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<\/a> St Nicholas paid his annual visit to St George Church last night. All the children left their shoes outside our new chapel (which is dedicated to St Elizabeth the Mother of the Forerunner), while we prayed the Akathist. Bags of chocolate gold coins somehow found their way into the footware. Here\u2019s a picture of me and the culprit.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\nThe following edited repost is from a couple years back \u2026<\/p>\n
B<\/span>ack in 1997 our daughter came home from day care and informed us that her class wasn\u2019t doing just one Christmas that year. Rather, they were going to be celebrating many holidays. Upon further inquiry we found that her class, she was 3 at the time, was going to be studying Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa \u2014 never mind that there were no practitioners of either of the latter faith traditions in her day care class. We reacted by pulling her out of day care. [The good news is she was home schooled from that point until 4th grade.]<\/p>\n When she was coming of \u201cSanta age,\u201d we decided that, though it was the practice of our families, we weren\u2019t going to do the Santa thing. Besides, back then we were in the Russian Church Abroad, therefore on the \u201cold calendar,\u201d and it didn\u2019t make much since. To complicate matters further, our parish was named St Nicholas and we already had a \u201cvisit\u201d with presents from our patron each year on his Feast, December 6\/19.<\/p>\n Back in 2002, when my son was 4, we were doing last minute shopping in the mall on December 23rd. As we rested by a fountain, he saw the Mall Santa at a distance and said, \u201cDad, can I go talk to him?\u201d \u201cBasil, I thought you didn\u2019t believe in Santa,\u201d I replied. He said, \u201cDad, I don\u2019t. I just wanna go talk to him.\u201d I told him to look at how long the line was and reminded him that we didn\u2019t have much time and were just sitting there waiting on mom and the girls. When the said party arrived, I no sooner exchanged news with them \u2014 a mere moment, mind you \u2014 when someone asked, \u201cWhere\u2019s Basil?\u201d Immediately my eyes shot toward the great line of people and, sure enough, there near the back of the 50 people or so was a little four year old boy. So, we let him. I went and waited with him. \u201cNo,\u201d I told them, \u201cwe don\u2019t want a picture.\u201d He eventually got to sit on the old man\u2019s lap. That\u2019s about the time their camera\/computer equipment broke. As they worked to repair it \u2014 for about 20 minutes \u2014 Basil sat right there and talked to Santa. No harm done, everyone went home satisfied, except maybe the old man.<\/p>\n The following year, on the eve of St Nicholas Feast, we were having Vespers in the church. Basil was serving in the altar and he asked if I thought St Nicholas had visited St John\u2019s [fellowship hall] Building yet. Having replied that I did not know, and though freezing rain and sleet was falling, he asked if he could go check. I\u2019ll never forget the sight of my 5 year old son eagerly and expectantly running up the stairs through inclement weather to peer into a building to see if a Saint had yet visited with presents.<\/p>\n A week later we found ourselves traveling to visit my father on, as we said as kids, \u201cChristmas Eve eve,\u201d December 23rd [or as some friends call it: \u201cChristmas Adam\u201d (as in, Adam comes before Eve)]. Our dinner was interrupted by the headlights of a car\u2019s arrival. \u201cWho\u2019s that?\u201d I asked. My dad said, \u201cI don\u2019t know. Basil, go to the door.\u201d I was a little uncomfortable with my son being sent to answer a strange door \u2026 when in walked the best looking Santa I had ever seen. I swear to you for a moment I was a kid again. A grown man had a \u201cMiracle on 34th Street\u201d moment. I almost wept. This Santa knew all about my kids. He knew their names \u2014 all our names \u2014 and family trivia. He had wonderful answers to their questions about Rudolph and the other reindeer. His white hair & beard, costume, red cheeks, twinkling eyes \u2026 all came together to make me feel like a cad for ever doubting. When finally he approached me he said, \u201cHowdy cuz\u201d with a wink and a smile. Danged if I wasn\u2019t just plain confused from that point on.<\/p>\n [Later in the evening, after Santa\u2019s exit, my dad explained to me that the man was indeed a cousin of mine who played Santa during the season.]<\/p>\n Okay, so I\u2019m a hypocrite. At least, given what I\u2019m about to say, some might accuse me of such. Those who know me know I ain\u2019t 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\u2019s just me.<\/p>\n Then, I\u2019m hip on Santa.<\/p>\n You see, I SAW<\/strong> Santa. Really, I did! Back when I was young. This is one of those impossible memories. Here\u2019s the way my mind \u2014 you know, the REAL<\/strong><\/em> mind where anything\u2019s possible \u2014 tells it \u2026<\/p>\n I was asleep on the couch, having dozed off out in the den on Christmas Eve. The only \u201cvision\u201d I had was of his back \u2014 red outfit, white trim \u2014 as he passed by my sleeping self. The most unbelievable part of the memory is: I went back to sleep.<\/p>\n 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?<\/p>\n Notice the proofs given do not include: Santa don\u2019t exist. Nope.<\/p>\n I know, I know. I\u2019m an Orthodox priest and there\u2019s others of my stripe \u2014 even my pal, Frederica<\/a> \u2014 who hold a contrary view of the man. But try as I might, I can\u2019t \u2026 I won\u2019t, I say! \u2026 let go.<\/p>\n I still have a visceral reaction when I see a \u201cgood Santa\u201d \u2014 you know, the ones with a real beard, real gut, real red cheeks, real joy. You know, real. I can\u2019t help it. It gives me hope. I become a kid again<\/a>. The kid with memories that, I guess, can\u2019t be proved. You know, real memories<\/a>.<\/p>\n I did go through a period, don\u2019t we all, where I tried to be anti-Santa. Then God allowed me to start a Mission named St Nicholas. Well, dang. Ain\u2019t that the way? I ended up giving in. I\u2019ve repented. But even during that rebellion, if ever I saw a \u201cgood one,\u201d I knew \u2014 hypocrite or no \u2014 I knew!<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n But I cannot help but be touched by the magic. Somewhere along the line, every year, it touches me. No, no, no. I don\u2019t mean Santa magic. He\u2019s 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<\/a> that makes the impossible possible.<\/p>\n