THE XMAS PROGRAM [M, 12-23-24]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—THE XMAS PROGRAM [M, 12-23-24]

 

I have often though I should write one of those funny church books, like Good News from North Haven, by Michael L. Lindvall, which features an hilarious Christmas pageant, or at least do just the Christmas pageant, like the one in John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany.

But I never had a disastrous Christmas pageant, in part because such disasters always start with some young women in the church wanting to do something different from the pageant old Mrs. Staid always directs, and my churches never had some old lady who always directed the Christmas program. In fact, anyone who did so vowed she would never do it again. Not because any disasters occurred, like misplacing the baby Jesus or sheep getting loose in the sanctuary. But a Christmas program is a lot of work, especially if you’re trying to think one up for a book, and it always reminds you of the one when you were ten years old, when you were so embarrassed and humiliated and ashamed.

It was my first Christmas at the little open-country Forsythe Methodist. Mary Louise Hopkins taught an all-boy class. We were called The Willing Workers, although I’m not sure we were ever willing to work. All the classes exchanged names for gifts to be given out by Santa at the Christmas program. When Santa was finished, I was the only kid in our class who didn’t have a gift. Whoever had drawn my name got a gift but didn’t give one.

It seems strange now that I was so embarrassed and ashamed. First off, I don’t think anyone else even noticed. More importantly, I had not done anything wrong, and anyone who did notice I had no gift would understand that.

Yes, I’m sure part of my chagrin was anger at the injustice. I always hated injustice. But righteous anger was not my primary reaction. Basically, I was embarrassed. I was the one who was different, who held nothing but air in his hands. It meant somehow that I was not worth as much as everyone else. It was sad. It was shameful.

As years went by, I became the favored son of that congregation, and they became my plumbline for evaluating the worth of a church.

So when I wrote about that incident as fiction in my book of Christmas stories. I made it come out quite nicely, with the boy’s mother explaining to him that Christmas is like a mirror. You see in Christmas what is in your heart, so it is important that you stock up your heart with forgiveness and love. Then you’ll have a happy Christmas regardless.

I really like that story now. However, the Willing Workers are all close to 90 now, unable to run very fast, and if I ever find out who didn’t get me a gift…

John Robert McFarland