Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a – well, not in a galaxy far away, as this story takes place on this earth, but certainly in a country far away, a little boy was born. No, not Jesus of Nazareth – this birth took place a couple of hundred years later, and the little boy grew up to be one of Jesus’ followers. He was born in the city of Patara, in what is now Turkey, and you will remember from your reading in Acts that this was one of the places that St Paul visited during his travels, so it’s quite probable that his parents or grandparents were either converted by St Paul, or by the church he established there. His parents were rich, by the standards of their day, and when they died when the boy was quite young, he inherited all their money. But because he loved Jesus, he didn’t think it right to keep the money for himself, and began to give it away to the poor and needy in the area.
He dedicated his whole
life to God, and was made Bishop of Myra while still a young man.
One famous story about him tells of a poor man with three daughters,
whom he could not hope to marry off as he had nothing to give for
their dowries, something that was considered vital back in the day.
And the future for unmarried women back then was bleak – slavery
was probably the best option. So this young Bishop, anonymously,
threw three purses of gold, one for each daughter, through the window
of their house, and the purses landed in the shoes the girls had put
to dry by the fire.
There are lots of other
stories about this man – some probably legendary, as when three
theological students, traveling on their way to study in Athens were
robbed and murdered by wicked innkeeper, who hid their remains in a
large pickling tub. It so happened that the bishop, traveling along
the same route, stopped at this very inn. In the night he dreamed of
the crime, got up, and summoned the innkeeper. As he prayed earnestly
to God the three boys were restored to life and wholeness.
There are several
stories of his calming storms for sailors, and one story tells how
during a famine in Myra, the bishop worked desperately hard to find
grain to feed the people. He learned that ships bound for Alexandria
with cargos of wheat had anchored in Andriaki, the harbor for Myra.
The good bishop asked the captain to sell some of the grain from each
ship to relieve the people's suffering. The captain said he could not
because the cargo was "meted and measured." He must deliver
every bit and would have to answer for any shortage. The Bishop
assured the captain there would be no problems when the grain was
delivered. Finally, reluctantly, the captain agreed to take one
hundred bushels of grain from each ship. The grain was unloaded and
the ships continued on their way.
When they arrived and
the grain was unloaded, it weighed exactly the same as when it was
put on board. As the story was told, all the emperor's ministers
worshiped and praised God with thanksgiving for God's faithful
servant!
Back in Myra, the
Bishop distributed grain to everyone in Lycia and no one was hungry.
The grain lasted for two years, until the famine ended. There was
even enough grain to provide seed for a good harvest.
The Bishop, of course,
was made a saint when he died. And the stories of his miracles
didn’t stop coming. One very early story tells how the townspeople
of Myra were celebrating the good saint on the eve of his feast day
when a band of Arab pirates from Crete came into the district. They
stole treasures from the church to take away as booty. As they were
leaving town, they snatched a young boy, Basilios, to make into a
slave. The emir, or ruler, selected Basilios to be his personal
cupbearer, as not knowing the language, Basilios would not understand
what the king said to those around him. So, for the next year
Basilios waited on the king, bringing his wine in a beautiful golden
cup. For Basilios' parents, devastated at the loss of their only
child, the year passed slowly, filled with grief. As the saint’s
next feast day approached, Basilios' mother would not join in the
festivity, as it was now a day of tragedy. However, she was persuaded
to have a simple observance at home – with quiet prayers for
Basilios' safekeeping. Meanwhile, as Basilios was fulfilling his
tasks serving the emir, he was suddenly whisked up and away. The
saint appeared to the terrified boy, blessed him, and set him down at
his home back in Myra. Imagine the joy and wonderment when Basilios
amazingly appeared before his parents, still holding the king's
golden cup!
This man became the
patron saint of children, and the patron saint of sailors, too. And
as the years and centuries passed, he was revered in Christian
countries all over the world, both Orthodox and Catholic. In the
11th century his remains were moved from Myra, now called
Demre, which was under Moslem rule, to a town in Italy called Bari,
where he is venerated to this day. Nuns started to give poor
children little gifts of food – oranges and nuts, mostly – on his
feast day. And his cult spread right across Christendom.
You will notice that I
haven’t said his name! Who knows who I have been talking about?
Yes, St Nicholas, Bishop of Myra. And now, these days,
transmogrified into Santa Claus.
It all happened,
really, because of the Protestant reformation! No, seriously.
Because if you were Protestant, you didn’t revere saints, so you
couldn’t possibly have St Nicholas giving you oranges and nuts on
his feast day! Moreover, Christmas observance was seen as
inconsistent with Gospel worship. Here in England, with our gift for
religious compromise, our folk traditions changed to include Father
Christmas and yule logs and things, but in many Protestant countries,
particularly the USA, it was considered “just another day”. But
it seems that German colonists (probably not the Dutch, as they were
hyper-Calvinist back then) brought the St Nicholas tradition to the
USA, and gradually he became the “jolly elf” of the famous poem.
And, of course, the illustrations for the Coca-Cola advertisements
began to settle his image as the fat old man we know today. A far
cry, really, from a young Bishop in ancient Turkey!
But what, you may ask,
has this got to do with us? How does it affect us on this last day
of the year? For me, it’s about legitimising Christmas. Every
year, you hear people chuntering on about putting Christ back in
Christmas – as if He had ever left it! And every year, the
separation between the secular festival, encompassing Santa Claus and
presents and greed, and the celebration of the Birth of Christ, seems
to grow wider and wider. But does it? If we remember that Santa
himself was one of Jesus’ most faithful disciples, doesn’t that
make a difference?
Yes, Christmas is very
commercialised. Yes, it’s been secularised. But in a way, that
makes it better, as everybody can celebrate, whether or not they are
Christian. But the roots of the secular festival are deeper in
Christianity than we often realise. Next week, we will be
celebrating the Epiphany, the coming of the wise men that Matthew
talks about. The time when Christ was “manifest to the Gentiles”,
as they say – in other words, it was made clear that Jesus was for
the whole world, not just for the Jews. And we all know that today
the wise still worship him. Even Santa Claus! Amen.
