We’ve lost the ability to be bored
without panic. The ability to sit in a room without filling it with noise. The
patience to follow one story without interruption. We’ve traded depth for
stimulation—and called it connection. Perhaps it’s time to ask Santa for
something else: a new Christmas tradition, like in Iceland.
In Iceland, Christmas Eve revolves
around books. Not as novelty gifts or symbolic gestures, but as the point of
the evening. The tradition is called Jólabókaflóð, or “The Christmas Book
Flood,” and it rests on a simple, almost defiant idea: give books, then stop
long enough to read them.
Each fall, new books are released
across the country. In early November, the Icelandic Publishers Association
delivers Bókatíðindi, a catalog of upcoming titles, to every household. People
study it. They talk about it. They choose deliberately. On Christmas Eve, those
books are exchanged—and then the noise goes away.
People sit. They read. They stay put.
This isn’t a charming oddity. It’s
the result of a culture that still believes attention matters. Iceland, with a
population of roughly 330,000, produces more writers per capita and reads more
books than anywhere else in the world. Reading is valued as a
worthwhile activity rather than simply a way to pass the time or avoid reality.
The tradition began in 1944, during
wartime scarcity, when Iceland had few options for gifts. Paper wasn’t
rationed. Books—written, printed, and bound locally—were affordable, practical,
and meaningful. They became the obvious choice. What started as necessity
endured because it revealed something essential. Books didn’t demand speed.
They didn’t fracture attention. They didn’t compete for dominance in the
room—and chargers were not needed.
Today, roughly 40 percent of
Iceland’s book sales occur during the Christmas season. The book flood fills
conversations, social media, and living rooms. Icelanders read more than two
books a month on average. A third read daily. Libraries are busy. These aren’t
just statistics—they are signs of a culture that hasn’t surrendered its inner
life.
Now consider what we have lost.
Iceland doesn’t reject technology. It
simply refuses to let it dominate every moment, making a collective choice:
attention over distraction, presence over performance, depth over speed.
The Christmas Book Flood isn’t just
about nostalgia. It’s about reclaiming something we still need. It reminds us
that traditions shape behavior, and behavior shapes culture. If we want quieter
homes, deeper conversations, and more meaningful holidays, we have to choose
them. They’re just waiting for us to stop scrolling long enough to pick them up
again.
On iPhone, on Android, on Google and
Chat,
On laptop, on tablet, wherever we’re
at.
The device grows heavily perched atop
our knees,
But perhaps this year, we can pause
then with ease.
One book, a story, a real Silent Night,
A moment to linger, a soft shared
light.
We put down the screens, we slow the
pace,
And open our hearts to make room for
God’s grace.
And in that stillness, that pause
from the noise,
We thank God for the Savior and all
our joys.
Merry Christmas
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