a.k.a. Santa Claus

Rev. Chuck Freeman
Live Oak UU Church December 5, 1999

On a crisp, clear night many thousands of years ago, in which the constellations were dancing on the ceiling of the firmament, a young Hebrew shepherd pensively considered the worth of humanity in the expanse of the universe.

His struggles have been preserved in the King's English. "When I look at thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast established; what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou dost care for him?"(Psalm 8:3,4)

In the next generation his son wrestled in like manner to his father. In a book titled "The Preacher," ascribed to the son of David, the king flings his crown aside and becomes like one of us, a grimy commoner.

"Meaningless! Meaningless! says the Preacher. Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless. What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning to its course…

All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again. All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, or the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun…There is not remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow." (Ecclesiastes 1:2-9,11)

In our age, this dilemma remains, and if anything is intensified. Urban poet, Lou Reed, sings these bleak lyrics, (and I use the term sing advisedly, this guy makes Bob Dylan sound like Pavorotti!) "You can't depend on your family. You can't depend on your friends. You can't depend on a beginning, You can't depend on an end. You can't depend on intelligence, You can't depend on a god…You can't depend on no miracle, You can't depend on the air, You can't depend on a wise man, you can't find them because they're not there. You can depend on cruelty crudity of thought and sound. You can depend on the worst always happening. You need a busload of Faith to get by." (New York, New York; Busload Of Faith)

Am I safe? How can my survival continue? Does anyone care for me? Is this world trustworthy? Will my life matter? Is there a god to whom I am special? Are we only dust in the wind? Is goodness rewarded? Will the bad guys get their just desserts?

If we dare be honest in a church, we share these concerns and insecurities with our fellow travelers on this spinning globe, whether they be quoted, silent, or unprintable.

Among the most enduring coping devices our species has come up with for these existential bees in the bonnet is the emergence of myth and mythological characters.

I invoke myth here in the most positive of ways, as our intuitive connection to the creative energy, innate in the cosmos, continuously curious, active, passing away, and becoming.

Jolly Mr. Claus is clearly in this sacred bloodline. However, our chubby cherub has more aliases than a Cosa Nostra hit man. A bit of detective work is called for. I will serve as your spiritual version of Watson.

Tony van Renterghem will be our Sherlock Holmes with his sleuth manual, "When Santa Was a Shaman."

As this title cleverly foreshadows, he postulates that our chimney diver's family tree began as the shamanic role. A Shaman is the holy man/woman who brings the gifts of healing, wisdom, protection, and fertility to the people.

This tribal figure would often dress, and ceremoniously dance in animal skins and horns as Herne, the Spirit of the Great Hunt. The Shaman continued to exist in Europe through the pagan Olde Religion, which survived through the beginning of the 17th century, and still is seen in primal cultures today. (Pictures, p. 63,58,59)

Be mindful of this as we trace Santa's genealogy. When cultures began to have contact and be conquered by one another gods and myths meshed, adapted, and perhaps only took on the names of the invading forces.

The Indo-European Society developed a pantheon of anthropomorphic gods, including a stern main god with a son, the solar god, who was kindly disposed to humanity. The shamanic Herne figure became Pan, a sexual nature spirit.

In Western Europe, four distinct overlapping cultures emerged from this foundation: Celtic, Germanic/Nordic, Greek, Roman, and the Iranian solar god civilization.

The Greek religion had many gods, Pan being a minor sex, forest, nature spirit. The ruling god, Zeus had a son Apollo, he was a resurrecting sun god.

The Romans had gods aplenty as well. Herne/Pan was called many names, but once again a minor sexual, forest spirit. The Roman priesthood later became the Catholic priestly order. The pope is still referred to as Pontifex Maximus (The Great High Priest).

The Celtic society had a horned god who resembled Herne. Their later gods were a combination of Roman and Nordic/Germanic deities. The Druids were a powerful, mystical religious order later absorbed by the Catholic Church.

In the Germanic/Nordic belief structure Wodan was the chief god, who led a host of human like gods, somewhat similar to the Greek and Roman crew. One of the members of Wodan's enclave was his slave Eckhart, the ancestor of the Herne/Pan shamanic nature spirit. These tribes worshipped trees, but also observed the concept of a resurrection solar god.

The Roman Catholic church as we know, is a monotheistic religion, centering around the teachings of Jesus Christ, who like the Persian Mithras and other Indo-European resurrecting sun gods-- was the son of the one and only god.

The Mediterranean cult of the Mother goddess was absorbed by Roman Christianity in the form of Mary, the mother of Jesus. The pantheon of Roman gods evolved into Catholic saints, one of whom was Saint Nicholas.

This saint has a murky resume. In the 1970's Vatican Council 2 acknowledged that no Roman Catholic Bishop named Nicholas ever existed. Legends attributed to this saint had no Christian origins and probably came from pagan traditions. (Santa/Shaman,p.96)

Van Renterghem believes that St. Nicholas is a Christianized version of water deities possibly related to the Greco-Roman gods Poseidon/Neptune.

The names Nick, Klaas, and Klas come from Nikker (Old Dutch) or nicor (Middle English) meaning goblin or waterspirit. (Ibid,p.105)

Dutch ships bore the figurehead of St. Nicholas the patron saint of sailors. St. Nick was also watched over merchants, thieves, prostitutes, and children.

In time, Saint Nicholas' persona was split. St. Nick became the bearer of love and gifts, while the presence of the shaman, Herne/Pan, became his slave, depicted as the "Dark Helper."

Van Renterghem contends this signifies the Roman church having conquered the indigenous, pagan, fertility/nature spirit; banishing it as symbolic of evil. The job description of the Dark Helper was to carry the bag, and scare maidens and children into devout behavior. (Picture, fold out)

In 1626 a ship with settlers from the Netherlands reached the shores of our country, founding the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam. They brought their winter holy day customs with them involving the good St. Nicholas, known in Dutch as "Sinter Claes," or "Sinte Klaas."

My painstaking linguistic analysis reveals that these names were later anglicized into "Santa Claus!!" 38 years later New Amsterdam was ceded to England and became New York.

In Holland, on the eve of St. Nicholas day, Dec.6, the myth stated that a white haired old saint clad in a wide mantel, rode through the skies on a white horse, with his swarthy slave the Dark Helper.

This reluctant helper dispensed gifts to good people, but would gleefully drag sinners away to a place of eternal suffering. (Ibid,p.111)

In 1823, Washington Irving mentioned the Dutch Santa Claus in his "Knickerbocker History of New York." Clement C. Moore inspired by this account wrote the now celebrated poem "A Visit from Saint Nicholas" with this well worn opening, "'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house…"

Reindeer replaced the white horse, and Santa is an elf who arrives through the chimney. In the early Middle ages, the chimney was believed to be the opening through which spirits entered and left the abode. (Ibid., p.102)

The first illustrator of Clement's poem drew a strange little Dutchman smoking a stubby clay pipe. 40 years later cartoonist Thomas Nast etched a character in Harper's Magazine to depict Clement's poetry. (Pictures,p.54)

The Bavarian born Nast drew Santa as the winter holiday figure he remembered from the mountain villages in the Alps; a rather scary, less than friendly gnome dressed in animal skins, reminiscent of the Herne/Pan character.

Over time Claus became a bit friendlier, until in 1931 the Coca-Cola Company decided they wanted to increase their sales to children. It was not lawful then to advertise their drink to kids.

In its early days the cola's recipe was claimed to use coca leaves from which cocaine is derived. As a result the drinking of their beverage by children was frowned upon, and promoting coke to kids was not allowed. By this time they had changed their formula.

Artist Haddon Sundblom portrayed a jovial Santa relaxing with a Coke served to him by children. He was rotund, and outgoing in a bright red suit with white fur trim- Coca-Cola's colors. (Picture, p.56)

By the close of WW2 this reborn Santa had joined our GI Joes to help win freedom for the world. (Pictures, fold out)

In our nation's psyche Santa has come to embody all that is right with the world. Even the most crusty secularist feels his spell. Everyone is somebody to St. Nick. All the year long his every thought and effort is to show you how much he cares about your happiness and well being. Even if you have been bad, his gentle wink transforms your calloused heart.

Read from closing verse of "The Night Before Christmas."

Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless! You need a busload of faith to get by. Who am I that thou art mindful of me?

One magical phrase assures me I am A o.k. and all is well. "Santa Claus is coming to town." (Play opening from song by the Jackson 5)