Keep Christ in Christmas (And Santa Out of the Manger)

Among the seeming hundreds of catalogs I receive at this time of year is a religious catalog of cards, stationery, gifts, books and, appropriately for the season, Christmas tree ornaments. One group of items caught my attention: the “Kneeling Santa” collection. 

Each offering in this collection features Santa kneeling at the manger. In some versions he is holding Baby Jesus as Mary and Joseph look on; in others, he is kneeling alone at the manger. In yet another, he holds the baby, he has doffed his Santa hat and dropped it into the manger, and the manger is sitting under a lovely Christmas tree with a star on top. A lamb appears to be resting on Santa’s foot. 

I looked over the “Kneeling Santa” collection. I read the description: “the Kneeling Santa image beautifully blends the religious and secular aspects of Christmas.” While I applaud the attempt to remind families, and especially children, of the true meaning of Christmas, I have a deep concern about placing Santa in the manger. 

I fear this risks terrible confusion for children. It creates one of two equally muddled impressions. Either 1) Santa was there at the birth of Christ (but oddly never mentioned in scripture); or 2) the story of Christ’s birth is a fun make-believe story just like Santa. In other words, it either raises Santa to Christ’s level, or lowers Christ to Santa’s. 

I know I sound like a humbug, and I truly understand the intended message. But I’m not sure a child would be capable of successfully making the connection. I’m not even sure making a connection is a good idea. 

Why do we Christians insist on appropriating the secular Christmas? Personally, I love the jolly old elf, the penguins and polar bears, the candy canes and cookies, Christmas trees and poinsettias — none of which have anything to do with the Messiah sleeping in an animals’ feeding trough. I also deeply treasure the season of Advent, the glorious Magnificat, the image of the shepherds on the hillside receiving the angels’ announcement, the stable where an exhausted young mother and her husband watch over a miraculous, holy baby boy. 

While we Christians struggle to conflate the two holidays — the sacred and the secular —the secular world struggles to separate them! Companies put up tall evergreen trees in their lobbies, decorated with tinsel and shiny ornaments, and call them “holiday trees.” I admit, that hits me as goofy — I think most of us know it’s not a Kwanzaa or Hanukkah or Winter Solstice tree. Still, it’s an understandable effort to make the secular holiday, with all its festivity and fun, more inclusive. 

I’m sure Santa, especially with his saintly lineage, would consider the birth of Jesus holy and wondrous. In fact, his heritage is built on the Christlike virtues of generosity and charity. I imagine Santa would say his prayers at bedtime, even on Christmas Eve. I checked around on Amazon and found a children’s book called Santa’s Prayer. It offers a reasonable (and child-friendly) idea: Santa prays that the children he delivers gifts to will know Jesus is the greatest gift of all. Another book is titled Santa, Why Do You Come on Jesus’ Birthday? What a great opening for a conversation that allows both Christmases to have their own meaning and importance for a child. 

Let Santa pray. Let Santa worship. Just leave him out of the sacred stable, which did not have a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer parked on its roof. 

I wish everyone a Christmas that is both sacred and merry!

 The Five Stages of the Scratch

I love my cat, Coco, she loves me. She’s asleep on my bed, curled into a big, furry donut. I lean over and push my face into the middle of all that warm-and-soft. I love you, Coco! Out of all that warm-and-soft emerges a single paw, claws engaged. With lightning speed, it swipes across my right eye socket.

She’s blinded me! She’s slashed my eyeball open! She’s ripped my eyelid off! I’ll be drenched in spurting blood ... 

I look in the mirror and I see ... not a mark. Nothing. Eyeball ungashed. Vision Intact. And then ...

Coco! You tried to scratch me — ON MY FACE!!!

This is where every cat owner begins the Five Stages of the Scratch. 

STAGE ONE: Disbelief

This stage is characterized by yelling, gesticulation and unpleasant epithets. How could you? I feed you — twice a day! You rotten little bag of putrid rain-soaked gutter leaves! Your cat has NEVER scratched you before. She has ALWAYS welcomed your affectionate advances. (Notice how this stage is amplified by your delusional thinking.) This is an outrage!

STAGE TWO: Outrage

Threats, disavowal and animal-like growls and grunts are common manifestations. I’m taking you back to the shelter tomorrow! Next time I’ll swat you back! I’ll get a better cat — a sweeter one, and cuter! “Cuter“ is a trigger word into the next stage.

STAGE THREE: Grudging reality

There is, of course, no cuter cat than yours. This disturbing realization derails your train of outrage. Your cat realizes the shift in your attitude. She moves out of her hiding place — now you see her face clearly. Her eyes plead. Her chin quivers slightly. The onset of the next stage knocks the wind out of you.

STAGE FOUR: Guilt

She didn’t mean to claw you in the face. You DID interrupt her snooze. She IS a cat, after all. Doesn’t she deserve, hasn’t she earned, your patient understanding? Be an adult, for heaven’s sake, give her the benefit of the doubt. Wait, what doubt? She’s an innocent cat, she trusts you, and you YELLED at her. She has moved closer to you. She turns her back, sits tall and stiff, and wraps her tail securely around her paws. 

STAGE FIVE: Reconciliation and penance

There may be tears. There may be groveling. There will be apologies and, often, icky baby talk. You’ll be sorry you said mean things. Sorry you got mad at all. Sorry you accused her. Sorry you thought her capable of evil motives.

Your cat may appear slow to forgive, but this hesitancy is actually a strategic pause. She’s giving you time to figure out how many cat treats it will take to get back in her good graces. Your first attempt will always be inadequate. Do it, but follow with more acts of penance — more treats, petting, cuddling, laser play, raw steak, fresh catnip — until she comes around. 

Because she is a cat, it may be hard to tell exactly when she has come around. Wait, observe, make overtures — but above all, don’t pressure her. You will be eager to reconcile; she will not.

While you wait, check her litter box to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Prepare her favorite grooming tool for a relaxing session. Put out extra food or treats, or both. Fluff her cat bed.

Remember, the more you learn, the better cat owner you can be. Accept this fact: In your cat’s view, you can always be better.

 

Postcards from Lonnie — Life on the street corner

My brother, Lonnie, had a unique perspective on life, shaped by his life on the street, the people he met, the kindness (and unkindness) he encountered, and a Norman Rockwell childhood in the 1950s and 60s. Here are 10 thoughts from Lonnie Johnson, found in my book, Postcards from Lonnie: How I Rediscovered My Brother on the Street Corner He Called Home. 

1. I disappear frequently. When I come back, the people or situations have taken care of themselves and I get treated with a lot more respect and affection.

2. I cry with happiness, I cry with sorrow. I love the sunset, but there’s still tomorrow.

3. With whoever remains, I will be a grump that people have fun with, I pray.

4. When you are young, it seems like the whole world belongs to you.

5. If you want someone to love you, you have to give the love first.

6. You ever watch two dogs in a puddle? They’re having fun, they play, get wet, and then shake it off on their masters!

7. The most important thing I carry that no one can take from me is my memory.

8. My most happy times are with my 50 or so pigeons who eat out of my hand and light on me without leaving droppings. They have peaceful and reassuring voices. Far out!

9. I never have bad dreams. They are always both beautiful and informative.

10. I own nothing but what I wear. Excuse me. I have and own faith.

Thoughts about demonstrators and authenticity

Even my most right-leaning friends agree that what happened to George Floyd was a horror, immoral, inexplicable and inexcusable. I managed to see only a few seconds of the almost nine-minute recording of a live, real-time murder. Those few seconds were plenty.

When I see the demonstrators on the news, I really wish I could join them. I'm sorry I'm too chicken. And I feel frustrated wondering what I can do.

The truth is, they remind me of me. When I was in high school, college and even graduate school, I was idealistic and hopeful. I believed that I had the right to demonstrate, to shout and carry signs and sit on steps of government buildings. (I believed I had the right not to wear a bra, too, but I never exercised that particular right. Some rights are better unexercised.) Most of all, I believed that all those actions — by me and the thousands of other participants in various demonstrations for various causes — might actually have an impact, might result in change.

The demonstrators of the past couple of weeks get what America, the Constitution and rights are all about. They believe they have the right, they believe they might make a difference. They're hopeful. They're idealistic. Ignorant? Probably not. Naive? Maybe. Authentic? Mostly.

Then there are the bottom-feeders — the looters, the opportunists, the imported (and probably paid)  thugs for whom a demonstration is as good an opening for their kind of chaos as a hurricane, a forest fire, or a flood. They are the worst kind of cynics: they don't believe in anything but gain — their own, personal, immediate gain. But worse, they are fine with distracting from the genuine heart of the demonstrations. They are fine with enabling other, more subtle cynics to label the demonstrators "barbarians," "destroyers of democracy," and other melodramatic epithets. 

Please, can we separate the one from the other? Agree or disagree with the demonstrators' cause, —their message, their methods, their demands, their slogans — but there is no way to disagree with their right to demonstrate. Whichever wing you prefer to lean toward, please talk yourself out of lumping together the authentic with the phony, the idealistic with the cynical, the civic-minded (and civilly disobedient) with the truly self-serving and narcissistic.

The right to be a bottom-feeder is not a Constitutional guarantee. The right to breathe is, and it's worth demonstrating for.