Columnist Robert Eringer still has the Christmas stocking he had when he was a kid.
I grew up celebrating Christmas, and I’m not trading it for “winter holidays” or anything else.
Greet me with “Happy Hanukkah” or “Happy Kwanzaa” or “Happy Holidays” or whatever makes you feel good, fine with me, glad you are enjoying the Yuletide season. But I’m sticking with “Merry Christmas!”
For me this is a cultural, not a religious thing. I did some Sunday schooling at a Unitarian church but discovered spirituality much later in life. Much more important to me as a child were Christmas trees and frosty snowmen and carols vibrating from the hi-fi radio and nighttime drives around other neighborhoods to see twinkly displays of Christmas lights but most especially displays of Santa Claus on a sleigh with reindeer led by a red-nosed Rudolph.
Lugging home an evergreen from Ralphs on Wilshire Boulevard was a big deal — and an even bigger deal for my father who braved stinging pine needles to strand it with colored lights that, back then, were rather temperamental.
Thereafter, all family members participated in the ritual of adorning the tree with glass ornaments, silvery tinsel, a Nativity scene beneath and a star on top. It was a warm and fuzzy family experience celebrated with hot cocoa and marshmallows in festive mugs and much good cheer.
I still have the red and white stocking I hung over the fireplace as a kid. Even though it is frayed and beat up, I bring it out annually. Just looking at it makes me feel like a happy 8-year-old.
Christmas Eve was a very special affair with friends dropping by, and, for us kids, excited anticipation about the impending arrival, once we were asleep, of St. Nick, for whom we set out a note and cookies.
There was simply nothing better as a child than the thrill of rounding a corner into the living room early Christmas morning to find a stocking loaded beyond the brim with chocolate and candy canes and small gifts and, under the tree, dozens upon dozens of beautifully wrapped and ribboned presents for my two brothers and me.
Try as they may, wacky wokesters and politically correct cuckoos will never take Christmas from me, not in spirit, not in words, no way, no how.
Now the reality.
THE BIRTHDATE OF JESUS
The latest calculation about when Jesus of Nazareth was born — based on the starry sky above — puts that date around mid-June or October or even early spring, depending on the exact year of his birth, which is also in contention but believed to be sometime between 2 and 7 B.C.E/B.C.
An article in the Royal Astronomical Society’s quarterly states, “Astronomical and historical evidence suggests that the Star of Bethlehem was a comet which was visible in 5 B.C. and described in ancient Chinese records. The evidence points to Jesus being born in the period 5 B.C. March 9-May 4.
So why do we celebrate the birth of Jesus on the 25th of December?
Answer: The first Christian Roman Emperor Constantine in the year 336 chose this date to co-opt the pagan festival of Yule on Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, a celebration that continues for 12 days (hence the 12 days of Christmas) filled with gift giving and spiritual reflection, merriment and feasts, symbolizing a rebirth (through longer days) of the sun and, by extension, new beginnings. It’s an opportunity to welcome a “new year” free of unwanted bad habits — that became new year resolutions.
As for the word “Christmas” or “Christ’s mass,” the word “mass” derives from the Latin “missa,” which means “sent.” Together, Christmas means “The Christ Jesus has been sent to God,” and those who take part in a “mass” are thereafter sent into the world as beacons of light.
And on that note, have a very Merry Christmas!
Robert Eringer is a longtime Montecito author with vast experience in investigative journalism. He welcomes questions or comments at reringer@gmail.com.
