When I was small, my brothers and I set up a tent in the backyard, just by the hills hoist, and camped out on Christmas Eve. The tent was positioned so that we had a good view of the Christmas tree through the back window. We arranged a roster so that each of us would sit outside the tent and keep watch for Santa; if we saw anything suspicious, we were to wake the others.

I remember that we woke early in the morning, it must've been 3 or 4am, to witness two very un-Santa-looking parents, clad in pyjamas and a Santa hat, crouched beneath the tree, arranging presents and stockings.

I remember the thrill of knowing that it was my parents. It meant I could be thankful to a real person.

Similarly, there is a deep thrill in the incarnation, the night on which the infinite God took on flesh. Because it means that I can know God; as a human person.