Santa Claus

Twenty-First Day of Advent

Luke 18:16-17 "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."

Some Christians resent all the hubbub of Christmas. For them, it seems, Jesus is fragile, a baby perhaps, so they fear he’ll be lost and neglected in all of the trappings, or stepped on in all the commotion. But, for me, he is Lord of the feast revolving around him. Lights, trees and gifts, carols and turkey, plum pudding, candy canes, eggnog and all of the rest are the planets and comets, asteroids and moons, orbiting Jesus, the sun. And in my Yuletidal system, Santa Claus is a Saturn or Jupiter; a veritable gas giant.

Of course, I have been duly warned that if you rearrange the letters of “Santa” you can make “Satan”, but I’ve always thought this was a better argument for going beyond spellcheck than for going against Santa Claus. And anyway, the word “Santa” simply means “saint”. How embarrassing.

As most of us know, Santa Claus derives from Saint Nicolas. He was an historical character of the early church, and so is one of the few truly Christian elements of the extra-biblical Christmas traditions. He was born in the third century in Turkey – Just a coincidence, I’m not making this up. – He was the son of wealthy, devoutly Christian parents, who died while he was a boy. He became the Bishop of Myra while still a young man and, in obedience to Christ’s command to “sell all you own and give the money to the poor”, he spent his life distributing his fortune to the needy. He suffered exile and imprisonment under the Roman Emperor, Diocletian, and, though he was not literally martyred, he became symbolic of those who pour out their lives completely for Christ. The white beard of Santa is drawn from icons depicting Saint Nicholas. His pointy hat, though flopped over now, evolved from his bishops miter, and red is the liturgical colour of the martyr. I don’t know where the reindeer came from.

Some feel the Santa tradition’s a lie and, if truth were just another word for fact, it would be hard to argue very convincingly against them. Even I must admit that the red-suited man who descends chimney flues every year is not factual. But I think truth is much more than fact. And I think there’s far more going on in the universe than biology, chemistry, physics; far more than facts. Santa is poetry, and poetry is how we strain after truths, and teach our children to strain after truths, that are deeper than facts.

We do not live by bread alone. And no one can speak a great truth, let alone live a great life, if confined to mere facts. The psalmist declares, “The rivers clap their hands, and the mountains sing together for joy”; (Psalms 98:8). A mother claims that she loves her children “with all her heart”. A singer sings for lovers everywhere, “You are the sunshine of my life”. We know, of course, that these statements are un-factual, but heaven help us all if, for that reason, they are untrue.

Facts are important of course. Bridges and airplanes stay up,

and fall down, based upon facts. Profits and losses, eclipses and comets, snowstorms and hurricanes, can be understood, and even predicted, simply by knowing the facts. But meaningful human life is much more than this. People pour out their lives, give away fortunes, risk being bishops and prisoners, exiles and martyrs, heroes and saints, for truths that are deeper than facts.

And that is what Santa Claus, i.e., the Spirit of Christmas, is really about.