The True Meaning of Christmas

(A pic from the install manual for some floor panels.)

Dear diary,

I’m up early, writing to you, because of that damn owl. We got an owl that sits just outside our bedroom window and serenades me. He tu-whits as follows: short-short-LONG, LONG, LONG. What an idiot; he’ll never win my heart this way. Didn’t Beethoven’s 5th teach you anything, you stupid fool? You really should be hooting short-short-short LONG, in other words dot-dot-dot DASH. It’s “Vee for Victory”, fucking moron.

I’m starting out vulgar not only because it’s the cool thing to do but because I am determined to compose an essay about this day we call Christmas. I’m fascinated by the idea of writing a non-helpful, non-informative composition filled with normal observations by a below-average mind. I’ve had enough of brilliant essays that illuminate subjects in ways no soul dreamt possible; I think there’s a place for regular Joes like myself to pen what we think we know. And since it’s Christmastime, it feels like the proper moment to tackle this task. So let this entry stand as my OFFICIAL take on the holiday. And let us title it “Essay on Christmas in the U.S.A., 2018.”

Before I begin, however, let me clear up a popular misconception:

The problem with us United Statesians is not that we are all fat. It’s that we don’t wear enough yuge undulating robes. For the styles here are to wear tight clothes that show off your curves, like spandex and yoga pants, which is what I myself wear daily to work at the office. If only we changed the style to yuge undulating robes, this would cover up our excess flesh-billows. Then, onlookers from faraway countries would think we’re thin and trim. So this solves the problem.

OK, now on to Christmas. Just yesterday, when we were driving in our auto-coach down the road, I noticed that one of the houses in our neighborhood had a variety of decorations in its yard, and the focal point of this scene was a very large sign that said “Keep the Christ in Christmas.” This is due to the fact that, over the years, evil people have been trying to sneak other names into that word. Like I myself, because my name is Bryan Ray, tried to rename this holiday Bryan·Ray·mas. I went to the market to purchase twelve satchels of ground beef and there was a man standing at the entryway ringing a bell and greeting every customer loudly, so I smiled and clicked my slippers and saluted, shouting “Ho ho ho, merry BRYAN·RAY·MAS!” And a nearby shopper who was entering the market at that very moment stopped cold and snapped: “Do not take my savior’s name in vein.”

That phrase “Ho ho ho” is what we believe Santa Claus says. It conveys his attitude, which is one of general jollity. The time of year is a happy one, because it centers upon good-will and ostentatious gift-giving. The idea is that you’re allowed to be rude to your fellow citizens all the other eleven months of the cat-calendar (our calendar features glossy photos of cats), but then this one month is special: for, on the 25th of December, the Lord Jesus was born in a manger, which is basically the bed of a calf or a pig in a barn. The reason this event causes us to rethink our natural bad attitude, and mend the cut of our jib and be nice to each other, is that Jesus was actually the son of God Almighty, who lit the Big Bang. God is the being who handcrafted humankind, and it pains him to see us hurt each other; so he fathered a child upon Mary and Joseph, but forgot to create a vacancy in any nearby hotel: that’s why they ended up in the barn. Long story short, Jesus correctly executed all Ten Commandments: he was a pure soul, and he never used impolite language nor lost his temper (except once, at the financiers in the temple; but our U.S. economy is pretty much based upon finance, so we honor the savior’s assumed propriety and simply overlook his socialist tendencies); so when the anniversary of his birth comes around, it reminds us that we should be imitating this good guy Jesus. He’s the reason for the season.

By the way, the letter “X” stands for “Christ” (in Greek dream-talk, “Xrist”), which is a deluxe word which means “messiah” which means “anointed one” since ancient consumers formerly anointed their overlords — it was a ceremony that meant “you are now our master” — thus we employ “X” as an abbreviation: Xian (Christian); Xmas (Christmas); and RR Xing (Railroad Christing). Therefore, the next time that someone gets angry at you for saying “Merry Ex-mas” or “Happy Holidays” instead of the more overt “Good birthday to Jesus the Savior whose Perfect Sacrifice Washed Away EVERYONE’s Sins except the sins of non-believers”, simply remind your heckler that the word “holiday” is sufficiently religious, for it acknowledges the holiness of this day: Happy holy-days! It’s not the same as exclaiming “Science Hates You”; now THAT would be mean.

Audiences often ask me about the tree that people display during this sacred festival. It’s a prickly tree, about six feet tall, carved in the shape of a cone. The evergreen symbolizes that Christ defeated death. Cuz all the other plants all suffer and die during winter: they go brown and wither and turn more sere than modern culture. But the evergreen remains healthy and alive: winter cannot touch it, death cannot taste it. It stays a deep rich green forever, hence its name. It is used to make Christmas wreaths, which are circular in form and often sport a red bow over their privy spot. This color red, just like in the U.S. flag, signifies the blood of Jesus Christ, which was shed to cancel out sin. Here, let me explain:

Sin is a debt. God is the creditor. When a human is born, God makes an entry in his accounting book; where black is good, red is bad. On the black side, he writes a picture that means “One human”; and in the red column he draws a human-sized shape that means “Sin”. Now how do you pay off your debt, the price of your existence, whose total comes to $1 Human-shaped Sin? You guessed it: Only your death can pay for your life. That’s why “death” and “debt” lisp identical. When you die, your sin is cancelled out: the red and the black columns of God’s entry book are wholly zeroed, and the world suffers peace. See all the trouble you caused? So anyway, we all want to stay alive — some of us even want to live PERPETUALLY, like the evergreen wreaths that decorate our front doors, or the glowing bulbs that we string from our house’s fascia. But to live even after you die, this is called “the afterlife”: and it requires a Full Sin Payment in advance, for it necessitates a further accounting entry; but none of us has enough life to offset the perpetual sin of an endless existence. None of us except Jesus. Here’s the trick:

Jesus was SO perfect (because he was the son of Jehovah) that his life not only did not require any dollar amount to be inscribed in the “Existential Debt” column, but the LORD God told him, when he was just a toddler, that IF he (the little baby Jesus) would agree to be aborted, he could use his excess tokens to buy whatever prize he wants. So Jesus tacitly agreed, and God sent him to carpentry school. There he learned to build crosses. Now a cross is basically a plus sign whose vertical leg dripped long from an addiction to gravity. So people use these as devices of capital punishment. They nail your appendages onto the wooden beams, just like a butterfly affixed by a pin to a bug collector’s billboard. But unlike a butterfly, Jesus on the cross does not transform back into a worm: no, his worm dieth not. He’s the apple of God’s eye. As it is written,

If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out: it is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire: where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched. (Mark 9:47-48)

So if you’re the owner of an unkillable worm, and you allow this worm to be slain, and you make the requisite entry in your accounting book, what’s your reward? That’s right: you get to rubber-stamp the Infinity Symbol in the credit column. So Jesus, after rising from the grave (that’s the first piece of merchandise he snatched with his jackpot: rebirth! – in other words, he bought a brand-new body), went right to the Heavenly Father and said, “I wanna cash in my winnings.” And the Father said, “How would you like that, in silver coins that have Caesar’s face on the front?” And Jesus said, “Actually, why don’t you just credit everyone who dies in the future — tell them their tab has been canceled, zeroed out: vamoosed! — they owe nothing henceforward, not even one death; in fact, all drinks are on the house: give every soul eternal life.” And the Heavenly Father sighed & said, “Anything else?” And Jesus said, “Yeah, also make it so that anti-gravity doesn’t have to balance gravity exactly anymore, but it can be a little less strong than gravity if it wants to — this way, things’ll be more attracted to one another, and people will come together and hug more often, and planets will collide, because gravity is materialism’s approximation of what we spirits call The Love Virus.” And God the Father answered, “Alright, but that’ll cost you a little more than you have in your account.” And Jesus said, “What do you mean? I thot I was rich?” And the Father said, “Well you are, but not THAT rich. If you want, I can do the anti-gravity thing, but you’ll have to let a modicum of the world’s population go without eternal life.” And Jesus said, “OK, what are my options?” And God said, “I suggest adding a clause to your salvation contract stating that the deal is void unless the customer truly believes in you.” And Jesus said, “But how will this hold up in heavenly court? How are we going to prove that someone does or does not “believe in me”? Where am I going to get my evidence? It’s not like the human mind is a simple cluster of Xmas lights, and the bulb corresponding to “belief” shines red if its soul has accepted my free gift of salvation, yet flashes blue if the soul prefers to follow the uncouth Swain from the final stanza of Milton’s Lycidas. For I suspect that, after that Swain rises and twitches his mantle, he treks off into futurity where he experiences the delights of those art movements Dada and Surrealism. I can’t compete with that. That stuff’s really cutting-edge, even here & now, in the foremost fang of spacetime’s snakehead.” And the Heavenly Father answered, “Leave all proof and judgment to the humans. We exist in their imaginations, not they in ours. Now get back down there and inspire folks to celebrate Christmas.”

So Jesus sicced upon earth the un-costume known as Holy Ghost, which is the same un-costume that he stripped from the Gadarene tomb-dweller in Chapter Five of Saint Mark’s Gospel. (“And he asked him, ‘What is thy name?’ And he answered, saying, ‘My name is Legion: for we are many’.”) It’s called an un-costume: for a costume is worn by its wearer, whereas this un-costume undertakes to wear YOU. You’re garb for it; and the world is its changing room.

Thus, any earthling who steps in the Holy Ghost’s way gets infested with the Christmas Spirit. That’s why you can’t hear Christmas carols without instantly suffering happiness. Your heart is THRUST into a state of joy. It’s just so darn merry. Now your most well-loved hymns are no longer “Washed in the Blood of the Lamb” or “In the Sweet By and By” or “Gimme that Old Time Religion It’s Good Enough For Me” but rather “Holly Jolly Christmas”, and “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”; also “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”, and “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, and “I Caught Mommy Kissing Santa Claus Who Turned Out to be Actually Daddy A.K.A. Wolf Man”, as well as such classics as “Here Comes Santa Claus,” and “Silent Night, Holy Night”, plus your personal favorite “Jingle Bells”.

People say that all Christmas music is annoying, but they’re wrong: it’s actually really, really beautiful. The problem is that we’re all so accustomed to feeling depressed that when the Christmas Spirit comes and forces itself upon us and renders us glad, we react with frustration: We’d rather be in a foul mood, so long as we ourselves have control of our emotions, than to feel uncontrollably chipper. No means no, Holy Ghost; do not compel me towards cheerfulness with your cheap Christmas jingles.

That’s another thing: People here in North America Sans Canada get pissed about Saint Augustine’s ecclesiastical holiday being commandeered by corporate advertising. The season should be about community, communal love, common decency, communism. It shouldn’t be about making a profit from toy sales. If market exchanges were the foundation of this holy day, then God would’ve centered it upon the notion of credits-and-debits: accounting. But he didn’t. Jesus was born on this day, a perfect lambkin led to the slaughterhouse arguably willingly, and he shed his blood for us ALL. Even us sexy ones. Now even we harlots get to do heaven. For the only unforgivable sin is to keep your mouth shut when divinity possesses you: that is, to deny your intuition — as Jesus himself explains:

Verily I say unto you, All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men, and blasphemies wherewith soever they shall blaspheme: BUT he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation. (Mark 3:28-29)

*

So now we’ve pretty much covered all the bases. We’ve talked about the meaning of the Christmas tree. We’ve stressed the importance of high-fidelity audio recording. What’s left?

The Phenomenon of the Mall Santa

Ah, the phenomenon of the Mall Santa, yes. In old Europe, they have churches, solemn and dignified; their equivalent, here in the U.S., are what we call “strip malls”. The word STRIP just refers to their architecture or lack thereof: their plain rectangular build conforms to the narrow plot of land on which it’s constructed; sort of like a strip club, which is a club carved into the shape of a strip.

Anyway, so these malls, like the churches that begat them, are desolate places: they’re always looking for ways to attract fresh customers. The mall, in imitation of the church, prefers to cast its net on the youth, because children are good at developing habits, and these habits will likely remain with them throughout life: so if you can get a child to frequent your assortment of stores, you’ve guaranteed yourself a lifetime customer: that kid will shop at your mall until he drops. The church, on the other hand, targets youth purely for the thrill of the hunt. Abuse for abuse’s sake. That’s the only difference between feudalism and capitalism. (Actually there is no difference: the latter is just more a potent dosage of the identical intoxicant.) Now, to get kids to think that the mall is fun, the mall hires a Santa Suit. For there is only one Jesus, but there is an ever-increasing number of Santa Suits. There are more Santas, in fact, than seeds in Abraham’s loins. That’s where the name derives from, if we must speak the truth: Santa is a contraction of the U.S. phrase “Spermatozoa bin Ibrahim”. But all these diverse and separate Suits of Santa stand for the same symbolic creature: Saint Nicholas of Myra. He lived with Mrs. Claus (Santa’s surname is Claus) up inside the North Pole, in a sphere of fire that levitates a mere six clicks from True Magnetic North, and their reindeer are with them. This platonic Super Santa of Eternal Repose connects to the Mall Santa by way of the Royal Sleigh: for each establishment traditionally displays a replica of an ancient coal-powered car made of fiberglass, known as a sleigh, in its privatized commons area, amidst armed security guards, so that children may approach the idol three-by-three, as did the beasts on Noah’s arc whenever the statue of Yahweh wheeled forth to visit. The children now offer up their sacred gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They deposit these onto the lap of the man in the sleigh, and Santa blesses them. The symbolism of the children’s gifts is as follows: Gold signifies Santa’s kingship on earth; the frankincense, which is a type of incense, stands for Santa’s deity; & lastly, myrrh, an embalming oil, is a sign of death — the final enemy that Santa conquered, according to the Apostle’s ad brochure. This practice of children making pilgrimage to a sleigh at a strip-mall dates back to the time of the scholar Origen, whose local Santa was played by Contra Celsum (a manuscript, yes, but also a very fine actor). To demonstrate this fact, here’s a quote from Debt, a book by David Graeber:

A band of marauding soldiers or nomadic horsemen falling on a peasant hamlet to rape and pillage obviously have no intention of forming any ongoing relations with the survivors.

Oops, that’s the wrong passage; sorry. The part that I really wanted to show you is from a little later in this same 5th Chapter (“A Brief Treatise on the Moral Grounds of Economic Relations”), and it shares a subject with Matthew 6:2-4, where Jesus says:

When thou givest gifts of charity, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the churches, that they may have glory of men. But when thou givest charity, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: that thy gift may be in secret.

OK now I found the right part of Graeber’s book. It’s in the section called “Hierarchy”:

. . . religious traditions often insist that the only true charity is anonymous — in other words, not meant to place the recipient in one’s debt. One extreme form of this, documented in various parts of the world, is the gift by stealth, in a kind of reverse burglary: to literally sneak into the recipient’s house at night and plant one’s present so no one can know for sure who has left it. The figure of Santa Claus, or Saint Nicholas (who, it must be remembered, was not just the patron saint of children, but also the patron saint of thieves) would appear to be the mythological version of the same principle: a benevolent burglar with whom no social relations are possible and therefore to whom no one could possibly owe anything, in his case, above all, because he does not actually exist.

So there you have it: the mystery of Christmas is solved. Moreover, we discovered why Jesus of Nazareth deserves to share this holiday with both Santa Claus and God the Heavenly Father: for all three persons comprise one single entity: “a benevolent burglar with whom no social relations are possible.”