My Big Holiday Blunder

It's been almost three weeks since my Big Holiday Blunder. I can now reflect on the event with some emotional distance.

Most of you know the kind of blooper I'm referring to --an expectation of some kind you project on family or friends, usually unspoken, during the Christmas and New Year get-togethers. And then WHAM … Reality Hits! People don't live up to YOUR standards.

Now, if you are NOT a Christ-follower, I discourage you from reading any further. My observations from this point won't make any sense to you. In fact, most of what I'm referring to will seem quite trivial to you.

On second thought, if you are a close family friend, you might find this discouraging.

The Blunder actually came near the end of a gathering of friends for Christmas. Gifts had been exchanged. A meal shared, belching and declarations of impending diets, and New Year's resolutions discussed.

Since the totality of the group were Christ-followers (meaning they had accepted Christ as their personal Savior) I thought they might be interested in watching The Nativity Story, a realistic, well-produced film which appeared theaters in 2006 about the birth of Jesus of Nazareth.

THAT WAS MY BLUNDER -- A one hour and forty-one minute blunder!

Many families have traditions at Christmas. They read….

T'was The Night Before Christmas…. (short)

Or sing -- "Up On The House Top"….(short)

Or watch -- It's A Wonderful Life …. movie … (not so short but has has Jimmy Stewart and a clutzy angel)

Or -- A Christmas Carol …. movie ... (longer but has has Scrooge, Tiny Tim and ghosts, is a musical and lots of versions)

Or families will read the Christmas story -- Shorter than the movie but more interesting if from a modern Scripture translation, Matthew and Luke, usually before opening gifts. A crèche on the coffee table provide the visual reference for small children. A total of 51 verses tell the story of from the appearance of the angel to the virgin Mary to Joseph, Mary, and the toddler Jesus fleeing Bethlehem ahead of Herod's child-killers. It takes about two minutes to read the narrative.

Twenty minutes into The Nativity Story, my fellow viewers began to drift away -- physically. Phone calls suddenly needed to be made. Urgent matters that had been forgotten since morning cropped up called people to other rooms. The appeal of the all too familiar story was gone. Tiny Tim's peril might have held their attention in Scrooge. Clarence the goofy angel keeping George Bailey from committing suicide could have insured their watching It's Wonderful Life.

In retrospect I may have been witness to a micro-cosum of this modern generation of Christ-followers. We appear more in love with the IDEA of what the 'Christmas Season' does to people than the PERSON for whom the season is celebrated. Not only have we gotten the cart before the horse, we've decorated the cart, push it ourselves with worshipful celebration, and forgotten the stable where we've abandoned the horse.

Where is our amazement at the Creator of the Universe wrapping himself in flesh and hair?

Why does the God who birthed us from His very mind not hold our attention long enough to marvel in the story of His journey to "be touched with our very infirmities?"

How often do we complain that "God doesn't understand what we are going through!"...yet we won't sit long enough to see what He went through to sleep in the manure-filled stable?

And at the end of that hour and forty-one minutes, there were two of us left. Me (the storyteller) and a person, not born and raised in American "Christian" culture. This individual was not introduced to Jesus as his Savior until a few years ago; to him it is story still full of wonder.

So this past holiday has left me with sad acceptance that many Christ-followers no longer hold a fascination for "Emmanuel" -- God Among Us -- in the carols they sang. Their faces are no happier singing Oh, Come All Ye Faithful than when singing Jingle Bells.

But perhaps neither was mine. Most of us couldn't wait for Christmas to arrive and pass. For some of us it has been a really hard, trial-filled year.

We want the abridged, version Christmas story.

We want it short and sweet.

The Gospel writer John wrote:

The Word (of God) became flesh and blood,
And moved into the neighborhood.
And we saw the glory with our own eyes,
the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son.
Generous inside and out, true from star to finish.

He was in the world,
And the world was through him,
And yet the world didn't even notice.
He came to his own people,
But they didn't want (have time) for him.

The Message Bible (1:14,15,9-10)

I look at this generation and wonder; Has much changed in 2002 years among those who look for a Savior?

Have we made a visit to the manger, paused and rushed back to the "sheep fields" of our daily lives without much thought of what it really means for God to coo and cry and bleed and die?

And it really make me wonder who is more guilty …

King Harrods who try to kill the Christ child because they know how dangerous the Child is …

Or those who see Him daily, take him for granted, and live our lives unchanged?

The REAL Santa Clause

What if I were to tell you that the Christmas Hero we force our children to have their pictures taken with has a checked past?

Like a peak behind the curtain at the Terrible Wizard of Oz, there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Santa Claus. A little background check turned up some interesting facts:

1) Orphaned at 9, Nicholas was born in Turkey but given a Greek name meaning "victory of the people"

2)May have been spent most of his youth on fishing boats rowdy sailors

3) Became a preacher

4) Served first term in prison for offend the country's ruler with his preaching.

5) Served second term for slugging a fellow preacher during a debate

6) Never wed (which would cast doubt on his marriagability in 21st Century
society.)

So how did this single, Turkish, ex-con preacher, get to be the North Pole Toy Company CEO and ad-spokesman for Coca-Cola and Hallmark Cards?

Perhaps you think I'm attempting to give YOUR Holiday hero a bad wrap. Not really. But would you have kept reading had I not at least raised a question or two?

I struggle with two opposing views of about this Icon of Christmas. First, there are those who want to WORSHIP Santa Claus . . . Allowing him to be the excuse for their children's unbridled greed at Christmas. These same parents then wonder why their off-spring don't "understand what Christmas is all about."

Au-contre' The brats understand all too well!

But then there are those who want to banish Santa, his spirit of giving and all, as a SECULAR Pawn of the Season. I consider their well-intentioned, at times sanctimonious, if not ill-informed knee-jerk.

They are like the "Don't take Christ-Out-Of-Christmas" sermons that come from pulpit and Blogs of America. I shake my head for they betrays the ignorance (lack of knowledge or education) of the writer or speaker. The letter X is the first letter of the word Xristro, the Greek word for Christ. Xmas, then, does not eradicate the name of Christ from Christmas. It is a legitimate term in the Greek Orthodox church.

Nicolas was named Bishop of Myra in the earthly fourth century by the Catholic church, a post he held until his death on December 6 343.

He was best known for the kindness he showed to a poor neighbor who was unable to support his three daughters or provide the customary dowry so they could attract husbands. Nicholas slipped up to the house by night and dropped a handful of gold coins through the window so the eldest daughter could afford to get married. He repeated this act on two other nights for the other two daughters.

The gift grew from a handful of coins to bags of coins. Instead of dropping them through the window, he dropped them down the chimney. And rather than land on the floor, the bags of coins landed in the girls stockings which were hanging on the hearth to dry.

People then began to suspect that he was behind a large number of other anonymous gifts to the poor, using the inheritance from his wealthy parents. After he died, people in the region continued to give to the poor anonymously, and such gifts were still often attributed to St. Nicholas.

For this reason, I am reluctant to throw out the "spirit of Saint Nicholas" with the commercial mold of holiday sales-laky we've forced Saint Nicholas into. It's as fake as the synthetic white whiskers strapped under his nose.

As Bishop of Myra, he wore the traditional ecclesiastical robes and mitered hat. He is known to have been slim, with a dark beard and a serious personality.

By 1300 he was wearing a white beard. But the 1800's he was depicted with a rotund belly and an ever-present basket of food over his arm. Soon came the black boots, a red-cape, and a cheery stocking on his head. In the late nineteenth century his basket of food became a sack of toys. In 1866 he was small and gnomish but by 1930 he was a robust six-footer with rosy cheeks and a Coca-Cola.

Santa reflects the desires of people all over the world.
With the centuries he had become the composite of what we want.

A friend who cares enough to travel a long way against all odd to bring good gets
to good people.

A sage who, though aware of each act, has a way of rewarding the good and overlooking the bad.

A friend of children who never gets sick and never grows old.

A father who lets you sit on his lap ad share your deepest desires.

Santa. The culmination of what we need in a hero. The personification of our passions. The expression of our yearnings. The fulfillment of our desires.

"And The Angels Were Silent" Max Lucado

While Santa makes a great Christmas hero, ultimately even the original Saint Nickolas can't provide what we really need. When December's requests become February's payments, Santa's left the mall. . . He only comes once a year.

And when Santa comes, he sometimes gives much, he doesn’t take away much. He doesn't take away the grave, mistakes, the anxiety of demands, or healing hurts.

Again Max Lucado says it best in "And The Angels Were Silent"

We create heroes from castles and crusades,…sanctuaries and stories,…politics
and airplanes. God chooses a virgin to bear himself…He dons a scalp and toes and
two eyes…he burps and sneezes and gets bit by mosquitoes.

Here was a hero who could touch blind beggars and their darkened eye gulped down the light. At his command, twisted, useless limbs became whole. At his embrace, desperate lives filled with hope.

His birthplace was among the smells of livestock. His death at the hands of arrogant politicians, religious bigots, sweat-soaked solders, and ambivalent admirers.

Only God could create a plan like this. Only God could create a hero like this.

So, when it comes to goodies and candy, cherub cheeks and red noses, go to the North Pole.

But when it comes to eternity, forgiveness, purpose, and truth, go to the manger. Kneel with the shepherds. Stare with the soldiers at the bloodied crosses. Finger the empty grave clothes in the vacant tomb. In between those events you will find a hero worth celebrating every season of the year.

Thanks-Giving and Thanks-GIMMY!

AT LAST! I have observed the respectable days of mourning between Thanks-Giving and Thanks-GIMMY! It's Here and it's my time to rail!

I've placed my lump of coal in my heater. (Yes, I do have a vintage charcoal heater.) Told Cratchet to pull that comforter tighter about him if he wants more warmth.

Next, I sharpened my feather quill with my replica Sweeney Todd shaving razor before turning off the electric lamps. If any joy can come to this cold heart it's knowing the six-pence I count on my desk will say there and not fill the coffers of the power company. It is with morbid satisfaction I watch that aluminum wheel slow to a stop, squeezing one kilowatt after another out of the power company.

I light my solitary hand-dipped candle to document my ravings, but not to worry, my laptop screen is back-lit.

What is it about this Season that Set my Satirical Side all a-Sizzle?

Oh -- Let me count the ways!

It's not the "spirit of Christmas" -- whatever that is -- I object to.

[See, whenever I mention an abstract term like "spirit of Christmas," it starts bouncing around in your brain like a marble in a tin can. Hard to grasp isn't it? Even more difficult to verbalize. But, alas, leave it to the professionals, like me.]

It is the Holy Herd of Hollow Sacred Cows we all Haul around at Thanks-GIMMY Time I am Hacked off at.

(For you satire-slow pokes that’s December 1-24 in the toy, electronics, small appliance, outdoors, and clothing isles of department stores.)

EXAMPLE: It’s things we do for absolute strangers, in-laws, out-laws, and ir-relatives, at this sentimental time of the year we wouldn't think twice of doing any other time of the year. In fact, you couldn't PAY us to talk to them. Feed a struggling family -- you mean they get hungry more than Christmas and Thanksgiving?

How dare they have birthdays or start school or grow up and need a new pair of shoes at any other time but Christmas!

"Who do they think they are? . . . My family? My relative? ... Obviously you don't know my relatives!"

Jesus -- you know, that little plastic dude they put in the manger this time of the year, -- the one surrounded by the shepherds, wise kings and camels, -- seems he wasn't content to stay put. He grew up became a teacher, a friend of street people, the sick, the shutouts, but irritated the sanctimonious. On day he told a group of those showoffs who wanted some back patting for all they had done for their church and their friends. Jesus pointed to the dirty children the pompous had to wade through and said.., "when you do it for the least of these, you do it for me."

Oh, Darn it! I hate it when He does that and starts messin' with my comfort zone. You mean HE expects me to do this Christmas Spirit thing all year long to STRANGERS?

Finally, after years, I seem to being making progress at my house when it comes to Christmas getting. The boys are in their upper teens. They are down to one request per Christmas and will gladly accept cash or a gift card for the store of their choice. My oldest is married and his wife's problem.

As for my wife and I, we'll give trinkets of affection for each other. It's not that she isn't special, it's just that I'm an all-year giver. I don't wait until Christmas or anniversaries to give her flowers and presents that let her know she is the love of my life.

It is with more than a little pride I walk through my local Super Wal-Mart in my "You-Can't-Touch-Me" Bubble." On the outside I may look like a harmless, meek, bald, English butler, with Santa Clause eyes, but inside there is a Rambo, bandanna-wrapped resistance gift-taban fighter, a bandoleer and 50 caliber machine gun in my arms. As I stroll through the isles I take my stand.

"No, you wire light-wrapped dunking reindeer. I will not be drawn like a moth to a flame."

"Take that, you inflatable flying Santa with Reindeer urinating pellets of white Styrofoam on the inflatable village of unsuspecting sleeping children below.

"You can't tempt me you jive-rapping cameo-dressed Barbies. I don't care how collectible you'll be in 10 years."

"Here's a few slugs you big screen TVs. There will be another super-hyped, fraged, two inches wider, plazzmatic screen that doubles as a microwave and high pressure home car wash to take your place tomorrow…Wait, wait, yea, that really is high definition."

And last but not least. "Were is that bossy woman in the self-check out machine? If she yells at me what to do ONE MORE TIME, I'm going to slide her head through credit card pad and type in 666."

So, after a season of creative drought, I'm back. I'm even considering taking on the HOLIEST CHRISTMAS COW of all . . . That's Right! . . . Santa Clause.

"Abomination!" you cry!

"Off with his head!" you scream!

"Burn him at the yule log!" you mutter from your egg nogg stupor!

But alas....it may not be what you think. Most of my readers can't tell me where the jolly elf came from save the Hollywood antics of Tim Allan or billboards of him holding a bottle of Coca Cola. If you know, please leave me a response in the comments box available.

And I will always feel obligated to leave you with a delightful twist.

Which reminds me: If I'm still on your Christmas list after this, there is a section of my Wal-Mart left standing standing after my mental Rambo Raid. There is this Therapist Select Shiatsu Plus Massaging Cushion which uses a state-of-the-art, moving dual-massage mechanism. . .

Writing these blogs all hunched over by candlelight are havoc on my back.

"Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but their own." Anonymous

Ho, Ho, Ho, They Want More!

'Tis the season for Christmas music. Tune up and Sing along with me:

(To the tune of "Up On The House Top")

Up on the counter we don't pause
Pile up more "From Santa Claus"
Down in
the wallet we dig deep
Just so the little ones
Won't think we're cheap

Chorus
Ho, ho, ho!
They want Mo(re)!
Ho, ho, ho!
They'll
get Mo(re)!
Up on the counter
Click, click, click
Down go the credit
cards
One, Two Three.

STOP - STOP - STOP! You get the idea, . . .

But don't try to peg me with the old "Humbug!" I love Christmas as much, if not more, than the next person. I love the traditions, the trees, (which get smaller every year), the lights, the music, even the idea of giving, . . . What I don't like is the pressure that I have to give to people I haven't spoken to since last Christmas. (And they haven't spoken to me either.) In some large families, with all the nieces, nephews, grandkids, cousins, aunts and great uncles, you're known as "Uncle-who-gave-me-the-stupid-toy-that-I-traded-at-school-for-something-cooler."

And who says that God doesn't have a sense of humor when He gives people kids just like themselves?

Now, I work in retail, when I'm not work-crafting on this lap top. I'm one of the guys at the Starbucks drive thru you think is too happy because he gets a caffeine IV when he arrives at work. I enjoy people, and I enjoy asking those tough questions like "How's your day?" and "Finished your Christmas shopping?"

Women tend to have it down to a percentage -- "Only 46.3% left to go. But I still need to shop for the holiday meal."

Men are different. Some, have the look, "They scheduled Christmas this year? . . . When? . . . I didn’t get the memo."
Or, (under their breath) "I don't want to talk about it. Back off, buddy, or someone will get hurt."
Or, the smile, "It's really going well," (male code for: "Don't ask me that while my wife is in car. Can't you see the packages in the back seat? She bribed me my letting me come to Starbucks if I would go with her shopping. If I'm a really good boy, she will let me come back when we are done.")

It's when people flip out the debit/credit cards to pay for something as little as a $2 drink I understand the love-hate relationship we have with the Season. It starts with Thanksgiving and extends well past the Day-After-Christmas sales. No wonder the malls start playing Christmas Carols before the boos of Halloween have faded into the November morning light.

On Black Friday, (day after Thanksgiving) some news sources reported the average person spent $326 (more than they normally spend a day.) Santa was good to the merchants; They are "Dreaming of a Green Christmas" -- sales were up 19+% over last year.

Dr. Seuss had the right idea with The Grinch That Stole Christmas, but he had the wrong character: it should have been The GREED That Steals Christmas.

Of course, Mr. Greed is around all year, but he really shines in December with the brightness of the Bethlehem Star. Linda Kulman wrote, "Americans have double the number of shopping malls as it does high schools. Americans shell out more for garbage bags than 90% of the world's 210 countries spend for everything."

According to Bob Russell's Money: A User's Manual, in 1900, the average American wanted 72 different things and considered 18 of them essential. Today, the average person wants 500 things and considers 100 of them essential.

You're A Mean One" - (with apologies to Dr. Seuss)

You're a mean one, Mr. Greed
You really are a mole,
You're a monster, Mr. Greed,
You make my heart an empty hole,
You're a sly one, Mr. Greed
You're all about more stuff
You're a sneaky, Mr. Greed
You're the king of "not enough."

Don't get me wrong. I love getting and giving gifts, but I don't wait until Christmas to give them. Getting stuff and having stuff is pretty cool, but I don't want them to own or obligate me.

My wife ask me the other day way I wanted for Christmas, I drew a blank. I really couldn't come up with anything that I wanted. Maybe that's why I'm smiling when I pass your peppermint hot chocolate through the Starbucks window. I've not only got the reason for the season, but I'm not letting the season strip my soul or my pocketbook.