“Why, it is she that has got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she that makes it always winter. Always winter and never Christmas; think of that!” (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe)
Alas, it seems Christmas is assaulted in realms both real and imaginary.
Oddly enough, in our bizarre world, Christmas is besieged on all sides. Secularists hate the true meaning of Xmas and traditionalists bemoan its loss. Christians fear the holiday is too pagan and atheists aver it isn’t pagan enough.
And this year, the Christmas card has been upstaged by the race card. Rabid race baiters are tearing into Megyn Kelley like Tiny Tim on a Christmas ham. Why?
Well, she apparently had the poor taste to claim that St. Nick is not only jolly, but also White. (Call me cynical, but I suspect the vitriol has less to do with Santa’s lack of color than Megyn’s. But…I digress.)
I can’t help but wonder when the LGBT troops will join the fracas because transracial Santa—despite the queer hat and suit—isn’t quite gay enough.
Or who knows when militant feminists will finally have had their fill of male-Santa? Break that glass ceiling, Mother Christmas!
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.” It’s a race-less, genderless creature that will late at night slip unnoticed into your home and leave behind some environmentally-friendly fun (unless, of course, you’re a Jehovah’s Witness). HO! HO! HO!
The fact is our world is much weirder than Narnia. Ours is a mad world.
Not long ago it was a different kind of mad. There’s a popular story of a peculiar incident in World War I.
. . . on Christmas Eve of that first year of battle  one of the most unusual events in military history took place on the western front. . . . the British began to hear a few German soldiers singing a Christmas carol. It was soon picked up along the German line as soldiers joined in harmonizing. The words were these: “Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!” British troops immediately recognized the melody as “Silent Night, Holy Night” and began singing in English.
That night, enemy soldiers sat around a campfire. They exchanged small gifts—chocolate bars, buttons, badges, and small tins of processed beef. Men, who only hours earlier had been shooting to kill, were now sharing Christmas festivities and showing each other family snapshots.
As quickly as the truce came, it went. But for a precious moment, Christmas magic interrupted the madness. How I wish it could interrupt it again.