About That Time St. Nicholas Punched a Bishop In the Mouth…

Dear Santa Claus:

I know you’re pretty busy at this time of year, and I hate to be a pest, but I am writing again in hopes that you will reconsider putting me on the Naughty List.

I know… There was that unfortunate incident when I told my 7th-grade science teacher that he was an idiot. I am truly sorry that I pointed that fact out to him.

I also recognize it wasn’t in the spirit of Christmas for me to tell my cousin that he could start a fire by urinating on the electric fence. In my defense, I should only bear culpability for the first time he did it. The blame for all subsequent times really should rest on his shoulders — or possibly about two feet lower.

In short, I admit that my record has been a wee bit less than stellar. I feel compelled to point out, however, that your halo has a bit of a smudge on it, as well, doesn’t it?

Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I refer, of course, to your shocking conduct at the Council of Nicaea. Now, don’t go pretending that you can’t remember back that far. It was a mere 1,398 years ago.

That’s right. That was the big shindig in A.D. 325 that was convened by Emperor Constantine. Some 300 theologians gathered to work out the finer points regarding the Church’s understanding of the doctrine of the Trinity.

Well, Santa, I have in my possession a fascinating little report concerning the conduct of one fellow by the name of Nicholas, born around A.D. 280 in Patara, Lycia, an area that is part of present-day Turkey. He lost both of his parents as a young man and reportedly used his inheritance to help the poor and sick. A devout Christian, he later served as bishop of Myra, a city that is now called Demre. He would later be known as St. Nicholas, as well as many other aliases.

Sound familiar? I thought so.

So according to this report, this Nicholas chap didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye with his fellow bishop, Arius. Nicholas subscribed to the doctrinal position that God is triune in nature, with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit all being co-equal members of the Trinity. Arius, on the other hand, questioned the co-equal divine nature of Jesus and argued passionately in support of his position.

I have it on good authority that jolly ol’ St. Nick’s cheeks grew rather rosy and that his tummy jiggled like a bowl full of jelly, but with murderous rage, rather than holiday cheer. The man who would become forever associated with peace on earth and goodwill toward man was angrier than a little boy who wanted a new bike for Christmas but got nothing but underwear. (By the way… What was up with you that year? Did the elves who operate the mailroom at the North Pole go on strike or something?)

But I digress… According to this report, Nicholas lost his cool. When he looked at Arius, he saw backpfeifengesicht (a word that really needs to be used a lot more — it refers to a face that is badly in need of a fist). Nick got up and provided Arius exactly what he needed: a nice punch in the mouth. Some reports say it was a slap, but there’s no way of getting around it, Santa. The fact is that you didn’t use your big boy words and resorted to fisticuffs instead.

Your little temper tantrum didn’t go unnoticed, either, did it? It says here that the folks who were running the meeting brought your outburst to the attention of the emperor. The Roman Empire was trying to get away from the whole gladiator fighting thing since it was killing as many as 8,000 people a year. In light of that, he really didn’t want to start a new tradition of bishops working out their disagreements through WWE-style smackdowns. He ordered that you be stripped of your bishop garments and held in custody while the powers that be worked out an appropriate punishment.

Just to show what a fair-minded person I am, I will acknowledge that what happened that night was pretty cool. Again, reports vary in terms of the specifics, but the gist of it, as I understand it, is that you received a visit in the middle of the night from Jesus and Mary, who gave you a printed copy of the Gospels and some brand-new bishop’s vestments. That was an unexpected turn of events that caused Constantine to pardon your outburst and allow you to return to the Council to resume its business.

This development was also pretty persuasive for any Council delegates who were on the fence about the Trinity debate. Arius was denounced as a heretic, and the Church’s doctrine was enshrined in the Nicene Creed.

You, of course, would go on to be the face of Christmas (well, actually, it’s this guy whose face is recognized as Santa’s, but you get the idea). For the past millennium and a half, you have been the one who makes a list, checks it twice, and gets to declare who’s naughty and who’s nice.

This brings us back to the original point of this letter: my appeal of your arbitrary and capricious declaration that a few minor transgressions in my past have earned me a place on the dreaded Naughty List.

Yes, Santa, you have a really good reputation, don’t you? Children love you. Parents trust you enough that they don’t call the police despite the fact you break into countless locked homes year after year. National leaders respect you so much that they don’t attempt to shoot you down when you cross into restricted airspace without so much as a call to air traffic control. You even had the most powerful man in the world personally check on your well-being in the aftermath of above-ground nuclear weapons tests.

It sure would be a shame if anything happened to that reputation of yours, wouldn’t it? What a pity if the information I have in my hands were to accidentally leak onto social media or fall into the hands of an intrepid reporter!

So maybe we can work something out to our mutual advantage. And while you’re at it, maybe you can do something to rectify that atrocious Christmas that brought me nothing more than a dozen pairs of G.I. Joe Underoos. Despite all the hype, they were no more fun to wear than the usual tighty whities. And I have since outgrown the bike that I wanted (and have certainly outgrown the undies), so I’ll settle for a flying car (as long as it isn’t a flying Pinto).

Thanks for considering my most reasonable request. I look forward to flying formation with your sleigh next year from the seat of my airborne automobile (while wearing age-appropriate undergarments).

Sincerely,

Commonplace Fun Facts Editor-in-Chief and High-Muckety-Muck (and definitely part of this year’s Nice List)

* * * * *

Dear Santa,

This will acknowledge receipt of your response to my letter. Please give my greetings to Elfageddon, the courier who delivered it. I never realized you had such large, muscle-bound elves or that they were capable of having such cross expressions on their faces.

I have reviewed the exculpatory material that you sent me. I acknowledge that I may have been a wee bit hasty in reaching some conclusions. In my defense, everything I read about you was on the internet, so I just assumed it had to be true.

So it seems that there is more than a little doubt about the veracity of the reports I received. A careful examination of the records fails to show that anyone by the name of Nicholas attended the Council of Nicaea. Admittedly, it may all be a big fish story that got out of hand.

By the way, you didn’t think I was serious about suggesting that I would do anything to tarnish your reputation, did you? Ha! You know what a joker I am!

Why would I run the risk of making you mad at me? I am the one who pointed out the sinister, threatening tones in the song that everyone else seems to think is nothing more than a happy, cheerful holiday tune:

The last thing I would ever think of doing is to try to extort a man who has the supernatural (not to mention, disturbingly creepy) power to enter my home while I am sleeping to do Heaven knows what! What kind of a fool do you think I am?

So let’s just forget about my prior letter, ok?

And by the way… My waist size is now 30 inches. At the very least, could you make sure this year’s Underoos fit?

Most humbly yours,

Commonplace Fun Facts Editor-in-Chief and High-Muckety-Muck (and reconciled to spend yet another year on the Naughty List)

P.S. Would you please ask Elfageddon to return my kneecaps to me when he is done playing with them?

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