Post by Radrook Admin on Jun 17, 2019 11:01:11 GMT -5
A memory of Deceit
There he goes! A morbidly obese old man in a red suit who lives somewhere in the North Pole along with his wife and elves, and who manufactures toys and distributes them for free once a year to children all over the world in less than approx. 24 hours. All this via using a sleigh pulled through the air by some flying reindeer led by one whose nose glows.
Charming image isn’t it?
An image which many children throughout the Christian world are taught to believe as irrefutable truth for a certain time during their short lives. Most people actually see very little harm in propagating this idea. But upon closer examination, is this idea really compatible with Christ whose birthday is claimed to be celebrated in conjunction with it?
Well, the truth is that there is something seriously wrong. You see, belief in this idea demands lying to our kids. Yet, Jesus Christ condemned lying and told us that the originator of deceit or lying was Satan, and that if we imitate Satan by lying, then we are Satan’s children.
John 8:44 ►
You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.
You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.
Now, excuse me for noticing the discrepancy, but it is very hard for me personally to ignore. One reason is that I was duped into believing this lie by my parents until the embarrassing age of twelve. True, other kids would tell me it was a lie. But I was always immediately assured that they were the liars, and that the truthful ones were my parents. In order to make sure that my trust was firm, I was always told:
“Would I lie to you? I would never lie to you!”
Also, a deep reverent, unyielding trust had been inculcated in me from infancy by having me recite that my mother was the most truthful woman in the universe. So I had been meticulously prepared to such an extent, that even at the age of twelve I held on tenaciously to that idea despite being told the truth by friends, and teachers. To me they were the liars and believing them was unimaginable.
In contrast, my father didn’t like the idea of buying me gifts and getting absolutely no credit, and so he started to drop hints. But he was finally pressured into going along with the charade for the sake of domestic tranquility. I would always leave food for Santa on the kitchen table, and my father would eat it. He would be pressured into hiding the gifts and placing them quietly under the Christmas tree as I slept. If I didn’t like the toy, he would try to drop a hint by complaining that now he’d have to return it to the store. In time, those brief hints began to create doubts, but my trust persisted despite his efforts. I would wonder why Santa would bring me a guitar since I clearly didn’t plan to go through the trouble of learning it. Didn’t he know it all? Didn’t he have the ability to read my heart as I had repeatedly been told? But then the same question was deployed
“Would I lie to you?”
This went on until age twelve as I said before. I remember how a bigger kid once tried to take my bike in an isolated area.
“Where did you get that bike?” he asked menacingly.
“Santa gave it to me!” I honestly replied.
“There is no Santa!” he said as I took off.
Then, it happened. One momentous day, as another Christmas was approaching and I was walking alongside my mother in the downtown area of Newark New Jersey, she suddenly finally dropped the bombshell.
“There is something I have to tell you,” she proclaimed calmly but in an ominous sort of way.
“There is no Santa Clause!” At that moment the impact of such a deceit was so strong that I had to stop and hang on to a lamppost because I felt that I was about to pass out. Then she went on to explain:
“I wanted you to enjoy the fantasy of being a child as long as possible. I never had that privilege! That is why I did it” she said as I struggled to remain conscious.
I honestly don’t recall having replied. But the strong sense of betrayal, of being taken advantage of because of my unwavering childlike trust, was very deep. After all, if indeed I couldn’t trust my parents, then who else indeed could I trust? If my own parents were capable of such meticulous scheming, then what of others?
The universe had suddenly become a place where miracles no longer happened. I no longer scanned the skies during Christmas Eve striving to catch a glimpse of the white-bearded fellow dressed in red and his reindeer streaming across the sky in defiance of gravity. I no longer felt that he was watching my behavior to see if I was bad or good. I no longer imagined him delivering toys in some sort of magical way to children all over the world.
Now suddenly the logistics seemed ridiculously overwhelming, and the whole thing totally absurd and I began asking myself why I had been so gullible. Why I had insisted on trust instead of questioning what had been proposed. I began regretting having trusted at all.
After all, the explanation for the deceit didn’t convince me. Where was the paternal empathy? I had suffered ridicule and shame at school. I had carried the burden of seeming like a dunce. But all this seemed totally beyond the capacity of my mother to understand and I suddenly realized that she was seriously flawed as was her concept of love. I had not only lost my faith in the mythical Santa, but much more significantly-I had lost trust in my parents who had perpetrated the lie.
“Santa gave it to me!” I honestly replied.
“There is no Santa!” he said as I took off.
Then, it happened. One momentous day, as another Christmas was approaching and I was walking alongside my mother in the downtown area of Newark New Jersey, she suddenly finally dropped the bombshell.
“There is something I have to tell you,” she proclaimed calmly but in an ominous sort of way.
“There is no Santa Clause!” At that moment the impact of such a deceit was so strong that I had to stop and hang on to a lamppost because I felt that I was about to pass out. Then she went on to explain:
“I wanted you to enjoy the fantasy of being a child as long as possible. I never had that privilege! That is why I did it” she said as I struggled to remain conscious.
I honestly don’t recall having replied. But the strong sense of betrayal, of being taken advantage of because of my unwavering childlike trust, was very deep. After all, if indeed I couldn’t trust my parents, then who else indeed could I trust? If my own parents were capable of such meticulous scheming, then what of others?
The universe had suddenly become a place where miracles no longer happened. I no longer scanned the skies during Christmas Eve striving to catch a glimpse of the white-bearded fellow dressed in red and his reindeer streaming across the sky in defiance of gravity. I no longer felt that he was watching my behavior to see if I was bad or good. I no longer imagined him delivering toys in some sort of magical way to children all over the world.
Now suddenly the logistics seemed ridiculously overwhelming, and the whole thing totally absurd and I began asking myself why I had been so gullible. Why I had insisted on trust instead of questioning what had been proposed. I began regretting having trusted at all.
After all, the explanation for the deceit didn’t convince me. Where was the paternal empathy? I had suffered ridicule and shame at school. I had carried the burden of seeming like a dunce. But all this seemed totally beyond the capacity of my mother to understand and I suddenly realized that she was seriously flawed as was her concept of love. I had not only lost my faith in the mythical Santa, but much more significantly-I had lost trust in my parents who had perpetrated the lie.