St. Nicholas Byzantine icon from the Chapel of the Holy Trinity at Theological School of Chalki, Heybeliada Turkey. Photo by “Lapost”: 11 July 2005 [Wikimedia Commons / Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license]
(12-8-12)
My name is St. Nicholas; and from the 4th century I do hail;
I was Bishop of Myra, on the southwestern coast of Turkey.
I spent time in the Holy Land, and also in Diocletian’s jails;
Fought the Arian heretics at Nicaea, but my history is murky.
* * * * *
I was most known for helping the poor, under cover of night;
Dropping gifts down a chimney, landing in stockings drying.
I loved children and sailors: by grace aiding all whom I might;
Once multiplied wheat, to save many in a famine from dying.
* * * * *
My feast day is December 6th: the day I departed this earth;
My relics still exude sweet myrrh-like rose water every year.
Christians around the world celebrate the day with great mirth;
Lots of stories of my life, young and old alike do annually hear.
* * * * *
I was named Nikolaos the Wonderworker due to many prayers
Answered often through my intercession, with miracles as well.
The Dutch called me Sinterklaas, adding on legends by layers;
They say I leave coins in wooden shoes; maybe so: I won’t tell!
* * * * *
The tales and fables grew through the centuries, far and wide;
Mostly in the countries where German and English are spoken.
As Christkindl or Kris Kringle: to Jesus’ holy name I was tied;
Now I’m often called Santa Claus: in long tradition unbroken.
* * * * *
In America my legend, through Washington Irving and others,
Spread in folklore, “Twas the night before Christmas,” and such.
Thomas Nast drew me as a jolly old soul, of all men a brother;
Of reindeer, North Pole, red suits, and elves were heard much.
* * * * *
At length, the fables became so secular, commercial, and obscure
That their initially Christian contents became shallow and hidden.
It’s not Santa who sees all and rewards children good and pure;
But God the Father: the source of all graces and gifts we’re given.
* * * * *
It’s Jesus Who, dying for us, gave life such deep meaning and hope;
I am just His messenger, spreading His gospel of salvation and peace.
Without His sustaining power and love, surely none of us could cope;
This true joy of Christmas, till the end of the world will never cease.
Written on 8 December 2012: the feast of the Immaculate Conception.
[see also the “Protestant” version or Version II on Facebook: with a few theologically “controversial” lines changed]
[my other Christmas poems and many other articles are found on my Christmas web page]
My four children: Christmas 2010
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