The War on the War on Christmas

As sure as that first hint of winter turns my breath to clouds, some pundit or another starts encouraging surly crowds. The heathens, see, (or so they say) are hell-bent to do us wrong by threatening legal action should our lil’ angels sing a song. So school pageants, which used to gush with Christian themes, have turned anthropological, and wishing the wrong one “Merry Christmas” could send you off to jail.

So fools Rush in where no self-respecting Angel would stoop to tread and proclaim that if we stay this course, Christmas will be dead.

Dead?

If solstice is a time of peace and Hanukkah a time of joy, and Christmas a time of wonderment, what weapon could its enemies deploy? Proclaiming a war on Christmas, Christ, this just doesn’t qualify. ‘Cause Christmas can’t be lost or won unless we accept a lie: That Christmas lives in ritual, in trees and songs and toys, instead of in the beating heart of every girl and boy.

The war on the war on Christmas seems the sorriest campaign, with nothing much to win or lose, meant only to inflame. So peace on Rush, O’Reilly, too, and any other one who fears that the threat of legal action might somehow singe their goose.

There is no war on Christmas! This war is a swindler’s lie. Intended, I guess, to steal the best this season might imply. So, should you feel mistreated, belittled, or behind, chase the Devil whispering in your ear back to the cold outside. Then warm yourself with whatever faith fuels your flaming Tao and have yourself a merry little whatever-you-wanna-call-it now.

May the spirit of this season dissolve this battle line. ‘Cause no one can steal the holiday you’re holding safe inside.

Happy Holy Days.

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