Christmas (finale)

Okay. I’m a hypocrite. At least, given what I’m about to say, some might accuse me of such. Those who know me know I ain’t much on Halloween. I never was much on Halloween, even as a kid. It seemed a bit odd to me that perfectly normal devil-hating church folks would go all out, once a year, to root for the other side. But, that’s just me.

Then, I’m hip on Santa.

You see, I SAW Santa. Really, I did! Back when I was young. This is one of those impossible memories. Here’s the way my mind — you know, the REAL mind where anything’s possible — tells it …

I was asleep on the couch, having dozed off out in the den on Christmas Eve. The only “vision” I have is of his back — red outfit, white trim — as he passed by my sleeping self. The most unbelievable part of the memory is: I went back to sleep.

Why is this impossible? Well, I never fell asleep on the couch, staying through the night, on Christmas Eve. I mean, what? I wake up and there are all the presents (before the time)? My parents would actually leave me there? On Christmas Eve?

Notice the proofs given do not include: Santa don’t exist. Nope.

I know, I know. I’m an Orthodox priest and there’s others of my stripe — even my pal, Frederica (note shameless name drop) — who hold a contrary view of the man. But try as I might, I can’t … I won’t, I say! … let go.

I still have a visceral reaction when I see a “good Santa” — you know, the ones with a real beard, real gut, real red cheeks, real joy. You know, real. I can’t help it. It gives me hope. I become a kid again. The kid with memories that, I guess, can’t be proved. You know, real memories.

I did go through a period, don’t we all, where I tried to be anti-Santa. Then God allowed me to start a Mission named St Nicholas. Well, dang. Ain’t that the way? I ended up giving in. I’ve repented. But even during that rebellion, if ever I saw a “good one,” I knew — hypocrite or no — I knew!

Back when I started this Christmas series, I had no idea where it would wind up. If, for some odd reason, you’ve read all these ramblings, you’ve probably wondered where it was all heading as well. Fair enough. So here’s the deal …

I hate the shopping. I hate the frivolous debt. I hate supporting Communist China. I hate the extended commercial season. I hate the styles, the driving, the lack of sleep, the over nourishment.

But I cannot help but be touched by the magic. Somewhere along the line, every year, it touches me. No, no, no. I don’t mean Santa magic. He’s just an image of it. No. I mean the magic that makes steeples look brighter, loved ones look lovelier, hearts seem bigger, and homes seem warmer. I mean the magic that makes the impossible possible.

At this point, even I am wondering … okay, ain’t it time you said something about Jesus?

Well, I don’t know how to say this without sounding hokey but, forgive me … here goes … to my mind at least, I just did.

The original post in the series asked: Does Christmas need a second baptism?

My answer is “Yes.” Annually. In the Church, Confession is viewed as a “second baptism.” Every year we are brought face to face with a wonderful mystery: God became Man. As a Patriarch once said, “[Christmas] … the day when God bent down and kissed the earth.” And somewhere along the line, in the midst of the madness of the season, we are confronted with another question: What am I to do about it? May we, like Our Lady, the Shepherds, the Maji, and all the Saints before us answer the question. Our answer, our conviction — our confession — is a prerequisite for our worship.

Venite, adoramus Dominum!

Here’s hoping that you and yours all become like kids again — and soon.

By anticipation: Christ is Born! Glorify Him!

(Merry Christmas!)