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When I was first ordained, an older priest gave me three commandments for a successful ministry: one, try not to upset the flower ladies; two, don’t preach pacifism on Remembrance Sunday; and, three – and most important – never tell children that Santa isn’t real.
If only someone had had that talk with RevDr Paul Chamberlain, who last Christmas reduced a classroom full of year 6 children to tears by telling them the truth: “It’s your mum and dad.” (I hope that doesn’t come as a shock to any of you.)
He has since apologised and, in his defence, he’d assumed that at their age they would have worked that out already. But I know from my own experience both that some children still believe for longer than others and how traumatic it is for them when their illusion is finally shattered.
In my son’s case, it was his evil twin sister who burst the bubble. They were only nine but she had some older friends, one of whom had given the game away to her – although she wasn’t bothered because she liked the idea of knowing something that her brother didn’t.
So she came home and told him that if they searched the house, they’d probably find everything they’d asked for in their letters to Santa stashed in a cupboard somewhere – which they did.
I heard the scream from downstairs and rushed up to see what was wrong. My distraught son turned to me with tears in his eyes, still hoping against hope for an alternative explanation, but in the split-second that I paused, trying to think of one, he knew. “But I don’t understand,” he sobbed in a scene reminiscent of The Truman Show. “It’s not just you and Mum that have lied to me. It’s my teachers and even people on the telly.”
So that’s why some Christians have a problem with the whole Santa thing: it arguably breaches the ninth commandment (about lying) but that seems very Scrooge-like to me. Given all the horror there is in the world and how hard adult life can be, what could possibly be wrong with a little childhood magic?
I recently had the privilege of being Santa at my local school’s Christmas fete and it really was one of the most incredible experiences of my life.
The grotto that the PTA had put together was worthy of John Lewis (other department stores are available) and my costume was so good that even some of my adult parishioners didn’t recognise me. But I was keenly aware that, because these children really believed that they were actually meeting Father Christmas, I also needed to deliver the goods (no pun intended) in terms of my performance.
So I tried to channel the late great Richard Attenborough, who had played the same role so perfectly in the 1994 remake of Miracle on 34th Street. However, for some reason, I ended up sounding more like King Charles: “How lovely to see you. Do come in. I’m Santa.” My daughter – now 22 and no longer evil – was kind enough to say that I was giving off Albus Dumbledore vibes.
But what I wanted to do was incarnate pure unconditional love and welcome. To make myself the kindest, friendliest, safest being imaginable – and, from the way the children reacted, I think I did a reasonable job. What I wasn’t prepared for was the impact that all this would have on me. Yes, it was magical for the kids to be ushered into the grotto by one of my elves and meet The Man Himself, but to see the absolute joy on their little faces, to grasp the extent of their perfect innocence was almost overwhelming. A religious experience, even.
So, there is no doubt in my mind that this was a Holy Thing of which God approves. Jesus famously said, “Let the little children come to me. Do not stop them” and, while Santa isn’t Jesus – the point that the Reverend Chamberlain was presumably trying to make – both are supposed to be manifestations of ultimate goodness. Obviously, the former was created by human beings – or indeed, the Coca-Cola company – and the latter, Christians believe, was sent by God but both bring joy and hope to millions.
The only thing I do feel slightly guilty about is the dreadful sexism of it all: since Santa is male, only men get to experience what I did in that grotto. How unfair is that? Women probably do most of the work at Christmas, buying all the presents and no doubt making the dinner as well and then a man waltzes in and steals all the glory. Typical.
Fortunately, Jesus was not that kind of man and, far from seeking glory, he embraced ordinariness by being born in a stable and, through his teaching and, supremely, his death showed us that true love involves sacrifice and serving others. But that’s Easter so, meanwhile, have a great Christmas.
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Ravi Holy is rector of the United Wye Benefice in Canterbury, Kent, and a standup comedian
