The Catholic New World has developed a bit of a Christmas tradition,
shining the spotlight of The Interview column on a figure of holiday
importance. Last year, we interviewed one of the faithful donkeys
who trudged from Nazareth to Bethlehem bearing Mary, heavy with
the child Jesus. And we learned quite a lot from a donkey’s-eye
view of that earth-changing event. Two years ago, The Interview
featured Santa, the Big Guy himself, with a perspective just a
little different than you might get on a red-suited department-store
version’s lap.
Each story gave a little insight into the day which is, for Christians,
the beginning of a relationship between God and humans, a renewed
claim of kinship. Which, after all, is the true center of Christmas.
This year, we discovered Melancholy Holly, the sad little Christmas
wreath. If that seems a little contrived and whimsical, consider
this: despite the glitter and the lights, the presents and the
fun, the Christmas season is one which hides a fair amount of
anguish and confusion.
There is, in fact, a little of Holly in each of us, but that’s
getting ahead of our story.
We found Holly, wet little icicles dripping from her green branches.
It was apparent she’d been crying. “Why are you sobbing,” we asked.
“You aren’t going to believe me,” Holly sniffed and shivered,
causing several chunks of ice to fall and shatter on the pavement
below.
Great, we thought, Melancholy Holly isn’t only sad but cynical,
to boot. On that note, we began our interview.
Catholic New World: Holly, it’s obvious that you’re sad during a time of year which
is supposed to be glad. What’s happening.
Melancholy Holly: Sad? What do you know about sad? Do you know what it’s like, hanging
around here day after day as a symbol of the Christmas season
yet getting none of the Christmas spirit yourself? How could you
know about that?
CNW: Wait a minute; don’t take this out on us. Besides, you’re surrounded
by twinkling lights celebrating the season. Up and down the block
are houses decorated, just like this one.
MH: Sure, but what have I got to be happy about?
CNW: Look, it snowed last night. The air is crisp and clear. Everything’s
dusted with a glistening blanket of white. If that’s not happy,
what is?
MH: Snow, shmow. I’m cold.
CNW: You’re a holly wreath; you’re supposed to be cold.
MH: Tell it to my berries; they’re all wrinkled from the chill.
CNW: Stop it. You’re here, hanging on the door of a very happy house.
Listen. There are carols playing inside. Children are laughing.
They’re getting ready for Christmas. For them, it’s still mostly
about gifts, Santa and trains under the tree. For their parents,
there’s even more. Along with the holiday hustle and bustle, they
recognize the sense of renewal, of beginning again, of remembering
that once a year there’s time to remember that God touched the
world with love.
MH: OK, but will love keep me warm?
CNW: You’re missing the point.
MH: Just what is the point?
CNW: You, Holly; you’re the point. You are a perennial symbol of that
love. You’re a touch of green, of life, that proudly shows green
even in winter.
MH: Me? I thought I was just something to hang lights on, a prop
of some sort to leave out in the cold.
CNW: A prop? Sure, in one sense. We humans are strange creatures.
Even when we know we are loved; even when that love surrounds
us and flows through us, we often can’t believe it without something
tangible to hang on to. In a sense, that’s you. And the trees,
the lights, even the department-store Santa.
MH: Oh. So, you’re saying that without me, there wouldn’t be Christmas?
CNW: Let’s not go that far. But without you and your brethren, our
appreciation of Christmas might be dimmed a little. The love of
God would be there, naturally. It’s just that we might miss some
of it without such reminders.
MH: Well…that sort of puts things in a different—you should pardon
the expression—twinkling light.
CNW: Now, Melancholy Holly, are you still sad? Are the tears drying
up?
MH: OK, so maybe I’ve been more than a little into self-pity. But
that doesn’t change one very important thing.
CNW: What’s that?
MH: I’m still cold.
CNW: Well, here’s what we can do about that. For the rest of the season,
we’ll arrange for you to hang inside the house, facing the fun,
seeing the smiling faces and hearing the carols up-close and personal.
You’ll even be able to watch as the kids come dashing down the
stairs to open their gifts. And you’ll see the smiles on their
parents’ faces as they recognize the real truth of the season,
and share it with their children.
(And, you know, that’s just what we did. A little while later,
we checked in on Melancholy Holly.)
CNW: Hey, how’s things hangin’ now?
MH: Just great. You know, for the first time since summer, I’m warm.
By the way, you can call me just Holly.
Editor’s note: Those who might be inclined to dismiss Holly’s tale as so much
fantasy should remember this: Fantasy is only successful when
it is flavored with just enough truth to make it real. Besides,
the moral of this tale is pretty clear: What’s outside on Christmas
isn’t nearly as important as what’s inside. (And, for that matter,
who’s inside. Right, Holly?)
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