Santa Claus

Spoiler Alert! If you are expecting your Christmas presents to be delivered down your chimney on Christmas Eve by a big, bearded, soot sprinkled, magical elf dressed in red with white fur trim then please do not read this post.

I hope that was warning enough. I do not wish to spoil anyone’s Christmas.

That was my problem when I first had kids. It was very important to me that my children should trust me; I did not wish to lie to them about anything.

Sometimes this aspiration got me into trouble, such as when I gave birth to my third child at home and my eldest burst into the room before we were ready. I explained to her carefully, in what I thought was age appropriate language, how her little brother had emerged from mummy’s tummy. She then wanted to know how he had got in, which I also tried to explain as honestly as I could. The next week she was passing on this important information at playgroup. At no point were any birds, bees or storks involved; just a mummy, a daddy and a special hug; followed nine months later by something like a big poo.

So, what to do about the existence of Santa Claus in the Christmas story? At first I simply ignored him. I explained to my children that Christmas was a birthday celebration for Jesus. When a child has a birthday, family and friends give the child gifts and a party is held. Because Jesus is so very special we all get given gifts on his birthday and everybody celebrates with a party. I reckoned that I could cover other religions when my children got a bit older.

Except me not mentioning Santa Claus didn’t stop every other adult that my children came into contact with just expecting them to be in on this tale. Without a word from me they came to believe in the flying reindeer, presents coming down a chimney and a funny little old man all dressed in red who granted every material wish.

At no point did I ever say that this was how it was. I didn’t have to. However, whilst I may not have lied explicitly, I did implicitly as I went along with the established orthodoxies. The night before Christmas, when my kids asked to put out cookies and milk for Santa along with a carrot for the reindeer, I obliged. I ensured that they were tucked up in their beds before sneaking the presents down the stairs on Christmas Eve. When they were old enough to write a letter requesting particular gifts, I helped address the envelope to the North Pole and walked them to the village postbox to send the carefully crafted missives on their way. I made no mention of the wonderful service that the Post Office provides when, a few weeks later, each child received a reply from the man himself.

What else could I do? Had I told them the truth then that important information would have been shared at playgroup or school too. I was not willing to take responsibility for removing the magic from all those children’s lives. Perhaps more to the point, I was not willing to face the potential wrath of their parents.

When my elder son eventually asked outright if Santa existed I told him the truth and, as I had feared, he rightly accused me of lying to him. I felt dreadful. It is not the only time that I have fallen short of his good opinion, but I do not recall any other deliberate untruth that I have perpetuated.

On Day 4 of my countdown to Christmas then, I am feeling glad that I can now celebrate Christmas with my family without a pretence that I never felt comfortable with. I may be the only one in my family who still looks on this event as a birthday party for the son of God, but we exchange presents with each other out of love, not because a mythical stranger invades our home in the dead of night.

My daughter still remembers her little brother’s birth, probably her first real memory. I do wonder if witnessing the aftermath of that momentous but very real event has scarred her for life.

1914 Santa Claus in japan

Faith, religion and bigotry: Part 4

Easter Sunday is a day of joyful celebration for Christians around the world. On this day we remember that our God defeated his enemies with love. For all those who ask for proof that God exists we can point to Jesus. Here was a man who could turn water into wine, heal the sick with a touch and raise the dead. Ordinary people heard him speak, saw what he could do and followed him in their thousands. The leaders of the church and state were angry at his popularity and terrified of his power. They had him put to death as a criminal but he rose from the dead. He defeated all of his enemies without harming any of them. He harmed their power and their wealth so they tried to stop him. They failed.

I am sometimes asked how I know that God exists. Do my questioners wish me to perform a miracle? If I were to heal a sick person then they would claim that it would have happened anyway. They would look for a scientific quirk or claim that the person had not really been sick. If I were to generate some wonder such as turning water into wine then they would claim I was doing some clever magic trick. If a person is determined not to believe in God then this sort of performance will not convince them. I would not be able to prove to them that God exists no matter what I did; they would always find some reason or excuse why the outcome had not been enabled by God.

Faith is defined as a complete trust or confidence in someone or something. When I was growing up and started to ask questions about God and biblical teaching, much of my confusion centred around the difficulty of trying to prove facts. How could I know that the answer I was being given was correct when so many of the premises seemed hazy and disputed? I was told to look to the bible and found contradictions. I was told that this was due to the way the book had been written so long ago, put together by a committee, interpreted over time and eventually translated from the ancient language in which it was written. Given all of this, it is no wonder that some of it can be a bit tricky to understand.

I now read the bible as a guide book rather than a rule book. It provides historical context and accounts of lives that we can learn from. It also provides beautiful poetry and stories. It is a valuable resource and should be used to offer help and comfort. I do not like to see it used as a reason to condemn people; I do not believe that we have any right to judge others. If a person chooses to follow God then Christians should welcome them as Jesus did. If a person chooses not to follow God then they should be free to make that choice.

Some of my atheist friends cannot see how I can be a Christian and still love science. This is my explanation of how I see things. When I look around at the cosmos I see order. The interrelationships between the largest galaxies, their solar systems and planets is awesome. On earth we have the sun and moon affecting the life cycle of every living being and every living being affecting all others. From the largest predators to the smallest micro organisms, all have an important role to play in maintaining the balance of life. When something is damaged, be it a forest burnt down or a child cutting their knee in a fall, nature will try to heal itself if left alone.

I do not believe that this perfect order is a coincidence. I believe that, if the world we live in was initially created by a big bang, then God made that happen. In the most simple terms, I see God as a scientist and his creation is so vast and amazing that I am not capable of understanding it all. There are a great many things that I do not understand but accept; particle physics sounds fascinating but I have never really grasped it fully. Me being able to understand, explain and prove something is not necessary for that thing to exist.

God has done many things in my life, personal things, that have proved to me that he exists. He has healed a sick child when the medical experts told the parents that there was no hope. He has spoken to me when I have talked to him. Just as a young child will feel more comfortable and confident performing on a scary stage knowing that their parent is sitting, unseen in the audience willing them to do well, so God watches over my life. If I go to a party with my husband I do not need to hold on to him throughout the event to know that he is there. If I need him then I know that I can turn to him for support. Thus it is with God.

To those who seem hell bent on removing a belief in God from the world because of the harm that men acting spuriously in his name have wreaked I would ask them to consider the comfort that God offers those who believe in him, who aim to live in love as Jesus taught them. Why would the atheists wish to remove such an important element of someone’s life just because they disagree with the premises of the faith? We should not be afraid of something just because we do not understand it and we should not ridicule or condemn others just because we disagree with their beliefs.

I will try very hard not to judge, to be tolerant of disparate views and accepting of others choices. I will try to live my life showing love to myself and to others. I wish you all a very Happy Easter.

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Faith, religion and bigotry: Part 1

I was born and raised in Belfast, christened and confirmed in the Irish Presbyterian church that I attended from a young age. My parents were not regular church goers but sent my sister and I along to Sunday School each week. I embraced the various youth groups available in the church community joining Brownies, Guides, Crusaders, the Scripture Union and Bible Study groups. This was my social life for the majority of my youth.

As young children we accept what we are taught by our parents and what we absorb from the attitudes of our local community. I was taken along to the 12th of July parades in the city and enjoyed the bands and the spectacle. How I envied the girls of my age in their pretty, shiny dance dresses who could twirl and throw their sparkly sticks as they walked in front of the various Orange Orders. I never thought to question what any of it symbolised.

When I discovered that a couple living a few doors up from my parent’s house were Catholics I was quite shocked. To my knowledge I had never met a Catholic before. Some of the children in our road called them names that I did not understand. The names sounded fierce and I felt uncomfortable and puzzled by the unexplained hate. The couple had a boat and I once asked them if I could go out on it with them. They said yes but it never happened. Although there must have been Catholic students at the extra curricular music school that I attended for years I did not mix with them. I was not to get to know any Catholics until I went to university.

The friends that I made through my teenage years were linked through the various church youth groups that we frequented. I am still in touch with many of them today. Some talked openly about the faith that we were all now questioning but which I still accepted. It was a way of life as much as a belief. We would get together at the meetings, on organised trips away, at church concerts and at each others houses. We were young people having fun and enjoying each others company.

By the time I went to university I was questioning everything about my life but especially aspects of my faith. I was fascinated by what appeared to me to be the shady world of Catholicism and worried my mother by befriending a large family of Catholics who lived on the wrong side of town. There were sixteen children in the family, some married with children of their own. They introduced me to an underworld that I knew existed but had never experienced. I was intrigued.

It seems strange to think that we all accepted as normal being stopped and bodily searched before being allowed to enter the central shopping district in Belfast. Checkpoints could be set up on roads without warning and ID demanded at any time. Parts of the city were entirely blocked off and riots commonplace. I was frightened when I had to lie down on the floor of a bus when it was stoned and the windows broken as the driver tried to get us to safety through the crowd that had suddenly appeared to block his route. A girl who had gone to school with my sister was shot dead as she left church one Sunday evening. The father of one of my good friends was shot dead as he left work one evening in a case of mistaken identity. One of our teachers had lost a leg when the coffee shop she was visiting was blown up. A neighbour who was a policeman was shot but survived and recovered from the attack. The Troubles affected me in these ways but could somehow, largely be ignored.

The Catholic family that I befriended were much more closely involved. To my knowledge they were not members of any sectarian forces but they seemed to know a lot of people who were. They talked of a friend who was worried about a favour he owed because he had asked for a boy who had messed with his sister to be kneecapped. They laughed about leading the army on a merry dance through a community’s back yards as they smuggled those being searched for out through the front. This friendly, welcoming family offered me endless cups of tea and chatted away about the events I read about in the paper with a knowledge that should probably have frightened me. There was no bravado or boasting; this was their way of life.

I did not stay long in this environment. Welcoming though they had been, I knew that I did not belong and the alien culture lost the appeal of novelty in time. I had other avenues to explore with my new found student freedom but my eyes had been opened to a religious intolerance that I had blindly accepted. I was questioning the rights and wrongs of the whole Irish situation and finding no easy answers. There were none. My parent’s attitudes, as much as I could understand them, now seemed archaic.

A few old friends from my church were starting to talk about the good loyalists and the bad republicans. They were agreeing with the views of their parents and vociferously taking sides. I began to feel the first stirrings of despair that supposedly intelligent people could not consider alternative opinions. These young people were hell bent on perpetuating the issues that I saw as causing the Troubles in the first place.

I wanted out: out from the strictures placed on me by family expectation that I would conform; out from the potential condemnation of the still strong church community that so many both admired and feared; out of a a country that offered a warm welcome to those who appeared to be the same as them but a cold shoulder to any suggestion of change; out of the country that I no longer wished to be my home.

The God that I still believed in was a God of love, not hate. I did not wish to raise my future children in an environment that I now viewed as toxic. I was young, ambitious and felt no ties to this troubled place. I moved away.

English: The Shankill road, Belfast during the...