Post by fusilier23 on Dec 24, 2006 5:39:01 GMT
When you were a kid, maybe your house didn't have a fireplace, I know mine didn't, so I wondered how Santa got in to deliver gifts. This is my thought on where he came from and how he does that.
In the fourth century A.D., in Asia Minor, then under the Roman Empire, there lived a bishop of the then-new Christian faith named Nicholas. Though born rich, he chose to dedicate his life to the Lord’s service and the service of others, donating large sums of money to the poor, seeing that the children were cared for and kept happy, and stepping in to pay the debts of those who could not otherwise do so. He once secretly threw three bags of gold down the chimney of a poor woodcutter’s house to save his daughters from being sold into slavery, and it is said he saved the children of an entire city from the same fate. He never wavered in his faith, though it was difficult under the dominant paganism of the Romans. He even spent time in prison for his beliefs, until Constantine defeated Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge and ordered an end to the persecutions. Upon his release he returned to his ministry with renewed vigor, continuing to help the have-nots and children of his diocese.
Finally one evening, at the close of his seventieth year in this world, the bishop, as was his custom, prepared to say his vespers. As he donned his vestments, he heard a voice call “Nicholas?” Turning, he saw no one, however. Again the voice, from nowhere yet everywhere, spoke, “Nicholas, you have served Me well all these years and never thought once of yourself. Name one boon for yourself, and it will be granted.”
“Oh my Lord,” said Nicholas, realizing who it was, “There are so many precious children who remain unhappy in this world. I ask only that I be allowed to continue my work.” With that wish, Nicholas was empowered with a spark of divine essence and no longer truly mortal. Though he vanished from the ken of men and was thought to have died, he became the figure known by many names the world over, of which Santa Claus and Father Christmas are but two.
In the second century after his transfiguration, St. Nicholas traveled one Christmas Eve above Wales. All was quiet, or so it seemed.
“Did someone just call for help?” he thought, “or can it be that my imagination is playing tricks on me?” He was almost certain that the latter was the case, for this area was covered with bogs and no place for travelers after dark. Yet there was the voice again, and this time he was sure he heard it.
With a snap of the reins he guided his reindeer team to a landing on a hillock. Leaping from the sleigh, he called out “Who’s there? What’s wrong?”
‘Over here! In the bog! Help!” came the reply, half-choked with mud.
Following the voice, St. Nicholas dashed to the edge of the bog, where he could barely make out a figure struggling in the deep mud. “Here, grab this!” he yelled, extending his crozier, or bishop’s staff. Feeling a hand close on it, he pulled with all his might, till the owner of that hand was safe on the dry ground.
“Thank you,” managed the shadowy figure. At that point the moon came out from behind the clouds, and St. Nicholas got his first good look at this person. He had a long, white beard like the saint’s, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where St. Nicholas was chubby, his beneficiary was thin as a rail, and his robes, what could be seen of them under the mud that covered them, were purple and embroidered with stars, moons, and other symbols the saint could only guess at. Most unusual was the hint of pointed ears beneath his tall cap.
“Merlin, court wizard to King Arthur of Camelot, at your service,” said the other, with a half bow as he looked about on the ground.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the saint, “but if you are a wizard, why did you need my help? Why not simply use your magic?”
“Ah,” said Merlin, picking up a curiously carved stick, “any magic that would have helped me would have required the use of a wand or staff. Like a completely mortal fool, I wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped over that rock, dropping my staff and falling in the bog, where I would have drowned but for your help, for which I thank you again. Now that I have it back, though, raimens limpiam!” With a flash of blue lightning and a crackle of thunder all the mud vanished from the wizard’s robes.
‘You are welcome, Merlin,” said St. Nicholas, “unfortunately I need to leave, there are many children who will be disappointed if I do not visit them and deliver their gifts ere this night ends.”
“We can’t have that,” said Merlin, “but before you go, know I will not forget your kindness, and, should you need my help, whenever or wherever, clap your hands and say:
From the land beyond beyond,
From the world past hope and fear,
I bid thee, Merlin, now appear!
Do this, and I will come to your aid. Farewell. Ritornos!” In a cloud of gold and silver sparkles, the wizard vanished. St, Nicholas sprang to his sleigh and returned to his rounds.
Years ran into decades, and decades into centuries, though never once did St. Nicholas, or Santa Claus, as he was now known in much of the world, fail to make his yearly journey spreading Christmas cheer. Up and down the chimneys of the world he bounced, like a great red rubber ball, always leaving happiness in his wake.
Finally, however, one Christmas early in the last century, he came to the house where a young boy named Nicky lay dreadfully ill. He had asked for a special toy train, and Santa’s toymakers had outdone themselves. To his horror, though, Santa found only a very small chimney, one that chubby St. Nick could never fit into.
“Oh dear, this must be one of those new houses that is heated by oil, and that chimney leads to the furnace. Even if I could fit, I’d burn to ashes if I went down there.”
As Santa stood there, mulling over possible solutions, one boot slipped on the ice and snow that covered the roof, and down he fell to the yard below. Rising, he decided to see if the door was open, but it was locked tighter than a drum.
“This is horrible! Nicky is going to be terribly disappointed! If only I could get in by working a little Christmas magic… wait! I think I know who to call on when I need magic!”
Clapping his hands, Santa called out:
From the land beyond beyond,
From the world past hope and fear,
I bid thee, Merlin, now appear!
Sure enough, in a cloud of purple smoke, Merlin appeared. “Greetings, St. Nicholas, or Santa, as they call you now. What seems to be the problem?”
Santa explained the problem. Merlin thought for a moment, then raised his staff and said “Lavium Omniversam!” Reaching out his hand, he pulled a silver object apparently out of thin air. Proffering it to Santa, he said “This is Ossific’s Key of Portals. It will open any door, anywhere, so long as the bearer does not seek to enter for an evil purpose.”
Santa set the key in the lock, and, sure enough, when he turned it the door opened easily. Swiftly he and Merlin filled the stockings, set up the tree, and trimmed it. They placed the gifts below it, ending with the special toy train. A moment later they were back outside, having locked the door behind them with the key. Santa offered it back, but Merlin gestured that he need not give it back. “You keep it. It’s a Christmas present from me to you. I think you will have more need of it in the coming years than I will. I won’t keep you further, so Merry Christmas!” With a tip of his pointed cap, the good wizard vanished once more.
So, if you wonder how Santa Claus gets into houses without chimneys, here’s the answer: he uses a magic key given to him by a wizard in appreciation for a long-ago kindness.
As the saint might say
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!
In the fourth century A.D., in Asia Minor, then under the Roman Empire, there lived a bishop of the then-new Christian faith named Nicholas. Though born rich, he chose to dedicate his life to the Lord’s service and the service of others, donating large sums of money to the poor, seeing that the children were cared for and kept happy, and stepping in to pay the debts of those who could not otherwise do so. He once secretly threw three bags of gold down the chimney of a poor woodcutter’s house to save his daughters from being sold into slavery, and it is said he saved the children of an entire city from the same fate. He never wavered in his faith, though it was difficult under the dominant paganism of the Romans. He even spent time in prison for his beliefs, until Constantine defeated Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge and ordered an end to the persecutions. Upon his release he returned to his ministry with renewed vigor, continuing to help the have-nots and children of his diocese.
Finally one evening, at the close of his seventieth year in this world, the bishop, as was his custom, prepared to say his vespers. As he donned his vestments, he heard a voice call “Nicholas?” Turning, he saw no one, however. Again the voice, from nowhere yet everywhere, spoke, “Nicholas, you have served Me well all these years and never thought once of yourself. Name one boon for yourself, and it will be granted.”
“Oh my Lord,” said Nicholas, realizing who it was, “There are so many precious children who remain unhappy in this world. I ask only that I be allowed to continue my work.” With that wish, Nicholas was empowered with a spark of divine essence and no longer truly mortal. Though he vanished from the ken of men and was thought to have died, he became the figure known by many names the world over, of which Santa Claus and Father Christmas are but two.
In the second century after his transfiguration, St. Nicholas traveled one Christmas Eve above Wales. All was quiet, or so it seemed.
“Did someone just call for help?” he thought, “or can it be that my imagination is playing tricks on me?” He was almost certain that the latter was the case, for this area was covered with bogs and no place for travelers after dark. Yet there was the voice again, and this time he was sure he heard it.
With a snap of the reins he guided his reindeer team to a landing on a hillock. Leaping from the sleigh, he called out “Who’s there? What’s wrong?”
‘Over here! In the bog! Help!” came the reply, half-choked with mud.
Following the voice, St. Nicholas dashed to the edge of the bog, where he could barely make out a figure struggling in the deep mud. “Here, grab this!” he yelled, extending his crozier, or bishop’s staff. Feeling a hand close on it, he pulled with all his might, till the owner of that hand was safe on the dry ground.
“Thank you,” managed the shadowy figure. At that point the moon came out from behind the clouds, and St. Nicholas got his first good look at this person. He had a long, white beard like the saint’s, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where St. Nicholas was chubby, his beneficiary was thin as a rail, and his robes, what could be seen of them under the mud that covered them, were purple and embroidered with stars, moons, and other symbols the saint could only guess at. Most unusual was the hint of pointed ears beneath his tall cap.
“Merlin, court wizard to King Arthur of Camelot, at your service,” said the other, with a half bow as he looked about on the ground.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the saint, “but if you are a wizard, why did you need my help? Why not simply use your magic?”
“Ah,” said Merlin, picking up a curiously carved stick, “any magic that would have helped me would have required the use of a wand or staff. Like a completely mortal fool, I wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped over that rock, dropping my staff and falling in the bog, where I would have drowned but for your help, for which I thank you again. Now that I have it back, though, raimens limpiam!” With a flash of blue lightning and a crackle of thunder all the mud vanished from the wizard’s robes.
‘You are welcome, Merlin,” said St. Nicholas, “unfortunately I need to leave, there are many children who will be disappointed if I do not visit them and deliver their gifts ere this night ends.”
“We can’t have that,” said Merlin, “but before you go, know I will not forget your kindness, and, should you need my help, whenever or wherever, clap your hands and say:
From the land beyond beyond,
From the world past hope and fear,
I bid thee, Merlin, now appear!
Do this, and I will come to your aid. Farewell. Ritornos!” In a cloud of gold and silver sparkles, the wizard vanished. St, Nicholas sprang to his sleigh and returned to his rounds.
Years ran into decades, and decades into centuries, though never once did St. Nicholas, or Santa Claus, as he was now known in much of the world, fail to make his yearly journey spreading Christmas cheer. Up and down the chimneys of the world he bounced, like a great red rubber ball, always leaving happiness in his wake.
Finally, however, one Christmas early in the last century, he came to the house where a young boy named Nicky lay dreadfully ill. He had asked for a special toy train, and Santa’s toymakers had outdone themselves. To his horror, though, Santa found only a very small chimney, one that chubby St. Nick could never fit into.
“Oh dear, this must be one of those new houses that is heated by oil, and that chimney leads to the furnace. Even if I could fit, I’d burn to ashes if I went down there.”
As Santa stood there, mulling over possible solutions, one boot slipped on the ice and snow that covered the roof, and down he fell to the yard below. Rising, he decided to see if the door was open, but it was locked tighter than a drum.
“This is horrible! Nicky is going to be terribly disappointed! If only I could get in by working a little Christmas magic… wait! I think I know who to call on when I need magic!”
Clapping his hands, Santa called out:
From the land beyond beyond,
From the world past hope and fear,
I bid thee, Merlin, now appear!
Sure enough, in a cloud of purple smoke, Merlin appeared. “Greetings, St. Nicholas, or Santa, as they call you now. What seems to be the problem?”
Santa explained the problem. Merlin thought for a moment, then raised his staff and said “Lavium Omniversam!” Reaching out his hand, he pulled a silver object apparently out of thin air. Proffering it to Santa, he said “This is Ossific’s Key of Portals. It will open any door, anywhere, so long as the bearer does not seek to enter for an evil purpose.”
Santa set the key in the lock, and, sure enough, when he turned it the door opened easily. Swiftly he and Merlin filled the stockings, set up the tree, and trimmed it. They placed the gifts below it, ending with the special toy train. A moment later they were back outside, having locked the door behind them with the key. Santa offered it back, but Merlin gestured that he need not give it back. “You keep it. It’s a Christmas present from me to you. I think you will have more need of it in the coming years than I will. I won’t keep you further, so Merry Christmas!” With a tip of his pointed cap, the good wizard vanished once more.
So, if you wonder how Santa Claus gets into houses without chimneys, here’s the answer: he uses a magic key given to him by a wizard in appreciation for a long-ago kindness.
As the saint might say
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!
