Let's Not Forget Christmas!

I came across this story many years ago when I was in college and used it for a reading in one of my speech classes. I fell in love with it and have read it each year since as a reminder to not get caught up in the frivolity of the commercialized season.

... and beyond this there lies in the ocean, turned towards the west and the north, the island of Niatirb which Hecataeus indeed declares to be the same size and shape as Sicily, but it is larger, and though in calling it triangular a man would not miss the mark. It is densely inhabited by men who wear clothes not very different from other barbarians who occupy the north- western parts of Europe though they do not agree with them in language. These islanders, surpassing all the men of whom we know in patience and endurance, use the following customs.

In the middle of winter when fogs and rains most abound they have a great festival which they call Exmas , and for fifty days they prepare for it in the fashion I shall describe. First of all, every citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture, which in their speech is called an Exmas-card . But the pictures represent birds sitting on branches, or trees with a dark green prickly leaf, or else men in such garments as the Niatirbians believe that their ancestors wore two hundred years ago riding in coaches such as their ancestors used, or houses with snow on their roofs. And the Niatirbians are unwilling to say what these pictures have to do with the festival, guarding (as I suppose) some sacred mystery. And because all men must send these cards the market-place is filled with the crowd of those buying them, so that there is great labour and weariness.

But having bought as many as they suppose to be sufficient, they return to their houses and find there the like cards which others have sent to them. And when they find cards from any to whom they also have sent cards, they throw them away and give thanks to the gods that this labour at least is over for another year. But when they find cards from any to whom they have not sent, then they beat their breasts and wail and utter curses against the sender; and, having sufficiently lamented their misfortune, they put on their boots again and go out into the fog and rain and buy a card for him also. And let this account suffice about Exmas-cards.

They also send gifts to one another, suffering the same things about the gifts as about the cards, or even worse. For every citizen has to guess the value of the gift which every friend will send to him so that he may send one of equal value, whether he can afford it or not. And they buy as gifts for one another such things as no man ever bought for himself. For the sellers, understanding the custom, put forth all kinds of trumpery, and whatever, being useless and ridiculous, sell as an Exmas gift. And though the Niatirbians profess themselves to lack sufficient necessary things, such as metal, leather, wood and paper, yet an incredible quantity of these things is wasted every year, being made into the gifts.

But during these fifty days the oldest, poorest and the most miserable of citizens put on false beards and red robes and walk in the market-place; being disguised (in my opinion) as Cronos. And the sellers of gifts no less than the purchasers become pale and weary, because of the crowds and the fog, so that any man who came into a Niatirbian city at this season would think that some great calamity had fallen on Niatirb. This fifty days of preparation is called in their barbarian speech the Exmas Rush .

But when the day of the festival comes, then most of the citizens, being exhausted with the Rush , lie in bed till noon. But in the evening they eat five times as much supper as on other days and, crowning themselves with crowns of paper, they become intoxicated. And on the day after Exmas they are very grave, being internally disordered by the supper and the drinking and reckoning how much they have spent on gifts and on the wine. For wine is so dear among the Niatirbians that a man must swallow the worth of a talent before he is well intoxicated.

Such, then, are their customs about the Exmas. But the few among the Niatirbians have also a festival, separate and to themselves, called Crissmas , which is on the same day as Exmas. And those who keep Crissmas, doing the opposite to the majority of the Niatirbians, rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast. And in most of the temples they set out images of a fair woman with a new-born Child on her knees and certain animals and shepherds adoring the Child. (The reason of these images is given in a certain sacred story which I know but do not repeat.)

But I myself conversed with a priest in one of these temples and asked him why they kept Crissmas on the same day as Exmas; for it appeared to me inconvenient. But the priest replied, “It is not lawful, O Stranger, for us to change the date of Crissmas, but would that Zeus would put it into the minds of the Niatirbians to keep Exmas at some other time or not to keep it at all. For Exmas and the Rush distract the minds even of the few from sacred things. And we indeed are glad that men should make merry at Crissmas; but in Exmas there is no merriment left.”
And when I asked him why they endured the Rush, he replied, “It is, O Stranger, a racket, using (as I suppose) the words of some oracle and speaking unintelligibly to me (for a racket is an instrument which the barbarians use in a game called tennis ).

But what Hecataeus says, that Exmas and Crissmas are the same, is not credible. For the first, the pictures which are stamped on the Exmas-cards have nothing to do with the sacred story which the priests tell about Crissmas. And secondly, the most part of the Niatirbians, not believing the religion of the few, nevertheless send the gifts and cards and participate in the Rush and drink, wearing paper caps. But it is not likely that men, even being barbarians, should suffer so many and great things in honour of a god they do not believe in. And now, enough about Niatirb.

C.S. Lewis, God in the Dock,
"Xmas and Christmas: A Lost Chapter from Herodotus"
(1st published in Time and Tide, 1954)

Who Am I?

Do you know yourself? Do you know what things truly bring you joy in life and what things really push your buttons? Do you know when and how to be kind to yourself because you know that you’re not feeling well? On the flipside, do you know when it’s appropriate to be a little bit hard on yourself – to push yourself – in order to achieve a goal?

I have been struggling a lot lately with how I feel. I often feel like my head is in a very dense fog and I can’t concentrate on anything. About a week ago I was able to find some time when my head was somewhat clear and I was trying to sort out what was going on. It just didn’t seem normal and at times was quite frightening. Most frightening was the fact that these feelings just come out of nowhere, without warning, and hit me like a ton of bricks.

While trying to sort out where some of this was coming from I realized that I honestly have no idea who I am – what makes me, me. What do I truly enjoy? What do I truly dislike? Are those things okay? What are my skills/talents/abilities? Am I using those things as God would have me to bring glory to Him? I couldn’t answer a single one of those questions and I realized that I may be standing in the way of God working in me and through me because I am not actively participating in my own life. I have just been along for the ride, thinking that I had some semblance of control over my life while really just being a pinball (love the game - don't care for it so much as a lifestyle).

So, I’m on a mission: To determine my God definition. God speaks to me in all kinds of ways in many places every day. Sometimes I see it and sometimes I don’t. Only when I am truly in tune with who God has made me to be will I be able to allow His love to fill me and then to flow through me to the world around me. I don’t deny that there are wounds from my past that will need more time to heal. That is one thing in which I am actively participating! I love the story of the clay in the potter’s hands in Jeremiah 18: “So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.” Just because I am wounded or scarred does not mean that God is not still working on me, does not love me, and is not going to make me into something usable. As long as I remain in the Potter’s hands then He will continue to work on me – either refining the wounds and scars or incorporating them into what makes me, me – a unique, usable vessel created that way on purpose, for a purpose.

There is a line from the book The Shack, by William Young, that goes along with this. I don’t remember exactly how it goes but the gist of it is this: God does not orchestrate tragedies in our lives but that does not mean that He won’t use those tragedies for our own good and His glory.