I wouldn’t have recognized him when he came in if he hadn’t been smoking the Meerschaum pipe that he told me he would be. Of course, he likes to travel incognito. I sat down in the booth across from him and took out my reporter’s notebook and pen. He had a Carhart jacket on a if he were just another farmer, and Dickie’s jeans, but wide red suspenders, like you might expect from him, and a buffalo plaid flannel shirt.
He asked me if I’d like a cup of coffee and he flagged down the waitress to order some for me. He welcomed me with a disarming grin as I sat down.
“How are you kiddo?” he asked.
“I’m good , Nick, just getting over my annual cold. How about you? Besides busy, I mean.?”
“Well, I’ll be honest with you, I’ve been better” he sighed.
“I’m so sorry, what’s wrong?” A nervous feeling pulled at my stomach. This was like seeing your father cry for the first time. He isn’t supposed to ever have anything wrong with him.
“It’s nothing, I probably shouldn’t have even mentioned it. Every so many years or so I sort of go through a bit of a funk. Nothing major. My version of Seasonal Affective Disorder, I suppose” he revealed.
“A funk. What kind of funk could you possibly have, I thought that you’re supposed to always be, well, jolly.”
“Well, see that’s part of it. People don’t allow me to be human. I have limitations, I have feelings, I even have off-days. I know I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself. I usually manage to keep my focus on others. That’s something that everyone should do. It’s the surest way to experience joy. I guess I’m having another one of my identity crisis’s.”
“Identity crisis?”
“Well sure. You’d have one too, if you were me. I was a philanthropist, a missionary, a Church leader. There were all kinds of expectations put on me. I always tried to point people to the Lord and to Scripture. The last thing I’d ever want to do is to eclipse my Lord. But when He performs a few miracles through you, people start seeing you as some kind of super hero.”
“Miracles, I knew about leaving gold in the stockings of the poor girls without dowries, but I didn’t know about any miracles, give me an example” I asked.
“Well,” he scratched his head, “A scary thing happened on my way to the Council of Nicea. (as in Nicean Creed) I stopped at an Inn along the way. There was a terrible famine. I was surprised that the innkeeper seemed to have plenty of food. I was appalled to discover that he was butchering children and intended to serve them to his unsuspecting guests. I prayed and God restored and revived three boys that had been packed in a salt barrel. The innkeeper was so shocked by the miracle that he repented and converted to Christianity.”
“Holy guacamole!” I said. “No wonder you became so famous.”
“After my death, my fame continued to spread throughout Europe and Asia.” He continued. “Fame is a cruel mistress. Anyone would have an identity crisis if they had so many people with their own ideas of who they think you are. I was declared the protector of children, virgins, merchants, and sailors and even the patron saint of Russia.”
I piped in- “Arlo Guthrie once pointed out that you wore a red suit, so you must be a communist. And a beard and long hair, so you must be a pacifist. He said “What’s in that pipe that he’s smoking?”
“If you must know, it’s Turkish blend of long leaf tobacco. I certainly don’t condone and even discourage smoking. It’s a filthy habit, but you try quitting a habit you’ve had for more than 1,700 years! And of course I am a pacifist, I am not now, nor have I ever been a member of the Communist party- but I told you last year that I don’t want to talk about politics. “
“As I was saying…An interesting thing about part of Russia- Siberian Christians lived in homes under the snow. They had a fire in the center and an opening at the top for the smoke. Essentially, their door was climbing a ladder through that smoke hole. I think that’s where people got the idea that I come down the chimney. They depended on reindeer for food, clothing and transportation. As Russians shared their stories about me with the Scandinavians, the reindeer and the chimney things stuck.”
“Things changed a lot with the Reformation. Some zealots not only wanted to stop celebrating St. Nicholas Day but Christmas too! Martin Luther enjoyed Christmas and saw no harm in using my example and my reputation to teach kids moral values. But it was important to other Protestants to rid Christianity of what they call 'the cult of the saints.' I appreciate that people should pray directly to the Lord, and I agree that even the greatest leaders and martyrs of the Church should be venerated, not worshiped- there’s a difference. But I can’t help feeling that we’ve lost a lot of great stories and teaching tools by wiping away so much history like that. I also wonder if that didn’t just backfire, you know.”
“What do you mean?” I interrupted.
“Well, after that, my image became much more secular, even mingled with all kinds of superstitions and pagan myths. All of a sudden I’m an elf, a pixie, “Father Christmas,” Old Man Winter, or even the gods Oden or Thor!”
“Some cultures tried to make Christ Child, not Nicholas, the gift giver. That never really took off. I understand that there’s that same old debate going on in the U.S. this year. Put the “Christ back in Christmas.” Let me tell you, I know the Lord, He’s a close friend of mine. I don’t think He’s always pleased that we celebrate His birthday by going into debt.”
“One of my nicknames, “Kriss Kringle” is kind of an Americanization of the German “Christ Kindle” which means "Christ Child." Like everything else in America, my image has pretty well been homogenized and pasteurized from everybody else’s ideas. “Santa Claus,” a corruption of the Dutch “Sinterklaas,” a shortened form of “Sint Nikolaas. You see my problem? Sometimes even I don’t know what my real name is!”
“You know what,” I interjected, as if little ‘ol me could help him somehow, “Is there anything I can do? I mean, can I tell my readers to do anything for you? What do YOU want for Christmas this year?”
“You know what, just being able to talk about this and get it all off my chest may be enough. I really don’t want anything for myself. But I’ll tell you what you can do. You can tell your readers that they can go to http://www.booksforsoldiers.com on the internet to find out how they can send books to soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
“They can also buy lots of prepaid phone cards and send them to the injured and recovering service men and women at the V.A. hospital in Washington, that way they can call their families for Christmas. Here’s the address-“
He pulled out an index card with this address:
Medical Family Assistance Center
Walter Reed Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20307-5001
“A lot of them have lost limbs. They’re not sure who they are anymore either. Are they soldiers? Are they husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters? Helping them get in touch with their folks during the holidays will help them reconnect and remember who they are. That will give lots of people a very Merry Christmas. That, and to keep them and all your service men and women in your prayers.”
I promised him I’d do at least that. But I think my daughters had a good ideas too. Their Great Grandma Laura brought us out a big batch of Christmas cookies and both girls have told me that I have to save some of them for him. So I will.
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