A Story for All Seasons

Peace on Earth, Good Will to All

Has Christmas become too commercialized? In some towns the display of decorated trees is now controversial. Is it a ‘holiday’, or is it a ‘holyday’? Is it ‘Christmas’, or is it ‘Xmas’?

Confused about whether to say, “Merry Christmas” or, “Happy Holidays”. What about Kwanza, Hanukkah, and the Holy Days of Islam? Maybe a simple greeting of, “Peace to you brother”, would be appropriate. Ah, the stress of it all could drive a person to over-indulge in the spiked nog.



We need to re-examine our priorities. There are reports of hungry panhandlers on Main Street, false prophets in Washington, and the country is awash with unsympathetic politicians. The planet is in crisis. Is this really a good time to celebrate?

The Christmas controversy gets even more intense for those who have children. Many parents find themselves in a no-win situation. Should your child be the only one in the class who does not get a pile of gifts. Will the mental health of children be affected if they are on the leading edge of the controversy; on the other hand, it might be an opportunity to teach a child that being part of the group is not always the best thing. Maybe it is better to minimize the influence of the culture on youthful minds. There is no better time of year to expose the negative side of consumerism.

What about the original Christmas story — the virgin birth — the bright star in the East. Some people love it; others are offended by it. No matter what your stand on this controversy, the fact is that the Christmas story has always been a story about a homeless family being bullied by their government — what could be more relevant and timely today. For those who are offended by other details of the events in Bethlehem, there is an updated version of the Holiday story.

Think about the fable of Jose’ and Maria. Forced out of their homeland by the trade policies of the powerful government to the north, Jose’ and Maria left their tiny village in search of a better life. They traveled in their old sputtering Buick. They were filled with the hope that they would get jobs and send money back to their families at home.

Jose’ and Maria successfully crossed the border but found that there were no jobs for “people like them” — people without the proper documents. Jose’ was a skilled carpenter. He had helped build the big new Wal-mart in his native village. Now, because of the failing economy, no builders in the United States were hiring.


Jose’ and Maria were running out of money. The transmission in their old car was making strange noises. The weather had turned cold. As they traveled north, they discussed their options. Should they try to make it to the Canadian border where they might be less likely to encounter I.C.E. officials? They could cross into Canada at one of the unmanned border crossings in Vermont; but they would need a miracle to make it that far north.

Maybe they should head for Florida. With a little luck they could pass themselves off as Cubans. Immigrants from Cuba are welcomed in the United States. Jose’ and Maria often talked about how differently they were treated because they were Mexican and not Cuban. It wasn’t their fault that they were born in Nuevo Lorado rather than Havana. If all men are created equal, it should not matter where their mothers were when they gave birth.

It was getting dark and cold. Now to add to the distress, Maria was feeling the first pangs of labor pains. They knew that they could not go to a hospital. They did not have enough money for a motel. Jose’ made a sharp left hand turn and pulled into a truck stop.


After a few hours, Maria’s pain was getting unbearable. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she moaned. Jose’ was trembling with fear. He got out of the car and pounded on the door of the rig. After what felt like a long time, the door flung open. The largest man that Jose’ had ever seen stood there. He was dressed in denim jeans and a rumpled plaid flannel shirt. His long gray beard seemed to be collecting snow flakes as he barked something that was unintelligible. Jose’ pointed to his car. Maria was now in the back seat. When the truck driver noticed the woman in the back of Jose’s car, his mood changed. He immediately understood the problem. His stern voice softened. He mumbled something about being a Grandpa.

Maria was helped into the cab of the truck. The bed in the sleeper section behind the driver’s seat was the site of the miracle. It was there that Maria gave birth to a beautiful baby. With the truck driver’s help, Jose’ swaddled the newborn in a blanket.

The young couple thanked their new friend and they were on their way. No one is sure whether Jose’ headed for Florida or drove north to the Canadian border. It is rumored that on cold winter nights when the stars are just right, the shadow of an old Buick is sometimes seen crossing the Vermont border at Derby Line into Quebec.
