This combination radio phonograph program is one of the first FM&M shows I heard, many many many years ago. We got a Christmas tree last night. Right now it's leaning up against the back of the house, still in its cage. Oh there's a story I don't have time to tell. I went by the two places where I knew trees could be found and, finding none, assumed none were available anywhere else in the universe. The White Tornado had told me I could walk back into her back forty and cut one, but then explained they were rather scraggly.

Of course I found a place on the roadside. It had three or four trees left, two of them quite large. I had my son with me, and at that moment a lady I know came by with her own son. Well, the fellow selling the trees assured me that he was getting another delivery today, but with the lady present I suddenly didn't feel like saying I would return when he had a greater selection. I don't know why the presence of any woman over the drinking age turns me into an idiot. I really don't. But suddenly I was determined to bring a Christmas tree home at that very minute, regardless of cost. And it had to be the biggest, best tree. What possible difference could it make how high my ceilings might be? Well, they are high. I'm not sure just how high.

So I pointed to a fine looking specimen and asked the price.

"Forty-five dollars," the man said.

"F-f-f-f-f-what?" says I, "I'll take it."

Little detail here. I haven't had a live Christmas tree in over ten years. Any trace of trimmings, ornaments, and so forth have gone the way of all matter. I gave away my tree stand a few years ago, thinking I would never again have a use for it.

Well.

But I do have a tree.

I mentioned in an earlier post that Santa Claus in his most popular form comes to us courtesy of the Coca-Cola Bottling Company who in 1931 hired Swedish artist Haddon Sundblom based upon this very depiction of the personified spirit of Christmas gift giving to promote their products. Sundblom was a remarkably gifted illustrator whose work would continue to help propel Coca-Cola to unrivaled heights of commercial success for the next 35 years, mostly based on the ever-growing association between Christmas, Santa Claus, and their product. As a result of this historic advertising blitz the color red – Coca-Cola red, as it was called – would forever be associated with the Santa mythos which had previously described him as green or other colors, if color was associated with him at all.

 

Santa also grew in stature to resemble an obese, jolly man rather than a dwarf or elf as some earlier stories would have it. His elfin origins were reassigned to his ‘helpers.’

 

Well, I really don’t think the Coca-Cola Company was trying to usurp or replace Christ with their advertising campaign, and I don’t believe people found it all that threatening for Coke to have developed a new mascot at the time. But I do believe there is a principle which has worked over time to achieve that very result, that the transcendent meaning of Christmas should be so entirely eclipsed by an utterly material one, and it is this: Nature abhors a vacuum. Since there has been a very deliberate effort to rid our culture of Christianity, and to the extent that this has been effective, Santa Claus has quite naturally rushed into the void created by the now missing Infant Jesus. If you couple that cause with the far less sinister reality that our erstwhile Christian culture has created massive economic prosperity for people, allowing them previously unheard-of access to the divine source of abundance, and naturally, being good, kind, generous, and loving towards our children as we are, the result has been that the once secondary tradition of gifting at Christmastime has evolved over time into what now is offered as the main point – even the sole point – of the Solemnity of Christmas.

 

It is ironic, of course, that Capitalism which is based on Judeo-Christian spiritual principles that affirm all wealth belongs to God and originates from God (and is therefore limitless) should be in some manner involved in the replacement of the God of the Bible with the pagan gods of the State, which is most precisely what is currently happening, and the reason why our culture is so deeply divided.

 

Now, I have said frequently that it really is not theoretical atheism, which is rather rare, but practical atheism which is the chief culprit. If theoretical atheism is the declaration that there is no God, practical atheism is the living of one’s life as if there were no God. The practical atheist could theoretically believe in God – usually expressed by some extremely vague sentimental affirmation of a ‘he-she-it-something-or-other’ who says we should try to be good people or some such rubbish – but at the same time be a fully practicing non-believer. Of the two I prefer theoretical atheism because one can actually argue with it. Such a person knows what he or she actually believes. There is more likely to be a thought process there, something with a little meat to it. But what I have declared repeatedly – and here cite Christmas as Exhibit A to prove it – is that all atheism, whether theoretical, practical, or whatever, must sooner or later turn into out-and-out Pagan Idolatry.

 

In other words, man cannot truly be atheist because it is simply not in his nature to contain a vacuum which Nature abhors, and so, in the absence of the worship of God there rushes in the worship of something other than God to fill the void. This is where Coca-Cola unintentionally steps in. I say ‘unintentionally’ because their only goal and purpose was to sell soft drinks. This is where the desire and ability to acquire material goods steps in, no matter how beneficial it may be to our quality of life. This is where theoretical atheists who have always been working to topple the God-given principle of Rights in order to quite deliberately replace it with a government-given vision of State largess and elite privilege, jump in with both feet. And of course, the attack against Christianity, Judaism, or anything which proposes that God is more powerful than Man and the material world, is carried on with all the vigor of open warfare against the foundational pillars of our parent culture.

 

So, it’s not really poor Santa’s fault. All he ever really wanted to do was sell a carbonated caramelized beverage loaded with lovely caffeine and yummy sugar. And wealth is not the cause of materialism any more than lack of it is the cause of theft. The absence of God in the everyday lives of people is truly the singular cause of both these evils. But, if you were to type into your Google search bar the words “Evil Santa” you will come up with 1,040,000 results, a few of which are images I’ve had great fun including in the text of this post. I submit that such would not be the case in the healthy, thriving, prosperous culture of our not-too-distant past, nor in our nation as it was envisioned by those who founded it upon the principle that what God has given us no human power can take away.      

 

My family performed a little Advent liturgy each week as we lit the Advent wreath candle. I’ll have to ask Dad where he got it, if he remembers, but there are several simple ceremonies available from the Church for families to practice together. Some of you may remember the slogan, “The family that prays together stays together.” It’s funny – I cannot call to mind any exceptions to that. It seems to be true.

 

Our little Advent liturgy involved prayer and response, the lighting of the candle on the wreath of course, and song. Dad led us up to bed singing “Oh Come, Emmanuel.” I sing that one really well, by the way. It’s dead smack in the middle of my somewhat limited almost-but-not-quite second tenor range. I sing it aloud today. Some of the hymns used at mass are a little beyond my ability, but that one’s just right. The song reminds me of how wonderful our Advent liturgy was. Today I look back and realize it was such a short-lived tradition in our household. We only did it for only a few years in a row, during that precious pre-self conscious teenage period. By the time I turned 16 or so I would have been mortified by the very idea of participating in such a ceremony. I know I thought of it fondly, but at the same time was happy I didn’t have to do it anymore.

 

During Advent we also did the thing with the popsicle stick manger, the porcelain Christ child, and the straw. This we did for quite a few more years. Heck, I still have my porcelain Christ child today. Mom sent it to me a few years back. I remember thinking that the idealizations of the Holy Family were of course poetic. Since they were real people – whatever that means – they had to look like real people. So Mary must have looked like any other ordinary girl of her time and place, and the baby Jesus like any ordinary child. False. It turns out the idealization is doctrinal. Jesus, Mary and Joseph were physically perfect. The way to understand the truth of that is to let go of one’s worldly obsession with appearances.

 

Each day in Advent we would collect a single straw out of a large plastic bag of straws my Mom kept tucked away somewhere. It may have occurred to us to steal one here and there, but I don’t recall doing so. The straw represented our good deed for the day – whatever that may have been. And we might do a dozen good deeds in a day but we only got the one straw. Well, I might do only one good deed – and it’s a bit of a stretch. My good deed was that I did not set my sister’s tea set on fire though I really really wanted to. In the meantime, my brother, (show off saint that he was), shoveled out seven elderly neighbors down the road without charging them a penny. We got one straw for our good deeds. And there were days we got no straw at all.

 

And oh you needed at least twenty, otherwise the porcelain Christ child would lie on a hard cot on Christmas morning. God help the wicked child who awoke to find that gorgeous antique Hummel figure lying by his bedside in a popsicle stick manger without straw. Well, who on earth would deliberately want to make the Baby Jesus uncomfortable? We did this one for so many years – even into our young adulthood when some other family traditions had fallen out of practice – because it was so very sweet and just a little competitive. By continuing to do this one we paid service to them all, and all of our Christmases past were thus remembered.

 

I have had a request to tell the story of the Three Kings progressing from the mantel over the fireplace around the room on whatever flat surface was available to arrive at last at our Nativity which was installed underneath the Christmas tree. Of course this would not begin until Christmas Eve. Indeed, the tree would not be inside the house until Christmas Eve, the Nativity still within its wooden crate filled with sawdust until Christmas Eve. So, I will be coming to that. But now we are in Advent. And Advent is a period of prayer, fasting, and ritual, or period of spiritual preparation, for the Birth of Our Lord, which is quite significant in the Church calendar. I’ll be writing more about that, and just why Advent is so very important.

 

In the meantime, here is what happens to our Santa Claus without the benefits of Advent.

 

      

 

Meet single little people? What in the name of flimmering shimmins inspires google to place such an advertisement on my page?

 

Well, no matter.

 

The snow falls outside, which is boring. We were up on the mountain, the White Tornado and I, doing a job the customer doubted we would be able to do, school being closed early and all on account of the snow. But I have an all-wheel-drive vehicle, and with Christmas coming and seasonal lay-offs affecting Elizabeth’s family, now is not the time to let the weather interfere with income creation. But I did suggest that we might have to survive at least a week on the three cannolis in my glove compartment. Heck, with three whole cannolis we could survive at least seven days. On the eighth day one of us would have to eat the other. But not until then, I warned her, no matter how delicious I may appear to be.

 

I am going to write about Christmas when I was a boy, but before I do I should make it clear that in those far distant days Christmas began on Christmas Eve and ended 12 days later on Epiphany or “Little Christmas.” These days Christmas begins on the day after Thanksgiving and ends as soon as the last screaming brat has torn open the last Tickle-Me-Satan under a Christmas tree which has by then been dead for several weeks. I will say that finding a tree on Christmas Eve is very difficult these days. What I do is reserve one, if possible, or bring it home the week before and put it in the garage. What we did – that is, my family – was to make an excursion on Christmas Eve to the tree farm and dig a live tree so that it could be re-planted in the yard after Christmas.

 

But I am getting ahead of myself – and them – for it is not yet Christmas Eve.

 

Last week we celebrated the Feast of St. Nicholas. Now, St. Nicholas is one of two Saints who are believed to provide the origin of Santa Claus, but Santa Claus as we know him today was really a creation of the Coca-Cola Bottling Company as I’m sure many of us know. In my family we observed a little St. Nicholas Day tradition which involved Mom baking cookies in the shape of St. Nicholas which she iced in the colors of his bishop’s vestments. We also hung our stockings on that day.

 

 

 

 

That may seem strange, hanging Christmas stockings on the mantel three weeks before Christmas, but my parent’s madness had method to it. First of all, the stockings were the only indication that Christmas was approaching that could be found in our house right up until Christmas Eve itself. Well, no I tell a lie. There was also an Advent Wreath, but I’ll get to that in another post. The observation of St. Nicholas Day was their way of deflecting the temptation to worship Santa Claus, which has basically become the Christmas of today. By observing St. Nicholas Day as its own holiday leading up to Christmas, we learned very early that Santa was a Saint. Indeed, that’s precisely what his name means. And, like all the Saints, although he is dead he is nevertheless still with us. We view Saints not as ‘little gods’ but as family members who have gone before us, love us very much, and pray for us in Heaven, just as we who are still living pray for each other here on earth.

 

Well I remember seeing on television a program about a little boy coming to grips with the fact that there is no Santa Claus. I had no idea what his problem was. Just because he is in Heaven there is no reason to doubt his existence. Rather silly, really. But we were not to know that our tradition was special. In fact, millions of people did the same. Not only did I have a very large extended family, but many of our friends were drawn from Mom and Dad’s involvement in the Church. I have long since come to appreciate just how special a thing it was, but I am also saying it is not uncommon among Christians. I know several families today who observe the Feast of St. Nicholas in this way.

 

Ah yes, presents were involved. On December 6^th we would come down the stairs to find our stockings stuffed with presents, a prelude to the joyful day which was approaching. Usually, these presents were rather practical, things we needed for school. But there would also be a more frivolous treat or two – candy of any sort, a rare thing indeed in our household, or a clever toy that probably wouldn’t last very long but would nevertheless provide a few hours of pleasure.

 

Well, having described St. Nicholas Day to my best ability I will begin to end this writing with a very short story about my childhood friend, D. who was the youngest in a non-religious family who lived across the street. They were the first such people I had met. D. had sisters for siblings, and they were nearly women when he was still but 10. He and I were inseparable for several years, (which in those days seemed like a very long time), but he always came to our house. I don’t remember ever seeing the inside of his. One day D. told me that he was a ‘mistake.’ Being the youngest, very likely what is referred to as a ‘love child,’ it would later occur to me that his older sisters must have taunted him with that tidbit of misinformation, for indeed God expects all pregnancies. There is not a single one which He doesn’t personally cause to happen, so obviously none would be a mistake.

 

But I was adopted, as many of you know. So were my brother and my sister. All three of us were adopted. What this meant, and what it didn’t mean, were questions I was still too young to ask when D. told me he was a ‘mistake.’ But then I told my mother what he had told me. Oh, she was tearfully hugging and kissing me as like to cut off my air supply when I told her that. She said, “Well you don’t ever worry about that. You were chosen.”

 

While you ruminate on the possibility that I might later have given them good cause to regret that choice, I’ll finish with the second part of the story of my friend, D. He would often join us early in the day, even as early as breakfast time. And it was in the summer, far from Christmas, while he was sharing French Toast with us, that he suddenly exclaimed: “I love coming to your house. It’s like Christmas every day!” 

       

 

Better late than never? Well, Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat. Fibber and Molly are here doing that thing we do.

I think of gift giving and gift receiving this morning. When I receive a gift I say thank you. I don't really care much what it is. I have never returned anything, nor do I attach much significance to the gift exchange tradition that has attached itself to the Holiday. It is one of many traditions - and a good one, though we have had a tendency to go rather overboard.

I think that I will write a series of posts from now until Epiphany on my own family Christmas, how we celebrated, and what our traditions were. That should be a lark. I think you'll find it very entertaining. Christmas was a big deal in our house.

In the meantine, hang your ears on this old program so that when I do write my Christmas stories you may imagine Mom and Dad were more than a little like Molly and McGee in some ways - particularly their banter. Yes, my mother and father had very good writers.

Perhaps I will get the opportunity to begin tomorrow.