Have a very moral Christmas; can we make John the Baptist's call to justice part of this joyful season without being holiday humbugs?

DECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF HOLLY! 'TIS THE season to be ... shopping, or baking, or sending cards, or something. Instead here I sit, asking myself a long list of moral questions: What's the right thing to do about Christmas? What's the best way to prepare? What difference does it make how I spend my money and time this Advent? What should I be doing, and more importantly, what am I going to do?

This concern isn't mine alone. The crowds asked John the Baptist the same question in response to his preaching about preparing the way of the Lord: "What should we do?" (Luke 3:10). The question is clear; the answer is problematic.

Let's start with the tree: Should I cut down a living thing to use for four weeks and then discard it? Is an artificial tree better, even though a "nevergreen" loses something in the translation? If I keep a live tree in a pot to use over successive holidays, what do I do when it grows too big to get it out of the house?

Or should I forsake the glittery tree decorated with lights (wasting precious energy) and tinsel (landfill fodder) and baubles (made in sweatshops), and settle on a more religious holiday centerpiece? A Jesse tree, for example, doesn't even have to be a tree. It could be a branch, or a web of yarn, on which I'd daily place the symbols of salvation history. I could add to it each year, start a new holiday tradition of celebrating the ways God has been faithful through time.

But the tree isn't the most important question on my mind. There's all the rest, too: Is it OK to decorate with elves and Santas, watch The Santa Clause on TV--or is that a sellout to the secular agenda? Should I insist on pious stories about the three Wise Men, put a creche on the lawn, and just say no to "Silver Bells"--that homage to consumer activity? Should I harangue the post office for Madonna and Child stamps, or meekly accept the snowmen?

AND WHAT ABOUT THE EXPLOSION OF GIFT-GIVING THAT occurs at this time? Should I give our retail economy the boost those shopkeepers are counting on by loading my cart full of things nobody needs or wants? Should I wrap it all up with colored paper, which will shortly wind up in the garbage? Is it good for kids to get all this stuff, to equate happiness with acquisition and possession? Is it any better to give this junk to adults?

And what about holiday meals? Sixty-four percent of Americans are overweight or obese. I don't know how many are alcoholic or diabetic, but the national health issues make for lots of moral misgivings. I love to bake holiday cookies. But one look at those kids waddling toward the plate fills me with baker's remorse. Should I foist all this nonnutritious, calorie-dense junk food on loved ones just because I like the smell of holiday baking? Am I going to pour the spiked eggnog freely--even though so many folks can't drink or have to drive home later?

And do I become a Christmas Nazi if I try to eliminate the customs of my family and culture in one fell swoop? What will people think if I send only cards with blatantly religious themes and a note saying I've written a check to Catholic Relief Services in lieu of the usual gift-giving? What happens if I'm the only neighbor who refuses to put up Christmas lights because it wastes electricity? What if my Christmas dinner consists of whole grains, a tasteful selection of vegetables, and a fruit cup? Will anybody accept my holiday invitation if I make all the moral decisions for them?

OF COURSE, THESE ISSUES DON'T EVEN SCRATCH THE SURface. This isn't what John the Baptist had in mind when he dispensed advice to those who came to him with that gnarly question: "What should we do?" They too were preparing the way of the Lord, and they wanted to get their whole lives in order for that event. The Baptist was a severe man, more militant in the service of his cause than I will ever be in mine. He put the matter plainly: "Whoever has two cloaks should share with the person who has none. And whoever has food should do likewise" (Luke 3:11).

This advice is a far cry from whether or not to get my sister another T-shirt. And it's not about setting out a groaning board for guests who don't need to eat another bite. It's about justice more than generosity, redistributing the wealth of the world more than gift-giving. It's not about reminding those I love that I love them with some trifle. It's about reminding the unloved that God has not forgotten them, or us.

One of my favorite lines in the Catechism of the Catholic Church is about this business of redistributing the world's wealth. Theologically it sounds a little calorie-dense, but it's worth the effort to understand it: "The universal destination of goods remains primordial, even if the promotion of the common good requires respect for the right to private property and its exercise."

Let's unpack this idea. "The universal destination of goods" means simply this: When God created the world and called it good, that goodness was meant for everyone. God didn't intend for the good things of this world to be hoarded by the few while the needy went without. That was our idea.

So the original ("primordial") destination of this world's goodness was for everybody, but everybody doesn't get it because some of us have much more than our share. The "common good" is a popular phrase in the catechism--it means what's right for everyone, especially the most disadvantaged in our community. The common good has nothing to do with "trickle-down" benefits. It has to do with caring for the least of our sisters and brothers first. This is also known as "the preferential option for the poor," which is not how our society works but is a Catholic social ideal.

So God's original and enduring plan is that we all share in the goodness of the earth and its bounty. And that remains true even in the face of our right to private property, which the catechism does not deny--and which separates Catholic social teaching from communism. We have a right to what we've earned, made, or inherited. But we also have an obligation to share with those who have less, and that's been true since the imbalance of wealth began. How we weigh our rights and our obligations is how we live out our Christianity. If our purse is heavy while our neighbor is in want, that purse weighs in judgment on us.

It is worth noting that this teaching on the universal destination of goods appears under the chapter heading, "The Seventh Commandment": "Thou shalt not steal." If we neglect the need of our poor neighbors in favor of our right to private property, that's considered stealing in Catholic circles. John the Baptist understood this, without a copy of the catechism in front of him. So when the people asked, "What should we do?" he told them bluntly to take care of the poor.

WHEN I SIT DOWN THIS YEAR TO DETERMINE THE RIGHT way to celebrate Christmas, the path seems clearer now, thanks to John's advice. I'll probably go with the potted tree, use recycled wrapping paper, and try to moderate the gift frenzy. I'll serve healthy alternatives and Martinelli's cider along with the Christmas goodies. But I'll also consider the obligation I have as a Catholic to move some wealth along on its path toward universal distribution. 'Tis the season not merely for generosity but for justice.

By ALICE CAMILLE, coauthor with Joel Schorn of A Faith Interrupted: An Honest Conversation with Alienated Catholics (Loyola Press) and contributor to Christmas Presence (ACTA Publications).