Why We Don’t ‘Do Santa’ (and Other Ways to Pick a Fight This Christmas)

You know that emoji face with all the teeth showing, yet the eyes are dead and unsmiling, conveying a deep sense that things are about to get weird? That’s the face I’m making for the entirety of this post, and it is important to me that you know that, right off the bat. I don’t offer this post to change anyone’s mind, to alter precious traditions, or to ruin your holidays. I offer it simply as an alternative to those who are looking for a humbler, quieter path to Christmas.

Our story opens on Christmas day 2008.  Buckled tightly in the backseat of my car are my two young sons aged three and one. We are driving on Christmas Day because our family includes a dad who often must work holidays at his fire station. Idling at a stoplight, my curly haired son piped up from his car seat behind me, “mom, is that true?” My day-dreaming and list-making evaporated, and I snapped back to myself, hearing for the first time what he was hearing.

“Santa Claus is Coming to Town” was blaring through the speakers (the younger one did better on car trips with loud music), and the chorus had just ended. “Is that true?” He repeated, eyes locked with mine in the rearview mirror. “Can Santa see me?” This oldest child of mine, now 14, is still the most inquisitive and articulate member of the family.

I hadn’t considered Santa much until that moment. But now, sitting in my car, about to merge onto the freeway, my warm and fuzzy feelings were eclipsed by the question my son was asking me. He wasn’t asking about presents or the crumbs of cookies left behind. He was asking if Santa watchedhim, something I had never really thought of before. And if I told him Santa watched him, my brain wheels turned, Santa could and did watch other children as well. And if Santa was as benevolent as we claimed he was, then Santa wouldn’t just watch some special and elitist children, he watched all the world’s children. And if this eternal Christmas figure was watching all the world’s children and was able to do this all the time and at the same time, then this figure would have to be not only omniscient but omnipresent: two very theologically-sounding words that mean knowing everything and being everywhere. And my sweet, curly-haired inquisitive child was asking me in this moment, even though he did not know it, if I believed there were any omniscient and omnipresent beings other than God himself.

To add to my dilemma, in recent years we have provided a safety net for Santa in the event that his omniscience is running a tad low (which is its own theological wormhole, that you’re welcome, I’ll avoid for now). These Elves who sit on Shelves are waiting at your local Wal-Mart for the low, low price of $29.95. The elf is said to be on assignment from Santa to evaluate the behavior of the children in one’s home. This behavior is categorized ‘good’ or ‘bad’ and nightly reported to Santa who will then decide if a child is ‘good enough’ to receive presents Christmas morning. Santa, this benevolent grandpa in the sky, waits to bless you with good things if you behave well or watches to withhold from you if you behave or perform badly. It’s no wonder so many of us have a hard time conceptualizing our inherent, unearned belovedness in God.

Now. I know my audience is filled with parents who teach their children to believe in Santa while not renouncing their faith in God. They do not actively try to get their kids to view a being other than God as omnipresent, or omniscient. Nor, would I guess, that many of my readers agree with a crochet I once saw in a Christian bookstore that said, “You cannot spell Santa without S-A-T-A-N.” (This example might, however, offer helpful insight as to why Christian bookstores have all but closed down now) (insert emoji teeth face).

I think most of us just want a hybrid, where we can have a little of both. Because if we don’t teach Santa, what will Christmas be…about? We can’t very well leave a plate of cookies for baby Jesus to eat, what with His lack of teeth. Will Christmas have the fun, surprise and excitement that filled my childhood memories? Where will the magic come from?

My fear of expelling Santa from our Christmas traditions revealed that I did not find Christmas all that magical without him there. It revealed that I did not find the notion that the God of the universe who took on human skin, human sin, human shame for the love and redemption of the whole world is magical enough as is. It revealed the many ways in which I felt I needed to dress Jesus up to make Him more relevant, more appealing, and more attractive than I found Him to be. And the crux of it: I was not all that captivated by Jesus.

Skip ahead to yesterday, the first Sunday of advent, a rhythm of the church calendar our family has embraced for the last 11 years- advent meaning, ‘the arrival of a notable person, thing or event’. Every year we wait again for the arrival of this baby, who became one of us, not so we could get our acts together and behave right for once, but precisely the opposite. His life and death were not a reward for our good behavior, but in response to our terrible, death-giving behavior; because if given a million chances, we could never be good enough on our own to get to Him. We wait for a baby who became a man and did for us what we could have never done for ourselves. One who did not come to earth to give good things to good people, but came to give life to dead people.

And as with most Kingdom things, this starts with seeking before finding. I sought advent desperately this year. I have four friends right this second who are suffering with cancer, two of which have been important female mentors to me. I attended a funeral the day before advent started, of a friend who died shockingly and suddenly. When I heard the news, I grasped my phone in my hand and turned to Drew with tear-filled eyes. “I just texted her last night” I heard myself say, as if that fact could erase this impossible news. “We were just…talking.”

This was the response of everyone at the funeral, not the least of which was her sweet husband and two kids the same ages as my youngest. She was just here, we kept telling each other. And we had nothing left to say, mouths gaping open at the horror of it. Our hands too, splayed wide in incomprehension. Our hands and mouths and minds lacking understanding and empty, yet open to receive any hope God would give.

In the face of such suffering, I cannot offer my friends or my children plastic trinkets anymore; magic that fades once we are old enough to know better. They need, I need, something solid and true. When my focus is on the humble beauty of an infant over the glitter, hustle, clamoring and noise of consumerism- this is my way of leading us to level ground. In advent, I pat the soil beside me and say, “see this? Its sturdy. Even if everything else falls apart, this never will.”

Still, we extend our hands and bafflingly, God does not intervene. He does not make wars cease. Our friends still suffer with cancer. He does not raise from the dead people we cannot live without. He offers one singular thing: Emmanuel, God with us. And even though it does not seem like nearly enough, magically, it is.

I’ll close with a note of caution: the first year we prioritized Jesus, we read our kids a book about the historical Saint Nicholas, the kind and good man who served Jesus by caring for children, but like every human, eventually died. According to a note that was sent home with my preschooler, my son entered his classroom and promptly announced to his friends, “Guys. I have news. Santa’s dead.”

Don’t be like me. Whatever you decide about Santa, teach your children to keep it to themselves. Treat it like the sex talk. Let’s all agree to handle it our own way. But whatever you teach them about Jesus, don’t keep to yourselves. Make sure those stories go far and wide. May we wait with greater intensity for Emmanuel, God with us, a God who came for us, just like He said He would. The whole weary world rejoices.