The Nice and Naughty Side of Saint Nichola

When I don’t go to the hugging church, I go to the thinking church.  (See Never Make an Impression at Church). The names of both start with “Unit” and this makes me feel complete, but I need both to feel balanced.  It had been sometime, and so it was time.

There, I discovered that today is the first day of Advent, and thus the beginning of Christmas season.  You might have been under the impression that this grand holiday—that never seems to get here soon enough and that many people use as an excuse to not get things done until their girlfriends say, “What? Are you waiting for Christmas?—started with Halloween or on Thanksgiving, but no. It begins today. 

The minister’s assistants dismissed the children and then they read letters to Santa.  These reminded me of colorful and whimsical things in his workshop or on his miracle sleigh.  While they read, I borrowed ideas for my letter:

Dear Santa,
I don’t need coal. It’s warm here, and I have a fireplace that starts when I push a button.

I hope that you are without flu this year.  Please tell Mrs. Claus to stock up on Oscillococcinum.  I’m pretty sure reindeers will like the sweet crunch if Dasher or Dancer aren’t up for the trip. It’s best to overlook the ingredients: hepatitis.  This must be a typo, or it is the only thing that truly tackles the flu.  When you’re in Europe, ask those crazy French chemists where they found enough hepatitis to put in this miracle cure. 

If my house sells before Christmas, I hope you find me and bring lots of things I don’t need.  I can’t think of anything—but, it would be great if you could drop off the tallest female elf that has some miracle making skills.  I could use her talents in many areas, and I will make sure she returns before Halloween when production ramps…

The assistants took their seats and the minister opens with a short history of Santa—a.k.a. Saint Nicholas.  I forget that he has roots in the church.  (When some people invoke his name, it comes with a tell-tale clause that crushes childlike delight.  But, his lasting spirit contributes much to the season’s happiness.  Shame on the grown-up curmudgeons. I like to think that Jesus isn’t jealous of other do-gooders.)  Because I’m resting my back against the thinking church pew, I bet that I’m about to hear a sermon with new insights.  Indeed, the minister delivers.

“St. Nicholas raised 3 people from the dead; he put coins in the shoes of little children; and, he increased a wheat supply to feed many,” the minister says with a grinch-who-brought-back-Christmas grin. 

St. Nick was a savior of sorts for many.  My hat goes off to the reindeer.  It seems they were most effective, touching down in most places before anyone even invented the idea of a 747.  The Turks saved his name, and the Dutch offered up one that stuck for almost everyone, Sinterklaas—The Good Saint.  In this thinking church, I’m enjoying the Santa≠Satan sermon.

The minister explains the psychology of Santa, as deciphered from letters by not-yet teens.  In them, there is much to know about tiny humans.  The author of The Psychology of Santa discovered that children who are polite—who write things like “I hope you are feeling well” and “how are the reindeer”—ask for fewer things.  Many openly request miracles like “I hope you will bring my best friend back” and “I wish that my parents wouldn’t fight.”  (Was that a “Yikes!” I heard?  My parents didn’t fight on Christmas, so this isn’t about me. The miracle is that Santa could make anyone not fight.  But then again, Santa would have a pretty good shot with that belly-full-of-jolly laugh).  Most important, it seems that—when the rubber hits the road and in the heat of thinking of stuff they deeply desire—children don’t very often ask for toys. 

The more I wonder about Santa, the more I wander into the obvious. What would Santa be like if a lesbian?  (I’m sure you are already thinking it or have thought it before.)   If our community had a benevolent being who could fly to the ends of the earth in one night, had a colony of elves, and gave presents to represent her unconditional love, what would she be like?  If anyone could talk to the magical and powerful reindeer, it would be a lesbian.  We’ve got that connection with mammals.  Right?

I’m gonna bet that lesbian Santa doesn’t look like Glenda the good witch, Ariel the mermaid, or even Cat Woman.  This Santa knows that she needs sensible shoes (and feet) to get the job done.  Her cosmology or cosmetology ensures that she’d have a pocket knife handy for the kind of emergencies that happen when you’re on your own, far from home, and needing to make miracles happen.  I’m not so sure about the white fluff on the skirt of the red coat.  But, if necessity deemed it so, I’d like to think that lesbian Santa would be practical.  And on the inside, she’d have a good heart, persevering amidst and despite social prejudices.  She’d show the strength to stay the course.  Unconditional love is unconditional love.  You get it, deserving or not.  Every miracle worker follows that golden rule.