Some Early Christmas Cheer (or whatever)

My relationship with Santa has been a bit like riding a Christmas roller coaster over the years. There has been twists and turns, hills and valleys, and times when we have just been plugging along as calm as could be, content with our relationship, only to hit a surprise curve or sudden plunge. The roller coaster has more or less settled into a nice, gentle, “It’s a Small World” type of ride in recent years, though with the relatively recent addition of a child to the family I anticipate some bumps and curves ahead.

When I was very little I was, as most kids are, quite fine with Santa. I think I even wrote him a letter or two back in the day. I honestly don’t remember a time when I really believed in Santa, though my parents would insist otherwise (I DO remember a time when I used to humor them about my belief in Santa though). While we weren’t exactly tight, Santa and I had a good, working relationship ion my childhood.

But then I started to grow up. Santa and I gradually became more and more cold toward one another as I didn’t like the way he was infringing on Jesus’ big day. Along around college time I came up with and admittedly mean, albeit I think funny, nick name for the big guy: Satan Clause. The right jolly old elf wasn’t laughing about that one. Besides, the guy was starting to creep me out. “He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake,” that just screams dirty old man to me. “He knows if you’ve been bad or good SO BE GOOD FOR GOODNESS SAKE!” Scary and threatening I say. It was about that time that I saw a clever little display protesting the commercialism of Christmas:

Ha. Still makes me laugh a bit. But seriously, we are kidding ourselves if we think that Jesus is the reason for the season. These days, your credit card is the reason for the season. But back in the day Jesus wasn’t the reason either-Mithras was. Mithras is a nasty little pagan bull-god whose birthday happens to be on December 25th, and he knew how to throw a good party. So good, that all the newly converted Catholics still wanted to party so the Pope let them, just so long as the celebrated Jesus’ b-day instead.

All this had made me rather cynical toward St, Nick and the phallic symbol we put in our living rooms every December and the holiday as a whole, but then…..I met the man. I met Santa at a Muslim Christmas party; I know, shouldn’t really go together, right? But that’s what it was. A big group of Muslim refugees coming into a church (or more accurately a warehouse with a cross and some ugly Awana banners used as a church) to have a Christmas party, complete with three well adorned phallic symbols and a Santa. The children sat on Santa’s lap, told him their hopes, their favorite school subject, that sort of thing. Then they got a present and very often a hug. There were a few teenage girls who sat with Santa, giggling incessantly the whole time and getting their pictures taken. I saw a community of people who are often lacking in good things come together to receive joy and fellowship from each other and love from the church (the church!). I saw little kids get an extra hug and some extra attention from a caring adult and I got to be part of an event that truly helped people move closer to the love and grace of Christ. Santa wasn’t hindering, he was helping, and at least on this day Jesus was the reason for the season. I gave in:

Oh Santa, you done good. So, what will I tell my daughter about Santa Clause when she gets old enough to ask? And how will I explain the Jesus connection? I really love that little book “Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Clause” and of course the letter to the little girl that is the heart of the book. I’m not going to try to pretend that the man actually exists because, well, that’s weird. But, lest I be “affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age” (from the letter) I will gladly embrace Santa from now on.

What about Jesus? Well, to be perfectly frank, it’s not his birthday and I don’t intend to ever pretend that it is. But what I can do is celebrate the miracle of God himself becoming incarnate to establish a new covenant of grace. I can celebrate the miracle of God keeping the lamp burning for eight days so the temple could be purified when there was only enough oil for one day, I can celebrate the miracle of Nicholas of Myra, a man devoted to his faith in God who consistently displayed both courage and generosity. I can celebrate the miracle of a little girl who tried to be born too early but managed to stay put until nearly her due date. I can celebrate miracles, period.

Santa and I still have a little ways to go in working out our relationship, but I think in the end we’ll be ok-as long as he doesn’t spend too much time at the mall or doing commercials.