Christmas is just around the corner, and Santa is everywhere – television, store-front ads, tree ornaments, and even ugly sweaters. The only place you can generally expect NOT to hear him HO-HO-HO-ing is at church.
So who is this character really, and where did he come from?
Santa Claus became popularized in North America in the 1800s. Although references to him became fairly common in the first part of that century, his legend wasn’t fully entrenched until Clement Clark Moore penned “A Visit from St Nicholas”. Everyone can faithfully recite part if not all of his famous poem that begins “‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all thro’ the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
Of course, it was modified over time so the version I grew up with had a slightly different “feel”.
Images of St. Nick abounded, but there was no official “look”. Sometimes he was thin, sometimes he was heavy and his clothing changed. Although images began to target a jolly, portly fellow with a heavy beard, it wasn’t until Coca-Cola launched an advertising campaign in the 1930s that Santa’s appearance standardized. Of course, they drew him with the same red and white colors that graced their soda bottles.
Then in the 1970s, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” aired in the famous stop-motion style of that era. Fred Astaire narrated the story and Mickey Rooney voiced Kris Kringle. All of the background details were eternally rooted in our culture and Santa remains generally unchanged from that time.
But do you know the original story of jolly old St. Nick?
Nicholas was born around 280 A.D. in what is modern-day Turkey. He was the only child of a wealthy couple and grew up in a life of privilege. He attended church regularly and from all records had a normal childhood until tragedy struck. Both of his parents died, whether from a plague or an accident, leaving him without family and only a fortune to keep him company.
As he emerged from mourning, he commited to use what God had given to him to make a difference in his city. He watched people and thought about how he could have an impact.
He spotted a father with three daughters who had lost his job and his savings soon followed. As severe poverty and hunger began to set in, he begrudgingly allowed them to be used as prostitutes in an effort to survive. While this gave them food to eat, it left a large hole in their hearts and created a life they did not know how to escape.
The poor father could not raise a dowry to attract worthy suitors, and began to lose hope that their futures would hold anything but sadness.
The young adult Nicholas, however had other plans. He gathered enough gold coins to represent a proper dowry and under cloak of darkness snuck up to the poor family’s window and threw the bag of coins inside. He retreated quickly before anyone could see him, leaving a gracious father and one sister with hope of something better.
One night at a time, he repeated his action. On the third and final night the father waited up to discover the secretive, benevolent person. When the bag of coins hit the floor, he bounded out the front door and chased poor Nicholas down the street, eventually catching him.
Nicholas swore the man to secrecy (which obviously did not work). He wanted favor from God, not recognition from the people of the city. In this way, he began his path into the clergy and became a priest.
His reputation for generosity and concern for others preceded him, and people in need approached him when they had nowhere else to turn. They knew they could count on the new Bishop Nicholas to represent them, even if helping them meant placing himself in danger.
Nicholas is said to have approached the Emperor Constantine at least two times – once in a dream, and once in person. In these cases he advocated for wrongfully imprisoned people and to lower taxes. He relied on God to protect him in the presence of powerful men, and his fame spread.
When Christians were persecuted, Nicholas was imprisoned. He was told he would be released if he renounced his faith. Unable to abandon the God that had remained with him, he stayed in prison for five long years.
Ultimately released from his chains, his passion for Jesus was stronger than ever. He attended the Council of Nicea and helped to author the Nicene Creed that states Jesus’ place as part of The Trinity and his relationship to the Church. The Creed is still recited in churches today (click here to read the full statement of faith).
In that Council, he forcefully challenged Bishop Arian’s heretical teaching that Jesus was not part of the Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit). Fueled by anger that someone within the church would seek to reduce the authority of his Savior, Nicholas stepped forward and slapped BIshop Arian, infuriating Emperor Constantine, who revoked Nicholas’ title as Bishop.
Nicholas’ unflinching resolve and commitment to Christ only endeared him further to the people of the church. Legends of miracles worked at his hand spread throughout the region and people in need sought out this dedicated priest who had the favor of God on his side.
In recognition of his faith, suffering, and miracles the Catholic Church canonized Nicholas in 1446 and the priest became known as Saint Nicholas. With this recognition, his name spread across the Christian world.
Each country modified his name to suit their dialect, and the name Saint Nicholas took on many forms. In the Germanic tongue, Saint was spoken as “Santa”and Claus was their derivation of Nicholas. Santa Claus was born.
The world embraces the jolly soul with cherry cheeks and places him at the North Pole with a team of reindeer and elves. That is OK. I think Nicholas would be humbled that his name is known as a herald of the newborn King.
Nicholas lived a life devoted to sharing, faithful devotion to God, and fearless defense of people in need. God smiled on him and performed mighty works through him. Although born into wealth, he regarded it as nothing in pursuit of something greater.
The world needs Santa Claus. He is a hero of our faith whose story deserves to be told. Believing in him awakens a feeling that we can have the same impact that he did. Jesus loved him and so do I.
That is the real story of Santa Claus. Now you can share his story too.
As the end of October approaches, I’ve heard a variety of opinions on Halloween. They vary from excitement about upcoming parties to dire warnings of demonic possession. Is one right? Is the other wrong? Could both possibly be correct?
Maybe history can shed light on the subject.
It is widely held that the origins of Halloween grew out of the Celtic festival Samhain, which was held on November 1st (I know, everything is Celtic in my stories). This day not only marked the end of harvest, the close of summer, and the beginning of winter, but it also held Druidic importance.
Samhain was believed to have marked a special time when the veil between the physical world and the supernatural realm became very thin. Spirits, both good and bad, were able to cross over for a day. The good spirits were typically relatives or other loved ones who had died, and the bad spirits were all sorts of fairies, angry souls, and other mystical creatures who generally tormented people.
To defend themselves from attack by these dark forces, the Celts attempted to confuse the spirits by masking their appearance. They wore animal skins and skulls or they painted their faces with ash. A day later the veil would be restored, the spirits returned, and they would be safe again.
Because it occurred during the fall festival, it was a great celebration and was widely recognized throughout what is now the United Kingdom.
The large festivals allowed the Catholic Church a tremendous opportunity to share their faith with large groups of people and expand the Kingdom of God. However, the church never aligned with the theology of the Druids. So they constructed a plan to throw even bigger parties, draw in more people, and shift the focus to Christ.
The church had built a calendar of holy days that we now call holidays. They placed them throughout the year as modern-day marker stones to remind us of our faith. In the 8th century, Pope Gregory III declared November 1st to be All Hallowed Day (note that hallowed means holy as in “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name”). Previously, this had been a lesser holiday recognized earlier in the year.
On this day, holy men and women of faith were celebrated for submitting their lives to God and people prayed to hasten the day when all the world would recognize Christ as king.
The church encouraged large parties. Guests wore the bright costumes of angels and demons as they acted out battles between good and evil. Children were invited to visit their neighbors and request treats such as Soul Cakes (small cakes filled with raisins and marked with a cross burned onto the top).
Beginning to sound familiar?
Over time, festivities generally shifted from November 1st to the night before, and All Hallowed Day was popularly replaced by All Hallowed Eve, or Halloween (-een was an abbreviation for evening).
Halloween was born.
Each year, prayers continued to be offered that praised all the saints and celebrations were thrown by believers whose hearts were full of a joy that could not be contained. They came together with their neighbors to feast, sing, and dance. They invited everyone, hoping to share the source of their overflowing joy.
To the disappointment of the church, Samhain never completely disappeared, and in the popular culture Halloween took on elements of both festivals – celebration of the harvest, prayers, costumes, protection from dark forces, and sugary treats.
Fast forwarding to the present day this is where we still are. Unfortunately, many believers don’t know the history of their church and have lost sight of the Saints as Dark Fairies clouded their eyes.
It is a sad circumstance but not limited to Halloween. As I have detailed in other blogs, many believers have forgotten the cherished roots of other holy-days and conceded them to the non-believing world.
St Patrick is seldom recalled as an inspiration who risked everything for his God then brought a nation to Christ. The holy-day bearing his name has been surrendered to green beer and leprechauns. (Click here for that story).
St Valentine was similarly commemorated as a man who selflessly devoted himself to defending young people in love and led them into marriage even though it cost him his life. Likewise, his holy day has been generally conceded to a cheapened version of true romance – comprised of boxes of chocolate, flowers, and drugstore cards.
It is sad to see Christendom abandon the holy days they established and once held dear. We have failed to teach our children about our predecessors who offered their fleeting lives willingly in exchange for an eternal reward. In the process, we surrendered our celebrations to people who lack our beliefs.
Unless we change course, it is likely that we will one day abandon Christmas in the same way. We have already allowed St Nicholas to be demoted from a generous priest to a toy-making elf. How much longer until we become disappointed with enough secular rituals on this day that we mourn the darkness it brings.
Easter itself would then fall. A resurrected Jesus completely supplanted by a bunny with chocolate eggs.
None of this needs to happen, but it relies on us to change the trajectory.
We need to stop recoiling in horror at the evils that roam the earth, shrinking away to avoid confrontation with the forces of darkness. Instead, we should reflect a Savior that cast out demons and allowed lepers to touch him. He established a new covenant, where something unclean touches something clean, and both become white as snow.
We need to celebrate. Not with boring little parties, but with extravagant events that mirror the generous heart of our Lord. Abandon the puritanic dour faces that judge others harshly and embrace a Jesus who allowed wine to flow freely at a wedding so that the dancing and celebration could continue.
God has sought us out and lavished love on us. We should do the same for the broken people in our community, without regard for the frightening actions that erupt from traumatized hearts. The apostle Paul allowed for early Christians to eat food that had been sacrificed to idols. He wasn’t encouraging them to shop at the markdown counter; he was asking them to break bread with “sinners”.
Maybe the ancient ones were right, and Samhain is a time that darkness is unleashed to roam the earth. Perhaps demons do seek to devour unsuspecting souls.
If that is true, champions are needed. Men and women equipped with the armor of the Almighty God must rise up to drive these devils back behind the veil from which they emerged.
If we are to protect people, we need to be where they are.
Surround yourself with your neighbors. Drag the streets and invite everyone to a decorated home full of music and joy. Make your houses inviting with plates that don’t become empty and cups that never run dry. Shower the children at your door with those great big candy bars that nobody gives away.
Pour blessings over the earth in proportion to what your good Father has shown you. Draw people in, then love and protect them. They need you.
There will be a time to turn off your porch light and hope to be left alone. Now is not that time.
Let them see the nature of God and watch the demons flee. Redeem All Hallowed Eve.
Reclaim your Halloween. It never belonged to them anyway.
My customers are complaining about their woodworking orders. It’s not the usual stuff about quality, prices, or delivery. Ironically, the complaint comes from people I know well. Usually they come from my closest friends and family.
My niece challenged me about the underside of a floor-level shelf on her end table. A friend disagreed with the back of a Shalom sign he ordered- the part that faces the wall. I take pride in these protests have no intention of changing. If they want to work with me, they will have to learn to accept these things as they are.
My trademark feature is at the heart of their complaint. It is applied after the work is complete and is my favorite part of woodworking. I don’t mean the clearly engraved “Mc” logo. My trademarks are harder to find because I hide them.
My niece discovered an Irish blessing when she removed her shelf and flipped it over. Etched in a Celtic font were the words:
May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
I copied it from a needlepoint that my Mom kept in the hallway of our home. She has departed, but the family still cherishes her memory. After much deliberation I chose those words especially for my niece. They are proudly featured on the bottom of a shelf no one can see.
She believed the blessing deserved a more prominent display.
I disagreed.
If you turn over one of my Shalom signs then you find a blessing offered by the apostle Jude in an open letter sent to Christ-followers.
May mercy, shalom, and love be multiplied to you.
Kim and I went back and forth for an entire evening trying to pick the precise sentiment. It is my spoken prayer as I let my peace rest on every home that hangs it above their doorpost.
My friend thought it should be a highlighted part of the sign.
I disagreed.
There are other examples. Many of my pieces hide a message from the world but intend it for the recipient. I choose the words after careful deliberation. They may be a scripture, familiar verse, or just something I wrote. Each is my prayer for that specific person.
I call them the Hidden Things.
The Hidden Things don’t belong to the world. I share them with God and a particular person or family. They are the treasure of my work – my private hopes. They aren’t clever or funny, rather my simple petition to a Father who adores us. I hide them to emphasize that the sentiment is real.
The bottom of Kim’s coffee table
Some things are special because they are secret. These aren’t fortune cookies that you can buy a bag at a time. After much deliberation, I select them and present them to God on your behalf. I believe that He honors these requests by reading them aloud and speaking them into reality.
God does the same thing with us. He speaks in soft voices that we have to lean in to hear. He hides truths inside parables for us to discover. He visits us in dreams. The thrill of uncovering a Hidden Thing is to learn the very heart of God.
Exposing myself to criticism about my abilities as a woodworking craftsman is difficult. However, that is easy compared to letting down my guard with a message that arose from my soul. When the reward for my efforts is an eye roll, mockery, or being ignored – it is painful. If they don’t care, then I feel small. But when it sparks a deeper connection, every risk is worthwhile.
One day, someone will unwrap a piece that I have spent weeks building and without paying attention to what it is, will immediately ask for help flipping it over to search for the Hidden Thing.
On that day, I will know that I’ve shared my heart.
Making Waves is my commitment to take big risks, to be vulnerable, and to contemplate new ways to love God and my neighbor. The Hidden Things are like a post written for only one person.
I invite you to share Hidden Things, whether they are carved into furniture, tucked into a lunchbag, or scribbled on a postcard. The authenticity of the emotion behind the gesture is all that matters.
Perhaps we can find each other and a connection to God in our search for Hidden Things.
As I’ve grown older, my life seasons have changed. As the seasons have changed, so have the things that occupy my time.
When I was a parent of young children, most of my time was spent watching over and teaching them. As they grew up and moved out of the house, they didn’t need me in the same way. If I had continued to treat them as toddlers it would not have been productive, or in Bible-speak it would not have been fruitful. That part of my life needed to be pruned, but it had been a happy time, and I knew I would miss it.
Similarly, I have served for years in a specific ministry only to be later called into a different direction. God’s calling into a change was clear. Holding onto a particular area that had previously received his blessing was no longer good. It took time to change course, ending one ministry well and then starting the next. The previous part of my life needed to be pruned, but I worried what would happen to the former ministry after I was gone.
It is difficult to make these changes but not difficult to explain my reluctance. Either I am happy with the status quo, or I don’t trust God to take care of the things I leave behind. Regardless of which it is, I resisted change.
Sometimes the Bible’s references to pruning confused my feelings further. John chapter 15 evokes images of casting pruned branches into an eternal fire, while Mark 11 tells about Jesus cursing an entire tree to wither and die because its branches weren’t fruitful. These responses seemed severe for my challenges in changing my parenting style or handing off a ministry.
Recently, I learned about a different example of pruning – more of a symbol of a proactive and constant effort to stay aligned with God’s will for my life – voluntarily letting go of one thing to embrace something better.
The olive tree provides a beautiful illustration of this type of pruning. Olive trees are one of the longest living trees in the world. Some have been alive since Christ walked the earth. They live and bear fruit for centuries or even millenia. However the individual branches are not productive for that long. Eventually, each olive branch stops producing fruit and that branch needs to be removed so that the tree can thrive.
However when the branch is pruned, it isn’t abandoned or cast into a fire. God’s blessing on that branch continues, even after it is removed from the tree.
Most people don’t know that olivewood rarely comes from cutting down a tree. The trees are far too valuable for that purpose. Olivewood is harvested during the pruning season from cut branches that no longer produce fruit. They are gathered and slowly but carefully converted into one of the most beautiful, expensive, and prized types of wood in the world.
Photo by Davies Designs Studio on Unsplash
Olivewood has beautifully figured grain and is incredibly dense and hard. The finest wooden kitchen utensils are produced from olivewood. A few exquisite pieces of furniture justify the expense. Some of the finest carvings in the world started from a pruned branch.
In 1st Kings chapter 6, we learn that when King Solomon built the temple, he placed inside the holy of holies a pair of winged cherubim who stood vigil over the ark of the covenant. He chose to carve them from – you guessed it – olivewood.
Removing a non-fruitbearing branch isn’t punishment for a tree, or an admission of disappointment in its performance. Instead, it is part of a natural cycle that allows the tree to thrive while the branch releases a special beauty that it otherwise could not. If this were not true, would God have allowed a fruitless branch to become a guardian angel in his home?
Pruned branches will never be a substitute for a fruitful life. However if they are carefully removed at the right time and turned back over to God, then he can do wonderful things with them. They can still be a blessing. They become visible evidence of God’s invisible qualities and continue to point us back to Him.
Thriving trees produce pruned branches. It is all part of a life of Shalom spent releasing and expanding as we rest in the Father’s arms.
If you are interested in seeing products that I make from olivewood, please click on the link below to look at the Shalom Door Post Signs. They are made from olivewood grown in the Holy Land that ships to me directly from Bethlehem, Israel. The word Shalom is laser engraved in Hebrew characters on one side as a declaration of peace over your home, while the other side includes a scriptural blessing.
Maybe it will also remind you that God can do something magnificent when you release a portion of your life to him.
When I was a kid, you could buy 40-sheet spiral notebooks on sale for a ridiculous price, like 10 for $1. We always had a stack lying around the house, mostly intended for school use.
I was never a fan. The spiral rings got bent, preventing the pages from turning smoothly. If you tore out a page, there was a strand of perforated leftovers trapped inside the ring. For each page, you had to extract it and walk to the trash can to throw it away. If you waited for several sheets before removing each strand, they got all smashed up in there and ripped into tiny pieces when you tried to carefully remove them.
Even the detached page had all these weird jagged fingers where it had been torn. They seemed to mock my preference for the smooth crisp edges of loose-leaf notebook paper.
They were not for me – except during the summertime.
Free of the shackles of school, my days were my own to roam about. One of my pastimes was to crank the handle of our Boston pencil sharpener as it cut a perfect point on my wooden pencil before opening the cover of one of our spiral notebooks.
It was time to draw, and all I needed was a subject.
Neither my brother, Preston, nor the family dog, Tippy, were good models. They had too many complicated parts and never sat still. Sometimes I tried to draw the furniture in one of our rooms, but that required lots of straight lines and I was never very good at those. My lines were wiggly and curved at the end.
Thus began the process of wandering aimlessly about the house in search of inspiration. I would look at something, then look down at my tablet and imagine what it would look like on the empty page. Nah. Unsatisfied, I carried my hunt to the next possibility. There never seemed to be anything fun to draw.
After minutes of excruciating search, I would lose interest in drawing and move onto something different. Throughout all of my summer vacations I am not sure I ever touched the pencil to the paper more than a handful of times.
I’m not much of a artist.
During the past eighteen months, I’ve written maybe half a dozen blogs. That is infrequent compared to the almost weekly basis before that.
Recently, I’ve had an urge to get back in there and work at it. On several different days I picked up my laptop and sat in my most comfortable chair, ready to write something.
It was time to write and the only thing left was finding a subject. My mind would drift through the things going on in my life. Most of my ideas didn’t seem to be quite right. Occasionally I would just pick something and dive in, but after a few paragraphs I would pause to read my progress. It had as much life as a glass of Coke that had been left on the counter overnight. I deleted everything and went back to my home screen.
Eventually, my laptop began to stare blankly back at me in exactly the same way my spiral notebook had done decades ago. Just like before, I put it down and went to find something more fun to do.
Usually that “something more fun” was in the garage.
I’ve been approaching my writing much the same as I did drawing. If I couldn’t find a just-add-water subject, then I haven’t taken the time in quiet contemplation to figure out why. After all, I’ve been busy.
In the time since my writing paused, I have built countless items for people. I have zero regrets. No matter how difficult any project has been, it remains my firm belief that God was using it as part of a greater plan.
Convinced that it has been my calling, I have thrown myself completely into it. No amount of effort, organization, money, imagination, or pain could keep me away.
After losing the last joint of my index finger in a table saw accident, I literally began working one-handed as soon as I could stop taking prescription pain meds (less than a week). At night, I have dreamt about intricacies of whatever I was working on. I have set up web sites, bank accounts, a fully-stocked woodshop, an in-house store, and so many other things in a brief time that most people would find it difficult to believe.
I have spent almost two years living out Colossians 3:23, and I have loved it.
“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord“
But if I was working with all my heart, how come my heart keeps getting called back to writing? Why do I keep returning to my laptop and staring at an empty screen? Can’t I be fulfilled by a divine calling? How come I have to have more?
I think the answer lies in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 5. Jesus’ ministry was just taking off. He had recruited his own team, found his voice as a teacher, and begun a healing ministry that had the entire countryside abuzz. Crowds of people were coming to him and then following him from place to place. He was watching the Kingdom of God come to a chosen people.
He must have been excited beyond words. At night, maybe he dreamt about his next message or about the next person he would heal. I bet he jumped out of his bed each morning ready to continue his ministry.
However, the verse 16 seems like a contradiction to his energy and momentum. After 30 years, things were finally starting to pop. So what did he do?
But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.
Luke almost sounds surprised by the response. The word “but” implies that Luke thought withdrawing to lonely places was a contradiction to his ministry, like it was slowing him down.
My guess is that Luke expected to write something more like. “Jesus often got up thirty minutes early to read scriptures and pray.”
Do you know how long Jesus must have been absent for Luke to say that he withdrew to a lonely place? In the next chapter he tells us about one example when Jesus was gone all night.
I believe that I know what Jesus prayed about all night. After all, Hebrews 4:15 says that he was “tempted in every way, just as we are.” If he was facing the same difficulties as we do, then we can probably guess what was on his mind. What would trouble you as your ministry took off?
He was challenging himself, ensuring that humility and love triumphed over pride and preference. He discussed with the Father where he should go and what he should talk to the crowds about. He studied his own heart to see if any cracks were developing between him and God. And he listened.
Jesus probably wrote some of his most famous parables in those lonely places. He poured over and over the words, making sure they captured eternal truth without including unnecessary additions. You can imagine him trying to work out the details of the different kinds of seed (Matthew 13). If he struggled with the same things as us, then he must have struggled to get each parable perfect.
At some point, he had to practice saying the parable out loud to ensure he wouldn’t leave parts out, but also validating that the truth rang out.
Those are the same things I do when writing my blogs. They are my prayer of sorts that I share with the world.
Even though I spend time in scripture and prayer each day, my heart has missed the hours at a time I spend writing. My short prayers every day occasionally fall short of their potential. They aren’t wrong, but they are incomplete. God had a lot more for us to work through than could be done before the end of my cup of coffee.
Caught up in my ministry of actvity, I had begun to slot God into a few, prime timeslots instead of occasionally offering him my whole day. The tugging at my heart to start writing has been his way of saying that we need more time together.
It is hard to surrender my time to God, since he won’t tell me how much he wants first. When I do, it is frustrating to spend an hour pouring out what is on my mind only to hear him whisper that it needs more work.
Each time I write something down, it is like turning to God to say “Did I get it right this time?” and he frequently says “Nope. Not yet. Keep trying.”
In the case of this blog, it took three times before he smiled and I could feel his peace.
Lately, I haven’t been withdrawing to lonely places very often. My head said that I was doing the Lord’s work. My heart has been suggesting something different. It is time to start listening to my heart again and spend more time Making Waves.
It is hard to find balance in it all. It is easy to run to one side and spend all my time “working with all my heart”. It is also easy to run all the way to the other side and move into a lonely place with him where I can’t fulfill my divine purpose.
Perhaps the answer will come one day at a time rather than following a formula.
The urge will unexpectedly stir to sit down in a quiet place and process what He is trying to put on my heart. I need to drop everything when that happens. At other times, someone will reach out and ask for help building something special. Then it is time to go to work.
This blog has given me joy as I enjoyed the hours away from the fray, listening and contemplating.
