You Know the Secret. Now We Must Kill You!
or
What JWs Don't Know About Santa Claus
It was an odd event to have rain in December; but a few peculiarly warm days had heralded the event. Phil ran to the hall closet to get his galoshes. He was always neat and orderly and needed no assistance of light to know exactly where to reach in the dark to find them. He was a bit surprised that they were slightly askew, then realized a large box had been placed in the corner. The box had a picture on it and appeared to be relatively new as it gave a slight shine from filtered light that entered into the closet.
Phil quickly strapped on the boots and headed outside to the bus stop. His two younger siblings were waiting on the covered porch. Phil ran to the edge of the road to see if he could see the bus. He ran back halfway. "It's about three stops down," he announced to the others. His sister opened the umbrella and waved it toward him. He brushed off her offer as he called out "I'll give you the signal when to run." He returned to the edge of the road to monitor the progress of the school bus.
As the bus turned into the townsquare, the landscape changed from brown trees and grey skies to an atmosphere of a Candy Lane game board. Huge plastic candy canes were tied with wide swaths of silver tinsel on every telephone pole along the way. Green and red streamers connected the light poles from one side of the street to the other. Giant plastic silver bells hung from the middle of them, suspended above the traffic. Snow that never melted was sprayed in corners of the shop windows and the face of an old white bearded man with a red hat was in some form on every window or door.
"Do you think Santa Claus looks like God?" Phil's sister Anna asked.
"Now, why would you say that?" said his younger brother Tom.
"Well, he does!" Anna defended her idea. "He looks just like the picture of God in that Bible Story book. You remember it. You saw it, too. He's old and he's got a long white beard."
"God doesn't wear a red hat. God wears a crown," Tom said.
"Well, maybe he takes it off for Christmas," Anna reasoned.
"Phil, is Santa Claus really God dressed up for Christmas?" Anna asked. They all looked up to their big brother; he would know and he would tell them the truth.
"I don't know," Phil replied. "But let's figure this out." He thought for a moment.
"God is suppossed to be everywhere all the time." He said, merely repeating what he had been told by his Sunday School teacher. "And Santa Claus has some way of always keeping tabs to know if you are good or bad. I suppose he would have to be around all the time to know that."
"And how would Santa Claus know what we want for Christmas if he is not God?" Anna asked.
"Yeah," Tom chimed in. "God is suppossed to know everything, too."
"This is a very curious question," Phil admitted. "I have wondered how Santa Claus can be everywhere in one night to deliver so many presents. He would have to have superhuman powers to be able to go to every house in just one night."
"When we go trick-or-treating it takes us all night just to do our street," Tom said. "It seems it would take Santa Claus a long time to go everywhere. Longer than just one night. That sounds impossible. Do you think he goes all over the world like to the other side, too, or is it just here in America?"
"I don't know," Phil answered. He had never really thought about any of these things.
"Well, I know what I want for Christmas," Anna announced. "I want a Sally Talks and Walks doll."
The bus pulled up to the school breezeway and stopped. The children alighted as the bell rang, and like rats entering a familiar maze, they began again the worn journey of conditioned patterns.
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Phil hosed off his galoshes and left them on the back porch to dry. It was not until the following evening that he returned to pick them up and put them away. This time, he turned on the light in the hall closet. Several things had been moved around. He noticed the big box again. It had a picture of a young girls' happy face and some lettering. He was on the verge of clearing some things away so that he could read it when he heard his mother calling from outside. She was bringing in groceries and needed his help. Hastily, he dropped the galoshes and turned off the light. He reached the door just in time to open it for his mother.
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"Four more days to Christmas!" Tom chanted jumping up and down.
"Be still and let me get your jacket zipped!" his mother said.
"They're here!" Anna announced excitedly. They were all going out singing Christmas carols with the other children from the church choir.
Anna and Phil lagged behind the other carolers as they made their way door to door in the neighborhood. Once in a while someone would invite them all in for hot chocolate. Everybody celebrated Christmas and the Welch children never had an inclination that there were any children in the world who did not believe in Santa Claus. It would have been a shocking revelation to find that anyone in America did not celebrate Christmas.
The carolers approached another house and took their deep breaths as the maestro raised his arms. "O, Holy Night," he whispered.
"I still don't get it," Anna whispered to Phil. "One song is about Ho-Ho-Ho and the next song is about Jesus. How does it fit? I mean, what does Santa Claus have to do with Jesus?"
"Shhh...just sing," Phil quieted her.
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The carolers returned home to find the door locked. Phil knocked and knocked. Faintly, he heard his mother's voice announce she was coming. It seemed to take forever and the children stood in the cold waiting.
"Why would they lock us out?" Anna asked, peeved. "They knew we were coming back."
"It's cold out here," Phil yelled. Already his nose felt wet.
"I think I finally figured it out," Anna huffed.
"You mean they don't want us to come back?" asked little Tom.
"No, not that. I mean I was thinking about how Jesus and Santa Clause fit together. I was wondering why would Santa Claus give us presents if it's Jesus's birthday. I mean, you would think Jesus is supposed to get the presents. But then I remembered. "
"Remembered what?" Phil asked.
"I remembered when Tom was born, daddy gave out cigars to everybody."
"What's that got to do with it?" Tom asked.
"Well, if Santa Claus is really God....and God is Jesus's father...then when he gives us presents, it's kind of like he's giving out cigars...but not really cigars...but you know what I mean." Anna stammered.
"I am going to ask Momma," said Tom.
"No! You can't do that!" Anna was alarmed. "You know Momma and Daddy said you can't ask too many questions about Santa or he will stop coming!"
Tom kicked the door. "Where is Momma? It's cold out here!"
Phil banged on the door again, calling. This was ridiculous. Their parents had not locked them out of the house before.
Mrs. Welch opened the door and the children raced in toward the fireplace to toast their hands. She turned and gasped as she realized the wide red ribbon was peeking out of her apron pocket. Thankfully, the children had not noticed.
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"I can't sleep," Anna shook her brother awake.
"What now?" Phil asked.
"I just can't sleep. We need to have a plan so we can stay awake tomorrow night and catch Santa Claus when he comes."
"You can't see Santa Claus, you know that. Nobody can see him." Phil said. "And nobody can see God either."
"If he is real you can so see him," Anna retorted.
"Momma said if anybody does see him, he won't ever come back again," Tom had woken up.
"John Burns in sixth grade says Santa is not real that it is really Momma and Daddy," Anna pouted. "But if he is real how can we know for sure if we are not allowed to ask questions about him and we can't see him?"
"There is a way." Tom announced, to his siblings surprise.
Tom had never told anyone what he wanted for Christmas. His mother had asked countless times only to receive the reply "I dunno" with a shrug. Not even his father could drag it out of him.
"I am going to find out if God is Santa Claus," Tom smiled.
"And just how do you think you can do that?" Anna wondered what clever plan he had impossibly hatched all by himself.
"Cause I haven't told anybody what I want for Christmas....except God. I tell him every night. So if I get what I ask for, then I can know for sure that God is Santa Claus."
"And if he's not, then you get nothing," Phil said. "Or you get something you didn't ask for."
"Yep." Tom smiled. "At least we'll know."
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Mrs. Welch served dinner early on Christmas Eve. As it neared time of the usual dinner hour, she served the children peppermint drinks laced with a cough syrup sedative and allowed them to watch an old familiar repeated movie.
The children soon began to drift off. It never really occurred to them why they could never keep their plans to feign sleep and stay awake to catch Santa Claus.
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Phil awoke from his sleep. He had heard a bump in the night. He lay quietly and listened. There was movement in the house. In his stupor, he did not even think of Santa. A loud tapping noise, muffled in the distance was coming from another part of the house. Something was not right.
Phil shuffled into the family room. The christmas tree was sparkling in the dark and revealed that Santa had not yet arrived. He heard the tapping noise and his fathers voice. Phil headed to the kitchen and opened the door.
Standing in amazement, Phil saw his father assembling the finishing touches on a doll house. Mrs. Welch gasped and ran to the door to turn and escort Phil out of the room. Mr. Welch dropped his hammer.
Phil protested. "What is that? What's it for?" His eyes flew around the room. There was an assortment of children's toys yet to be wrapped. His eyes stopped and rested on one item. It was the box from the closet. Yes! He recognised it now. The grey background and the blonde headed girl with the smiling face. The part of the picture he had missed...she was holding a doll. And the letters now took form. It was the Sally Walk and Talk doll. He resisted his mother's push. "It's you. It is you!" he declared.
"You're dreaming, Phil. Let's get you back to bed," his mother coaxed.
"Wait Maggie," Mr. Welch said to his wife. She turned and looked inquiringly. "He knows too much already." Time stood still as they all silently looked at each other.
"Come in and sit down, Phil," his father directed. "You keep quiet about what you have seen. You understand me?"
Phil was all at once disappointed to know the truth, and angry that his parents had played him for a fool.
"Why did you lie about Santa Claus? It's been you all along."
"Lie is a strong word to use to your father, don't you think?" his voice warned sternly.
Mr. Welch stopped his work. He pointed his finger in Phil's face. "If you say one word about this to the other's none of you will ever have Christmas again. And you're not too big yet to talk to this belt," he said as he grabbed the buckle in a threat to take it off.
"But it's not the truth," Phil's lip quiverred.
"Why do you want to spoil it for everyone? Do you want your brother and sister to never get presents anymore? We can just stop Christmas right now!" His father bellowed. "You were told to stay in your bed. We depended on you. You were supposed to keep the others in their beds, too. Now weren't you?"
Phil looked at the floor.
"Answer me son! You are the one who has brought this ruin!"
The room was quiet. No one seemed to understand how broken Phil felt to find out about this great deceit and at the same time be scolded for learning it.
"You want that your sister doesn't get her doll? Shall we tell her you scared Santa off and that he will never be coming back to this house ever again? You are the oldest. You have had more Christmases than they have. You want to take it away from them now?"
"But they are asking questions," Phil said.
"And it's your responsibility now to tell them that if they ask too many questions, Santa will not come back. It's up to you now whether they will have Christmas anymore. You want to take away their fun? You don't want them to have any holiday joys and gifts? It's up to you."
"It's.... you....this Santa Claus story.....it makes suckers out of us! And all this time that's why the sixth graders laugh at us for believing this," Phil mumbled.
"So tell them. Go ahead and tell them. They will hate you for the rest of their lives because you ruined Christmas and they will never get any more toys when all their other friends get toys for Christmas. They will blame you. It will all be your fault."
Mrs. Welch continued to wrap the gifts on the table. "Hand me the tape, Phil" she pointed tilting her head as she held down the corner of the wrapping paper. "You can go put those under the tree," she said, pointing to two smaller packages in the chair.
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Questions in the Box:
Why do we not take the time to confront the box in the corner?
Why do we fail to examine the evidence when it's right in front of our eyes?
Why do we accept that no questions can be asked without serious repercussion?
Why, when we find the truth, do we become the villan?
Does it not seem a principle of simple psychology, that when one is bright enough to see beyond the dupes of myth and through the dictates of man and tradition, that there should be another path for the displaced?
When truth threatens to disrupt the tranquility and hypnosis of the crowd, should not that one who holds the key be recruited as an ally?
How long will you believe 'god is good' because someone tells you he is supposed to be, and yet, the evidence shows otherwise?
In real life, there are a thousand eyes watching for the precocious who venture off the religion road. Those who show a self-styled intelligence, and promise of talent are recruited to join special fraternaties; they must not be allowed to contaminate the spiritual paradise of the others.
Does it not seem a very well laid plan that the Powers who have given religion it's place and set it in motion as a control of the populace, would not also have an alt-religion for those who rebel? A place for the "freethinkers" who, not so much oppose religion, but who know the truth of it's purpose, is necessary to silence them by oath and accomplice, and make them allies for the ultimate sinister goal.