Monthly Archives: December 2011

Tis the Reason for the Season

(Originally posted in the Stratford Star and Fairfield Sun newspapers on December 22, 2011, in my  “Walsh’s Wonderings” column.) Christmas, with its message of “Peace on earth and goodwill toward man,” has always been my favorite holiday. Unfortunately, it can sometimes bring out the worst in people who forget the reason the holiday exists in the first place. This ugliness often arises out of minor things like the lighting of Christmas trees or the placement of nativity scenes and menorahs on town property. You’ll read about it in the choice of songs for the middle school chorale concert. You’ll see it in the billboard wars about the authenticity of religion itself between atheist groups and religious organizations. You’ll hear it in the whispered conversations at the water cooler: “I hate when people say, ‘Happy holidays,’ just because they’re too afraid to wish me a Merry Christmas.” This last one represents a popular refrain from many conservative Christian groups who claim that “they” (whoever “they” are) are “trying to take Christ out of Christmas.” This is a flawed argument at best, mainly because it represents the same ideals of Manifest Destiny that history has come to look upon as both ignorant and arrogant. To begin with, the Church did not decree the official date of Christmas until the middle of the fourth century, adding another holiday to an already-crowded slate. If anyone should feel their holiday was co-opted, it would be the adherents of Brumalia, an ancient Roman solstice festival honoring the god Bacchus generally held for a month and ending December 25. Gheimhridh was celebrated by Druids and Proto-Celtic tribes at Newgrange as early as 3,200 BCE. Babylonians held an annual renewal celebration, the Zagmuk Festival, that lasted 10 days to observe the sun god Marduk's battle over darkness. Saturnalia, a Roman feast commemorating the dedication of the temple of Saturn, lasted from December 17 – 23. The Buddhist celebration of Sanghamitta, honoring the Buddhist nun who brought a branch of the Bodhi tree to Sri Lanka, has been held around the winter solstice for over 2,000 years. Polytheistic European tribes celebrated Midvinterblot, a mid-winter-sacrifice, while the Zuni and the Hopitu Indians celebrated Soyal, the winter solstice ceremony held on December 21, the shortest day of the year. Put simply, Christianity was late to the party. In fact, many customs from pagan Scandinavian and Germanic celebrations of “Yule” in northern Europe (which started on December 25) are present in Christmas traditions. Items like the Christmas tree, the Christmas wreath, holly, mistletoe, and the Yule log were taken right from Yule customs. It’s interesting to note that the Puritans, the very people who colonized America, banned the celebration of Christmas in England before coming here. The crime of observing Christmas was punishable by a fine in the thirteen colonies, and was still not widely celebrated by the time of the Declaration of Independence. What’s so disappointing is that in almost every culture, this was meant as a time for renewal and hope, a…

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Jesus vs. Santa (A Young Catholic’s Struggle)

(Originally posted in the Stratford Star and Fairfield Sun newspapers on December 15, 2011, in my  “Walsh’s Wonderings” column.) As the Salvation Army Santa rang his bell for donations in front of the Stop ‘n’ Shop last week, I couldn’t help but think that this really improves his image. Like many kids, I had thought of Santa as my “go-to guy” for years, writing more letters to him than to all my relatives combined. Unfortunately, he’s only human. Or mostly human. Either way, he can only be trusted up to a point. My Sunday School teachers always tried to put the holiday season in perspective: “Christmas is more about the birth of Jesus than the appearance of Santa Claus,” they’d say. That was always a tough sell. The end of the calendar year was like a holiday clearinghouse: Halloween, All Saints Day, Thanksgiving, the Immaculate Conception, Christmas, and the Feast of the Solemnity of Mary (New Year’s Day) all fell within two months of each other. In this crucible of holiday craziness, young Catholics like me were told we should turn to Jesus, not Santa Claus, for all we needed. However, material concerns often outweigh their spiritual counterparts when you’re eight and you’d trade your immortal soul for a new GI Joe with the Kung-Fu grip. It was a delicate dance. How could we manage to keep both of them happy so as to maximize our Christmas haul while still keeping a door open for future salvation? After all, this wasn’t Jesus vs. the Easter Bunny. All the Easter Bunny did was hop around and hide eggs—he didn’t even have an opposable thumb. Santa, on the other hand, was famous for making a list and checking it twice. Whereas Jesus did not appear to retain a written record of my past transgressions, Santa seemed to hold a grudge. Santa also provided children with a clear list of what not to do, and everyone knows it’s easier to be told what not to do than to be told what you should do. Don’t pout… check. Don’t cry… check. Jesus, on the other hand, was fond of saying things like, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” I mean, how do you know when you’re doing that right? It was easier to follow the things like the Ten Commandments, which seemed to have been written by Santa. He also made it clear that there would be immediate consequences if we didn’t do what he told us to do. He saw me when I was sleeping, and he saw me when I was awake. If I screwed up, he’d keep my presents and put a lump of coal in my stocking. Coal. I might as well have woken up to the bloody, severed head of a horse in the bed next to me. Santa dealt in black and white. With Jesus, I figured I’d always get a second chance. Santa had immediacy: we could sit on his lap in the shopping mall and put the screws to…

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Bathed in Controversy

(Originally posted in the Stratford Star newspaper on December 1, 2011, and in the Fairfield Sun on December 8, 2011, both in my  “Walsh’s Wonderings” column.) Some say bath towels, like milk, have an expiration date. Regardless of race, creed, or nationality, there are really only two kinds of people in this world: Those who change bath towels after every shower, and those who don’t. Towels matter. Because we use them while we are most exposed, this decision speaks to who we really are. If you don’t believe me, ask around. I had a friend in high school that recoiled in horror when I shared that my family only switched towels once a week. “That’s disgusting—how can you dry yourself with a dirty towel?” In his eyes, it was as if I was drying myself with a used diaper, but my mother was washing laundry for nine people each week. Unless a root system was actively growing on the towel, we used it. The Turks, who first popularized today’s bath towel in the 18th century, never had to deal with this: They bathed weekly at best.  I was once a Turk myself, spending most of my pre-teenage years trying to convince my mom of the wisdom of minimal bathing. Alas, she clung stubbornly to the Western tradition of bathing several times a week. Each of her kids was assigned a worn bath towel, large enough to do the job but small enough to be useless as a cape. We would toss them in the hamper each weekend and grab another, usually while soaking wet. There were inherent flaws in this system, of course. As anyone with brothers can attest, teenage boys are required to wipe any number of unspeakable things on their younger brother’s bath towel. Whether you need to stem the blood from a shaving cut, cover a sneeze, or wipe the excess oil off your bike chain, a little brother’s towel does it all. It only gets worse at summer camp or college—without a blood bond, things are wiped on towels that would curl the toes of even the most experienced portable toilet cleaner. Small wonder that some won’t trust a towel that doesn’t come right out of the wash. Believers in the “All Need Antiseptic Linen” school of thought (I wish I could think of a good acronym for this) therefore insist that towels are automatically “unclean” after one use. However, the “Did I Replace Towels Yesterday?” school of thought (I know—I need an acronym, but what?) seems to be gaining momentum. Even hotels, once a playground stocked with innumerable clean towels, are beginning to embrace my mom’s philosophy. Bathroom cards read, “Save our planet: Every day, countless gallons of water are used to wash towels that have only been used once. A towel on the rack means, 'I will use again.' A towel on the floor means, 'Please replace.' Thank your for helping us conserve the Earth's vital resources." While trying to guilt us into helping them…

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