I love the bombardment of this season’s cheery props—Advent wreaths, Christmas trees, and chimney stockings, and of course there’s that guy who, after all this time, kids still wonder, is he real?
You know, Jesus.
I remember as a child, staring at the Nativity scene. The baby looked so snuggled in, usually on a bed of hay, and all I could muster was, “That’s gotta itch.”
Adults would gush about the little guy, “Isn’t he marvelous? Don’t we love him?”
I’m not that into babies. I remember playing the part of Mary in the Christmas pageant and Brian Strouth was Joseph. I gritted my teeth through the whole narration thinking, try to hold my hand, Strouth, and I’m clobbering you with this baby doll.
After the school program, we watched an animated video about the 1897 New York Sun editorial, “Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus.” I found the letter fascinating. The editorial writer, Francis Pharcellus Church, said that those who didn’t believe in Santa had been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age.
1897? You ain’t seen nothing yet, Francis.
I’d heard all my life about the controversy surrounding Christmas. A contaminated season thanks to too much commercialism! That never bothered me, mostly because I’m very worldly. I love stuff.
The problem with worldly, however, is it brings with it worry. I worry. I fret. I stress. I tend to be afraid a lot of the time.
I was attempting to bring my troubles to God, but I was bitter about what I believed to be negligence on his part when I saw horses getting hurt during the making of the movie The Ten Commandments where Charlton Heston parts the Red Sea. I really couldn’t add “baby being born” to my list of things to spiritually tackle.
But I stumbled upon that baby when flipping backward through the Bible. Back before Jonah, before Moses, before Noah.
I landed on Adam. And Eve. And God scolding them both. And scolding a serpent that relentlessly tempted them.
Relentless. I could relate.
God told the serpent that the woman’s offspring would crush the serpent’s head.
The woman’s offspring? Jesus. Did he mean Jesus?
A defender who would crush on my behalf. Blessed relief.
Now! Let’s hear those sleigh bells jingling!
It’s a gift that keeps on giving. Every Christmas, I get choked up thinking about how it all began. Peace on Earth. Crushing defender. Same thing, right?
Perhaps not exactly. But if given the question, I’d tell it to Virginia, much like Francis Pharcellus Church’s words, “Thank God! He lives, and he lives forever.”
Yes, Virginia. He is real after all.
