By Holly Patton

When I chose “It’s Christmas! Let’s Be Glad!” I had all sorts of plans for this reflection: I wanted to talk about the song’s lightheartedness and absurdity, which lend to the delight it delivers, creating a sense of awe and mystery that only Sufjan knows how to do.

But two things happened.

First — I was having a hard time stringing thoughts together because I was boring myself. Yes, of course the song is goofy-beautiful, maybe even a little stressful. If you listen to any of Sufjan’s songs for more than five minutes, you can discern that. And of course there’s a mystery around Sufjan’s ability to reach so many, how his oft-maximalist music makes us stop and wonder what’s going on inside of ourselves. I wanted to tie that to the mystery of Christmas itself, how I believe it’s something that gets beaten out every passing year — how Christmas becomes an industry, pre-packaged with all the elements that will ensure a good experience (if we just stop and let it!). Meanwhile, the story that Christmas stems from is steeped in the juxtaposition of joy and deep sorrow: Jesus, a baby born to die, born in mud, rejected all his life, and yet, as Sufjan sings later, “A thrill of hope / the weary world rejoices.”

But as I was penning this, I realized I too was kind of beating the mystery of Christmas to death with my own attempts. Like jokes, nothing kills a mystery faster than trying to explain it. And like jokes, mysteries are something we all crave to be a part of. If we can explain it, we can understand it, or so we think. This disqualifies it as a mystery. As I tried to pinpoint the mystery, I felt more disengaged from the song.

Second — I have a baby now. A baby who is (I say this with humility) kind of obsessed with me. She wants me to look at her all the time. If she sees me, she wants me to hold her. A baby who sees me trying to string some coherent thoughts together, smiles, and says, “What if I throw up instead?” The things I do to keep her entertained or to soothe or to laugh are nothing short of absurd. My days feel incredibly simple. It’s the most complex thing I’ve ever done. I dance in the dark when she finally falls asleep. I watch her baby monitor like an overnight security guard.

So, this song. In years past, I confess I’ve given it the “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” treatment by skipping it. But, in choosing a song, I was drawn very quickly to write about this one. From the first line of “Let’s Be Glad,” the layered voices sound as if they’re finding their footing in the constraints of its plucky, almost Seussian lyrics. The melody is overshadowed by the off-kilter sounds of harmonies. It sounds as if you’ve walked into a room that’s actually a moonbounce, and the voices inside are trying to stay upright. Or maybe the voices are singing down to us from celestial planes, shouting from clouds at different heights. Or maybe it’s a high school choir.

Whoever it is, they’re having a good time. I imagine if you isolated every voice and every instrument it might sound like a racket, but working all together, it becomes a party. In my first drafts of this reflection, I was trying to explain why I felt drawn to this song, and I think I was having a hard time explaining it because, like Christmas, it’s a mystery.

The song — like much of Sufjan’s music, like life itself — doesn't want you to explain yourself. “Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery,” writes Annie Dillard, “[it] is as fringed and intricate as the shape of air in time.” If you have a voice or desire to make any sort of noise or want to be part of a party, it seems to say, you can join along. We don’t need to come with answers or smart things to say — “there’s a lot to shout about today.”

Holly Patton is a writer currently based in North Carolina. She was born on Christmas and would welcome a Sufjan version of “Happy Birthday.” Her work has appeared on McSweeney’s, GQ.com, Strange Hymnal, and elsewhere. You can also find her on Substack here.