Christmas 2022

The Sceptic

My Father Christmas passed away 

When I was barely seven.

At twenty-one, alack-a-day

I lost my hope of heaven.

Yet not in either lies the curse:

The hell of its because

I don’t know which loss hurt the worse-

My God or Santa Claus.

Robert Service

I first encountered this poem when a friend wrote it out and attached it to my Christmas present, many Christmases ago. I no longer remember exactly what the present was (a vinyl record album for certain, I just can’t remember which one), this poem has occupied real estate in my brain every day since. Though I had been very familiar with many of the works of Robert Service, this poem had up until that point eluded me.

I share it here, on this Christmas Day, reluctantly, and without intent of controversy. I share it because it is one man’s well-written assessment of the religious aspect of the season and has challenged my understanding of Christmas for all these years. In the current political climate of cancel culture and venomous attack of any opinion in conflict with our own, I thought it may be helpful reminder that we may disagree and still be friends.

The ability to disagree and yet remain civil towards one another is a far greater message of the season than the commercial, max out the credit card day of giving that it has become. A child’s eyes will light up at the sight of the presents Santa left under the Christmas Tree, but once the shine of the gifts are gone and tucked away out of sight, it is the love and kindness they receive each and every day that will have the greatest impact on this world.

Merry Christmas!

DE Haines