Thursday, December 16, 2004
A Santa by Any Other Name an interview with Swi?ty Mikolaj (Saint Nicholas)
The notoriously retiring Swi?ty Mikolaj arrives early, dressed in an ankle-length crimson cassock and matching mitre cap, his crosier grasped gently but firmly in his right hand. I have the impression he wouldn’t suffer this writer laying a hand upon the crucifix without a hardy fight. He snowy beard is regal. Of the four unoccupied seats in the room, he chooses the least conspicuous – a wooden chair with a worn cushion. His complexion is of a ripe olive, his eyes sparkle with wit and purpose. His time, I know, is limited; his steady gaze says as much. We begin.
What’s the first impression you hope to make to those whose paths you cross?
"Talk is cheap and rumors are even cheaper." I know that perhaps this isn’t the most elucidating way to start this dialogue, but let’s be forthright, shall we? Throughout the centuries I and the Holy Babe I eternally serve have been subject to the most damnable distortions. Most don’t bother me – truthfully I think nothing of the sort ever bothers Him – but I would be remiss not to, ah…. exploit this opportunity to its full end. Yours was a bad pun, by the way. "Paths you cross," indeed. (His brilliant eyes, every hue of the rainbow, shift skyward in an impatient appeal. I blush.)
Fair enough. So what are your origins?
There is truth in the assertion that I’ve been around a long time, but this doesn’t translate into a "Divine Birth." My parents were born in Lycia – claimed in diverse times by each of the Persian, Grecian and Roman empires – which grew in time to a collection of 23 city-states united under the virile democratic Lycian Union. That’s the heritage I was born to, in the Lycian city of Parara. At the moment we paid tribute to Rome; contemporarily, Lycia belongs to Turkey. I have since transgressed such unpurposed political boundaries. (Here Swi?ty Mikolaj shifts in his chair. If possible, he seems to grow in stature with this gesture.)
I speak of my homeland and not, directly, of me. But to understand a man you must first fathom his origins. What he inherits, and if he chooses to embrace or reject that inheritance, speaks far more eloquently than any department store biography. As for me, I was conscious of my religiosity from the earliest age. My noble inheritance could not have been birthed in a vacuum; a pilgrimage to each of Palestine and Egypt confirmed this simple truth. I therefore dedicated my life to sharing this vast endowment with all, and in doing returned the precious gift of my birth to my Lord and Savior. Lycia, like all regions in all times, had both rich and poor. To serve Christ and my fellow man I turned my attentions to the less fortunate among us. I gave to those who had not.
You say that very matter-of-factly. But isn’t it a point of fact your family was rather wealthy?
In my youth I met a family who ate a solitary meal per day, from an old kettle they kept in the center of their living room. They had no chairs to sit upon because they burned them to provide fuel for their fire. The passing of the centuries and our fabled accumulation of wealth has done nothing to appease the hunger of families like these. In fact, it has only grown. To such, all are rich. I gave only what I had. (It’s odd that pride never seems to taint his voice. But impatience? Yes, and frustration, resignation, even exuberance. His responses are rapid-fire. How one expresses all this without a hint of vocal pride is beyond me, but he does. His pride is wrapped up in even his subtlest gesture.)
Do you have a favorite memory? I heard tell you gave gold coins to a man who had lost everything and would have been forced to sell his three daughters to prostitution. Three gifts of gold in three successive nights.
Gold coins or brass ingots, what does it matter? One must give what he has to another who has not. I seem to be repeating myself.
Uh…. Apologies. I only mean to show everyone –
You only mean to perpetuate the legend. The fact is I am real. The Christ I serve is real. In every moment, thought is juxtaposed to motion. We are faced with what is, in our minds, the merest fantasy - unless we act. Something as innocuous as do I devour that last slice of pizza or leave it for one of my 12 starving guests, or do I change the channel from TV1 to TV2? Until we act all thought is only gossamer whimsy and naught else.
I went from house to house, city to city, bestowing gifts to those who needed them. I ask you, who does not need to be reminded daily that they are noticed… and loved? Children are the most unreserved in their expression of gratitude – and criticism. Thus as years progressed, they came to love me. I became known to them most of all.
Because you gave most to them or because they were most vocal in their response?
Both. Over time, both. After my aforementioned pilgrimages, I accepted my ecumenical calling and shortly thereafter rose to the post of Bishop of the Lycian city of Myra. When the Roman emperor Diocletian persecuted Christianity, he incarcerated me into the dankest prison. It was Constantine who rescued me – and indeed, all of Christiandom. Though I never approved of the many piercings he had.
Piercings?
Never mind. The march of time is relentless, fashions come and go, but I remain the same. My feast day is celebrated on December 6th and it is at this time I distribute presents to the children of the world who believe.
Why just those who believe?
Logistics. Those who believe and curry my favor in this country should leave a clean – I emphasize clean - shoe on their windowsills or by their beds. In other countries the receptacle of choice is different. Stockings, for instance.
Hmmm. Why the emphasis on a clean shoe?
Would you want to eat sweets from odoriferous footwear? As for the shoe, nothing is more elemental to one’s personal welfare. Sometimes I leave shoes for those who hitherto had done without. Sometimes they even leave sweets for me – which is deeply gratifying…. This naturally bears no relation to the fact that they may receive little from me other than a stern rebuke for their past willfulness. I am a fair man.
I see. There was a Pope Nicholas. Any relation?
(He bristles.) Of course not. By the way, there were five such popes. There were many Saint and saintly Nicolaii in this world. Surely there are others who share your name? I am the patron saint of Russia, however.
Russia? Do the Poles know that?
Very few. I find that highly amusing.
And what about Santa Claus? In Poland he is called "Gwiazdor," or Star-Man. Apparently the two of you have never been seen together. Any Comments?
(My attempt at humor falls woefully flat. He is neither amused not angered. But if this man wore something as modern as a watch I am certain he’d be studying it now.) Not to sound immodest but "I am who I am" – all allusions to science-fictions icons to the contrary. Children in Poland and throughout the world address their Christmas letters to me. For all of these I am held accountable and I accept this unflinchingly.
(I cannot refrain the skepticism in my voice. I soon regret that.) So you’re the "Fat jolly old elf," Clement Moore spoke of?
Young man, I take profound joy in what I do. I am truly blessed; all the more since it is my sacred trust to spread these blessings. However, this need not conform to your expectations of what "jolly" is or should be. The years bring change.
Uh, Right. So what you’re saying is…?
Don’t expect too many sweets this year. In fact your own tradition calls for coal, does it not?
So it does. Merry Christmas.
And to you. May God bless you with wisdom. Are we through?
(It is only after he leaves I notice the sweat stains on the pits of my shirt. It is later still I notice the white chocolate bar lying on the worn seat cushion. My favorite; how did he know?)
posted by mark 5:40 PM
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