The magic of Christmas

I've had a few dust-ups this year with folks who object to my family's decision not to "do Santa." Don't get me wrong; we don't see a problem with pretending about Santa and talking about the Santa story (as long as the story of the original St. Nick is included!) But we tell our children the truth, and when they ask questions, we answer them. To put it bluntly, how can we ask them to believe in God if we've lied to them about believing in Santa?

One of the major objections to not encouraging children to believe in an actual Santa Claus with supernatural gift-delivering powers is that (to paraphrase) "children ought to be able to enjoy the magic of Christmas." I'm told it's part of a normal, imaginative childhood - this magic of looking anxiously up the chimney, trying hard to sleep on Christmas Eve so Santa will come, wondering if reindeer really do know how to fly, writing letters to Santa, leaving out the milk and cookies that inevitably disappear during the night, and so on.

This year it occurred to me, though - what could be more magical (in the sense of awesome, unexpected, inspiring, and supernatural) than the birth of Jesus, Son of God, as a baby? Doesn't the Christmas story itself have all the magic a child craves? Angels singing to shepherds. A sudden supernova of a star marking the place of Christ's birth. A desperate journey by donkey to a town where there's no room in any inn, and then a successful delivery and the placement of the child in a feeding trough, as He is warmed and looked after by farm animals. Joseph's dream, which tells him to behave in a way no normal Jewish man of the time would have behaved. An escape from an evil king. The foreign sages following a star across the desert on their camels, bearing expensive gifts. God - in the body of a newborn baby.

Trump THAT, flying reindeer.

- KPE