we let him. Nations have tolerated Jesus as a child, even worshiped the child of Bethlehem, but not let Him grow up and rule. This is true not only of nations, but to a large extent it is true of the Christian Church.

Today, the Christian Church is celebrating Christmas all over the world. In our large cities many churches are crowded tonight at their candlelight services. But the tragic thing is that to the great majority it is only an experience of a Christmas mood.

If you had been to a service in the city this evening, you might have seen a manger near the front of the church, beautifully decorated, and a doll in the manger. It is supposed to be a symbol. I believe it is a symbol, but of what?

I am almost afraid to tell you what I think—I think of coffee. These days we search for a good cup of coffee without much luck. So it is when Christ is absent from our hearts. We try to find a substitute, even if we must invent one, especially at Christmas time when we want to be in the Christmas mood.

To the majority of people, Christmas is a game of