Nathaniel Metz's Blog

advent

Between Meritocracy and Marx: An Analysis of “Christmas Evil”

#movie #filmanalysis #philosophy #capitalism #christmas #advent #JacquesEllul #MartinLutherKing

If I had to pick a Christmas movie to list as my favorite right now, I think I would say the 1980 film, “Christmas Evil.” Because of the title and a few of the tropes related to slasher films of that era, many are quick to dismiss this film as another cash grab trying to imitate the success of John Carpenter's “Halloween.” Though I'm fine with this film sitting within the horror genre, and I'm not trying to minimize the artistic possibility of slashers, I think this film encompasses much more than people often give it credit for when they keep the discourse at the level of “cheesy Christmas horror film.” In fact, and this is perhaps my boldest claim, I think this movie is almost more related to a Shakespearean tragedy than a conventional slasher.

“Christmas Evil” follows the plot of an alienated, unstable, middle-aged man, whose delusions and identification with Santa Claus overtake him, ultimately leading him on a quest of mayhem, violence, tragedy, and surprising amounts of sincere love, kindness, and the true spirit of Christmas. Imagine Hamlet meets Taxi Driver meets Frankenstein, and you have “Christmas Evil.” This film was not released to critical or audience acclaim back in the 80s, though now it has received a bit of a re-appreciation, taking on something of a cult status amongst horror enthusiasts on the Internet. Some might find this movie campy or silly, but I personally think it is a well-made film with competent acting and unabashed sincerity, showing our main character as both hero and villain. In what follows, I will sketch out my interpretation of the film as depicting the tragedy of alienation and the need to form a collective movement beyond the meritocracy of capitalism.

Warning: Spoilers ahead.

Here is a more in-depth summary of the main plot points.

Harry Stadling lives on his own and works in an assembly-line toy factory for a large company. His relationship with his family is strained, and it seems as if he has no friends — often being the object of teasing by his colleagues in the factory.

Quite early on, we learn that Harry believes that he himself is actually a type of Santa Claus figure — even going so far as to spy on the neighbor's kids and keep his own “naughty and nice” list. In the first scene of the film, we learn that, as a young boy, Harry's father dressed up as Santa on Christmas Eve to surprise Harry and his younger brother, Philip. Philip understood that the man in the Santa costume was really their father, but Harry wholeheartedly believed it was the real Santa. To prove that it was the real Santa, Harry went back downstairs, whereupon he found Santa (his father) kissing and fondling his mother. Harry experienced this moment as the ultimate betrayal and came to believe that Santa Claus is of ill repute. For Harry, this betrayal is experienced as a “death of God” moment. To cope with this loss of his divine hero, Harry takes up the mantle of Santa for himself — to be the figure of good the “real” Santa could never be.

In the present, Harry is busy creating his own Santa suit and fake beard, becoming overjoyed that he has finally completed the ensemble and found his true self. As part of his new Santa identity, he discovers tremendous joy in making his own toys by hand rather than the cheap plastic ones at the factory.

For the rest of the film, we witness instances of great joy and horrendous tragedy. Harry finds out that one of the leaders of the toy company is making empty promises about donating toys to a children's hospital, using these promises of charity as a PR stunt to make more money without concern for the children. Enraged by this duplicity, Harry goes to the hospital himself, dressed as Santa Claus, and delivers the presents he made by hand (as well as some he stole from the factory). As an aside, I think this is a sincerely beautiful moment, and I’ll admit I actually teared up during this scene.

Soon after visiting the hospital, Harry finds the owner of the company at a Christmas Eve church service. Harry plans on killing the owner in revenge but ends up killing three other people in the crowd who harassed him. Harry then flees the scene and escapes to a Christmas party where he spreads Christmas cheer and brings joy to those around him. Again, a beautiful moment.

However, the police are out looking for him, and the next day while Santa Harry is walking through a part of town highly decorated with Christmas lights, families see him and suspect him to be the killer that the police are looking for. However, the children in the families sincerely believe he is the real Santa. One of the fathers tries to attack Harry, but Harry manages to escape.

The police and town catch up with Harry, and he is chased through the streets like Frankenstein's monster. Harry tries to escape in his van, and he accidentally drives off a bridge. But instead of falling to his death, Harry's van flies in the air, and he glides into the night sky like Santa Claus. We are then left to wonder if this is merely Harry's final delusion or if he really was Santa Claus all along.

I left out a few elements from the summary, but that should be more than enough for us to talk about the themes and philosophy at work in the film.

Santa Claus is a deeply embedded archetype within American society. On the one hand, Santa reveals the ideological meritocracy of society — that the good should be rewarded and the bad should be punished without exception. But on the other hand, the figure of Santa stills holds an excess of quasi-liberatory principles outside of that ideology, which is perhaps grounded within the archetype’s origins in the St. Nicholas mythology. Let's break this down more.

Within the Santa mythos, those who are deemed good are rewarded with commodities. Those who are bad are punished with coal. However, the criteria of moral evaluation are left vague. What exactly is it that determines who is good and who is bad? What virtues should the children possess? Should they be following the categorical imperative or maximizing utilitarian good? Goodness and badness are simply assumed standards that perhaps are merely regurgitations of wider capitalist values like working hard, being obedient, submitting to authority, and not complaining. Furthermore, the reward and punishment system neglects material circumstances that might influence a child’s behavior. Growing up in abusive homes will often lead children to certain behaviors deemed bad. But to dismiss the child as merely a bad kid without working to end the abuse and bring healing to the trauma is grossly unfair and disingenuous. It seems that Santa’s evaluations are lacking in this essential nuance.

However, at the same time, there is something positive about the Santa archetype. Santa represents gift-giving instead of industrialized capitalist exchange. This is especially the case when the Santa lore is engaged with the more original and less modernized depictions of Santa in his toyshop making toys by hand rather than in a Fordist factory. There is a gratuity and excess within Santa in that, in its purest form, he wants to bring joy to children by giving them gifts that need no financial reciprocity. Perhaps this is the leftover sense of Christian charitable love from the original St. Nicholas mythos, in which Nicholas gave gifts to children in need. In the Christian understanding, gift-giving is a form of relation that mirrors the grace of God, who gives salvation freely out of God’s abundant love. Indeed, all of Creation is considered to be a gracious gift from God. Of course, charity in-itself is not the death blow to capitalism, but it perhaps shows a type of relation that could help us imagine a post-capitalist mode of relating to one another and to society as a whole.

Additionally, there is something admittedly appealing (at least to me) about Santa's insistence on goodness. The philosopher Immanuel Kant believed that freedom emerges from our knowledge of conformity to the categorical imperative — a universal moral law. In other words, we are free because we are moral agents. Freedom is linked to morality. There are certainly problems and objects to Kant's theory, but if one applies this to the Santa mythos, then there could emerge a possibility of helping children gain a deeper appreciation for their own agency. And helping children become empowered by understanding their own agency — especially that this agency can be used for good — seems to me like a necessary and good aspect of raising children.

But one of the main problems with Kant's theory, as well as the Santa mythos, is that Kant is too individualistic. In order to experience the true flourishing and freedom of a just society, we need each other's help. As Martin Luther King Jr. said, “In a real sense all life is inter-related. All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be... This is the inter-related structure of reality.”

Santa’s failure is not exactly a call to virtuous living (albeit an undefined call), but a call to virtuous living without taking into account humanity’s interdependence upon one another and how moral living cannot truly flourish without communities addressing issues of material, emotional, or spiritual scarcity.

Santa is a naive Kantian, and so is our main character, Harry. But instead of the universal law of the categorical imperative, we have the universality of capitalism. This film hits hard on the alienating effects of capitalism. Toward the beginning of the film, Harry expresses the tragedy of how industrialization and Fordism have separated the laborer from the results of production, resulting in flimsy objects and planned obsolescence. As Harry says, “Nobody here is interested in good toys. ... You've never felt the thrill of making a good toy. And how could you in this (factory)? ... Don't you understand how useful rigidly constructed toys are? How inspirational? Their value goes way beyond making money.”

Capitalism within the film brings about an alienation within labor and a devaluing of craftsmanship, but the narrative also shows the devasting impact of alienation on mental health. There is an unfortunate trope in films (especially the horror genre) where neuro-divergent people and those with mental disabilities are portrayed as monsters or threats. One might initially assume that “Christmas Evil” falls prey to this same trope, but I think the film actually is critical of how capitalist societies treat neuro-divergent people. As we see in the scene at the hospital, it’s entirely possible for Harry to flourish in society. In a better society, Harry would have a community that supports him, helps him, and encourages his gifts, heart, and craftmanship. I’ve seen it happen before in a church ministry that fed the homeless. A neuro-divergent man was one of their top workers in the charity, and his unique gifting was able to flourish and be celebrated. Neuro-divergent people offer a unique gift that could be received by society, but, as we see in this film, more often than not, neuro-divergent people suffer the most from alienation.

Furthermore, “Christmas Evil” shows how the marginalized and needy are neglected by society, and how easily charity can be co-opted for capitalism’s own self-interest. The children in the hospital are neglected on Christmas, and the toy company exploits this reality with pseudo-charity aimed at increasing their own profits. In the eyes of the factory owners (the purest archetype of the bourgeoisie), the children in the hospital are nothing more than a PR stunt to improve the company’s repertoire with consumers. I don't think charity isn’t wrong in-itself. In fact, as I said before, charity radicalized toward a gift-giving relation to society might be a virtue that could help move communities toward post-capitalism. But often, charity is reduced to merely treating symptoms without engaging with the structural causes of those symptoms.

When the alienation of capitalism and the death of God within society (as I mentioned earlier regarding the incident with Father-Santa) are combined, it leads to tragedy. Without a social support system or a wider vision of the Kingdom of God, Harry becomes a law unto himself. In Kantian philosophy, this ought to be a point of freedom: the individual gains autonomy by following the categorical imperative which is given to oneself through the faculties of practical reason innate within the human mind (or something like that). But instead of freedom, Harry becomes his own law is a form of vigilantism that merely radicalizes the meritocracy of his society. The good are rewarded and the naughty are punished. Harry takes that meritocracy and then flips it back onto the people who are most responsible for maintaining that ideological system (as well as some other bullies). If you want only the good people to live and the bad people to be resigned to death, then the exploitive greedy bourgeoise should be punished. However, the film also shows the perils of trying to maintain this revolution using the ideological forms of meritocracy — or, as Jacques Ellul often pointed out, when one’s means are not in accordance with one’s ends. One needs a revolution that no longer abides by the capitalist bourgeois ideology.

Meritocracy is empowered by structural and systemic violence against those deemed “naughty” or not fitting the cultural ideal. Thus, violence can be easily incorporated back into the ideological system. As Martin Luther King said, “You can’t reach good ends through evil means, because the means represent the seed and the end represents the tree.” The pleasure we get when Harry is about to kill that greedy capitalist who exploited children in the hospital shows just how internalized this absolutist and merciless meritocracy has conditioned our consciousness. When the other petty hecklers are killed instead of the factory owner, and their friend is left screaming in pure traumatic horror, we are forced to recognize the misguided ways of this form of consciousness.

All of this is why I think this film is better understood as a Shakespearean tragedy rather than purely a horror film. At the heart of “Christmas Evil” is a tortured soul who could’ve been a force for good. But instead, he is brought down by the tragedy surrounding him. And we are left to wonder what it would take to rearrange our society so that those facing similar plights to Harry might not fall into such tragedy but rather find communities of redemption.

#movie #horror #filmanalysis #theology #JacquesEllul #Christmas #Advent

“Anna and the Apocalypse” made a small splash in public awareness around 2017 for being one of the boldest (if not bizarre) genre mashups to date: a zombie horror Christmas musical tragicomedy.

The summary on IMDB reads as follows: “A zombie apocalypse threatens the sleepy town of Little Haven – at Christmas – forcing Anna and her friends to fight, slash and sing their way to survival, facing the undead in a desperate race to reach their loved ones. But they soon discover that no one is safe in this new world, and with civilization falling apart around them, the only people they can truly rely on are each other.”

Some have described this film as “Shaun of the Dead” (another zombie comedy film) meets “High School Musical” (the greatest musical of all time. Don't even try to debate me). I re-watched the film this year, and something about it really resonated with me. Upon second viewing, I was able to get over the initial shock of a zombie Christmas musical and actually engage with how the horror and musical genres coalesce to communicate the themes within the narrative and character arcs. In a fascinating way, two of the most predictable and gaudy genres work together to create a new form of apocalyptic art.

The word apocalypse is often thrown around to refer to the end of the world, but that's not necessarily what apocalypse means. In the biblical sense, apocalypse means a revelation. It's as if the curtain of reality is pulled back, and one sees into the divine realm, such as the heavenly host, spiritual warfare, etc. However, there is a tangential connection to the “end of the world” because often such revelations show how the present order of the world is coming to an end. For example, in “Shaun of the Dead,” zombies are used to depict the apocalypse of falling in love and how such an apocalyptic revelation can upend one's life, resulting in the rearrangement of how one is currently living. One receives a glimpse into a new type of modality (being in love), and this results in the present order of life coming to an end.

In “Anna and the Apocalypse,” the zombie outbreak is symbolic of the apocalypse of leaving one's hometown (and especially doing this while transitioning out of high school). Anna is a high school senior who lives with her single father after her mother passed away. After graduation, she plans on taking a year to travel the world instead of going off to university. However, her dad is livid about this decision and is instead insistent upon her following a more conventional life path.

The characters who survive the film are the ones who desire to escape the suffocation of their hometown: Steph, a lesbian woman whose concerns about the marginalized are dismissed, while at the same time being neglected and not accepted by her parents. The other survivor, besides Anna, is a young man, Nick, who has an abusive father. Conversely, the characters who die are the ones who wish to stay in their hometown. In this sense, the zombies are symbolic of the forces that keep one tethered to the sluggish suburban sprawl of “sleepy” hometowns that can zap aspirations or, in the case of minority groups, such as our queer character Steph, create oppressive conditions and even violence.

I must admit how impressed I am with how much work is done by the film's genre form. There’s a sense in which this movie is over-saturated by form. The characters and the narrative cannot escape the duel oppression of both the horror genre and the musical genre. Interestingly enough, this also turns so many people off from enjoying the film. It combines many elements that people would not like. There are many who cannot tolerate musicals for their cheesy and unrealistic and predictable structure. And there are many who cannot tolerate the horror genre for its display of the grotesque. But within the over-saturation of form, the very content of the film emerges. Just like the film cannot escape the clichés and rigorous structure of its dual genre, neither can the characters escape the suffocation of their hometown. Both horror films and musicals are prone to feeling “unrealistic,” which makes them harder to enjoy for viewers who prefer being more fully immersed in the movie they are watching. But in a similar vein, many of the characters within the film feel as if the life they currently live is unrealistic, and they feel as if they cannot be fully immersed within it. The way in which the form alienates many viewers reflects the alienation experienced by the characters within the narrative.

However, this film is, importantly, also a Christmas movie. Some commentators have objected that Christmas doesn't have much to do with the movie, but rather that the narrative just happens to fall on Christmas Day. But I disagree. Christmas spirit is an essential liberating force for the characters that allows them to hold onto hope and keep pressing on. When Anna's father is bitten by a zombie and she must say her final goodbye, he tells her, “Merry Christmas, Anna.” Symbolically, this is Anna's father finally accepting that she will move on and travel the world — that she will leave her hometown. Additionally, Anna's weapon of choice that enables her to fend off zombies successfully is a giant candy cane, which I take to be symbolic of her harnessing the power of Christmas. And furthermore, snow falling (the presence of Christmas spirit) often happens when the characters rediscover hope — such as in the final scene of the film.

To be clear: I don't mean “Christmas spirit” in a generic, Hallmark movie sense. Rather, I think the Christmas spirit at work in this film is the hope of Advent. In his book “Hope in a Time of Abandonment,” the theologian and philosopher Jacques Ellul argues that hope is not the absence of despair but rather a choice of faith made in the midst of despair. However, for Ellul, this choice is not vague, wishful thinking, but rather a recollection and proclamation of the promises given through God's self-revelation. Hope is thus holding onto the promises of God, grounded in the revelation of Christ, even during times in which God feels absent. A powerful illustration of this hope is the Advent narrative found within the New Testament. Mary chooses to give birth to and raise the Christ child even though the brutal reign of the Roman Empire seems omnipotent and her personal situation of poverty and potential social ostracization seem inevitable and unjust. In a sense, there is a resonance between the characters of Mary and Anna: both choose an apocalyptic hope even though the material circumstances around them are bleak.

Lyrics from the song “I Will Believe” from the movie:

As I look back over my yesterdays
I was so sure, certain I'd find my way
But now the world is such a different place
All of my dreams are gone without a trace

Where is the light that used to shine?
Oh, where is the life that once was mine?
But while there's hope, while I still breathe
I will believe

There was a time nothing could hold us back
Our days were bright before this earth turned black
But now my faith feels like a distant ghost
I lost the things I used to need the most

Where is the light that used to shine?
Where is the life that once was mine?
But while there's hope, while I still breathe
I will believe

All of a sudden the blood in my veins runs cold
Thinkin' about all the days that I just let go
If I had reckoned the seconds would slip from me
I'd have paid twice for the price of the memory
For the memory

Where is the light that used to shine?
Oh, where is the life that once was mine?
But while there's hope, while I still breathe
I will believe
But while there's hope, while I still breathe
I will believe

The Paganism is the Point: A Theological Reflection on the Yule Goat and Advent

#advent #theologicalreflection #indigenous #Lewis #Tolkien

My own family has always been festive beyond the norm when it comes to the holidays. We inherited that trait from my maternal grandmother, who was full-blooded Scandinavian and raised by a family who came to America on a boat from Norway. Thus, our Christmases were always filled with Scandinavian Christmas motifs, such as lefse, which is a common Norwegian desert.

However, being raised in the Bible belt of Texas, I was aware of some people who did not participate in certain Christmas practices because of religious convictions. In their reasoning, Christmas, in the modern sense, was a holiday filled with pagan symbolism and haunted by the ghosts of our pre-Christian heathenry, hell-bent on distracting us from Jesus. Kirk Cameron even made a movie about the problem (though ultimately arguing in favor of Christmas).

I respect these people's sincere convictions regarding proper religious practice. But I actually think that their disavowal of pagan Yuletide misses important theological insight that arises when one compares Yule and Advent. In fact, I think pre-Christian Yuletide witnesses to an important theological truth, which is given concrete reality in the Advent of Christ. Perhaps not all of the practices associated with Yuletide are in accordance with Christian holiness, but there's certainly an important theological resonance between the two celebrations.

Yuletide refers to a period of festivities originating in the Scandinavian and Celtic regions of the world. The festivities occurred during the darkest season of the year — which were especially brutal in places like Scandinavia, where winter is harsh and the nights last much longer. Yuletide was a means of choosing joy in the midst of such a bleak period. Instead of caving to seasonal depression, the people chose merriment and celebration.

The Yule Goat was a key figure within this proclamation of hope. Often within the community, someone would masquerade as a goat-like figure and trot through the community. The popular figure, “Krampus,” is one such example that has continued to the modern day. The Yule Goat would sometimes be understood as a spirit of the forest who would come out and greet the community on special nights, such as the winter solstice. Importantly, the Yule Goat would come bearing fire, which is why, in Krampus festivals, many of the performers hold torches. A creature emerging from the forest holding light is a symbol of hope that promises renewal. In due time, the forests and land will once again be teeming with life. The season of winter will not last forever. Spring and rebirth will come.

(For more information on the Yule Goat, you can watch this video: [Link] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vREcF1Cb-I)

It seems to me that Christ fits rather well into such a narrative. Christ is himself the Light of the World (cf. John 1:4 and John 8:12) — or “True Light from True Light” as the Nicene Creed says. Christ is the beacon of hope and the promise of redemption in the midst of despair, who brings resurrection into a season conditioned by death.

The Yule Goat was often a forest spirit who brought hope for the renewal of the land. Christ performs a similar function. For example, it is common to read the “suffering servant” songs from Isaiah as being applicable to or describing Christ (this is especially done around Christmas). Consider Isaiah 11:6-9.

“The wolf shall live with the lamb; the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the lion will feed together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their young shall lie down together and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.”

Or, consider what is written in Colossians 1:19-20.

“For in (Christ) all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.”

The incarnation of Christ ushers a type of 're-creation' into our world. This is why Christian art has often used the egg as a symbol of resurrection: from out of the shell of the old world, Christ's new redemption springs forth. Within this new creation, “all things” (Col. 1:20) shall be reconciled to God. This is not only for human creatures but for non-human creatures as well.

The nativity story of Christ shows all of these facets coming together to witness the dawning of the new creation: humans, angels, non-human animals, and celestial bodies come together to celebrate God's light breaking into the darkness. All of these themes fit rather well with the themes of Yuletide.

Hopefully, what I've written comes across as slightly more sophisticated than mere “Jesus-juking.” For those unaware, “Jesus-juking” is when you start down the direction of a popular topic, and then you quickly juke to a new direction by shoehorning Jesus into the conversation. You see it all the time in the “youth pastor voice” memes.

youth pastor voice “Tom Brady retired and then after 39 days returned. I know someone who did it in three. Who needs the GOAT when you got the Lamb?”

But beyond my potential Jesus-juke, I think that seeing a theological resonance between the ancient practices and wisdom of pre-Christian traditional knowledge and later Christian beliefs can be fruitful for thinking about what it means for the Universal Christ to interact with all people. For example, I've been fascinated recently by Indigenous Native American/American Indian Christian theology and how they relate Christ to their traditions and identity.

Consider a statement written for the United Methodist Church:

“Through corporate and personal conviction, our people individually and tribally are led by the Spirit of God to a greater awareness of God. Traditional beliefs, consistent with the gospel and the historic witness of the Church should not be understood as contrary to our beliefs as Native Christians. The testimony of historic and contemporary Native Christians should be counted in the historic witness of the Church. [...] Many Native traditions were erroneously feared, rather than understood as vehicles for the grace and the knowledge of God. Such fears have resulted in the persecution of traditional Native peoples [...]. Many Native traditions have been misinterpreted as sin, rather than varying cultural expressions leading to a deeper understanding of our Creator and the Creator’s divine presence and action in our world.”

The testimony of Native American/American Indian Christians shows how God uses pre-Christian traditional wisdom to reveal God's truth and act as witnesses to the revelation of Christ. Under this light, perhaps the Yule Goat mythos and tradition is part of the mythology that, as C.S. Lewis postulated, God has written on the hearts of humanity. “Myth” in this context is the technical sense, which means a people's deepest meaning written in narrative form. Lewis argued that many of the pre-Christian myths contain important truths that align well with the Gospel, and perhaps were means by which the Holy Spirit prepared people for the revelation of Christ. Christ is then a type of “true myth” (Lewis's term) or myth-made flesh. Lewis's own work in the Chronicles of Narnia — as well as his colleague, Tolkien — are illustrations of how Christian theology can interact with pre-Christian myths and serve as vessels for theological insight.

If we are going to believe that Christ is the universal Savior for all people, then we should not be afraid of, e.g., indigenous traditional knowledge or “pagan” mythology in themselves. Rather, we ought to celebrate the ways in which the Holy Spirit was speaking to people before they heard about Jesus.

A Theological Reflection on “A Charlie Brown Christmas” (1965)

#analysis #art #film #theology #advent #consumerism

I’ve always loved the Charlie Brown Christmas special for how beautiful it is. It has a pacing that doesn't rush but is simply allowed to linger— a pacing that breaks through the hyperspeed of our accelerated society. The form of the pacing and the themes of finding Advent in the midst of chaotic commercialism perfectly coalesce, creating a masterpiece of animation that stands the test of time. For most of my life, I simply enjoyed the show's artistry, but in recent years, I've come to appreciate the beauty of its themes and message.

Through the simplified art and gorgeous music, the episode captures a sacredness of the everyday: catching snowflakes on one's tongue, ice skating, throwing snowballs at a can — these moments are lifted in a peaceful glimpse of the sacred. In a way, it harkens the same energy as Mister Rogers' Neighborhood: slow pacing with an underlying spirit of wonder and gratitude for life. An appreciation of the sacred everyday stands in contrast to the foreboding consumerism that lingers in the background and haunts Charlie Brown. Despite the sacred moments happening around him, Charlie Brown seems to be absent from such experiences. Instead, he dejectedly saunters through his town, bearing the existential weight of capitalist-driven alienation, asking himself: “What is the true meaning of Christmas?”

He knows the answer does not lie in commercialism, which is portrayed through his little sister's letter to Santa: “Just send cash. How about 10s and 20s?” Lucy comes a tad bit closer to the meaning of Christmas, such as when she invites Charlie Brown to participate in the Christmas pageant. However, as she readily admits, her real ambitions are capitalist accumulation (“Santa never brings me what I really want... real estate”) and her desire to be the “Christmas Queen” in a pageant permeated with commercial trappings. Charlie Brown rejects both of these modalities.

Though Charlie Brown is well aware of the Advent Story from scripture, he has yet to connect with the theological meaning behind the story—i.e., with the revelation of God in Christ. Like much of our secular age, for Charlie Brown, religious acts are severed from their higher, sacred meaning or perhaps overshadowed by commercialism's chaos. It is not until he goes on his quest to find a Christmas tree that he encounters the shocking reality of the sacred.

What I love about this scene is how vastness and magnitude of sacred sublimity is found within a humble tree. It's like the scripture passage from Isaiah 53:2, “He had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.” What is beautiful about the tree is not its opulence, but how real it is. Within a landscape of artificial aluminum trees, Charlie stumbles upon a remnant of a more honest Creation, as if he is Moses encountering the burning bush. Charlie Brown has yet to find the words to express his experience, but he returns to the pageant and Advent Story with what he discovered, with an experiential connection to the deeper meaning of Advent.

I find it particularly beautiful how the creators portray Charlie Brown’s love for that little tree. Not only is the tree an encounter with the sacredness of an authentic Advent, but the tree is also a projection of Charlie Brown himself, which is why he is so drawn to it. Though it’s not perfect, that tree is still better than the fake aluminum trees. It’s better because it’s real and authentic, rather than the contrived and manufactured trees in the dazzling advertisements of consumerism.

When Charlie Brown returns to the pageant, we get a heartbreaking scene as people laugh at his tree (the way they laugh at him personally). The tree doesn’t conform to the image that was marketed to them. Just like Charlie Brown is marginalized and humiliated, so is this little tree. As Isaiah 53 goes on to say, “He was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity, and as one from whom others hide their faces he was despised, and we held him of no account.”

In this context, Linus reading from the Gospel of Luke takes on a whole new meaning. I've heard some Christians interpret this moment as merely a declaration that “Jesus is the reason for the season” rather than Santa Claus or consumerism. Of course, as a Christian, I believe Christmas is about God rather than commodities, and I don't want to dissuade people from focusing on Christ. But too often, this sort of interpretation falls into the “war on Christmas” ideological ploys rather than a serious engagement with capitalism. Furthermore, I think the “Jesus is the reason for the season” interpretation misses the broader meaning of the scripture within the context of the narrative.

In Luke, angels announce the birth of Christ to a group of poor shepherds who are quite literally on the outskirts of town and on the outskirts of society. The author of Luke included this story in keeping with his general theme that Christ came to seek and save the lost — those who are poor, oppressed, and on the margins of society. The shocking and magnificent eruption of divine revelation as the heavenly host bring the message of the messiah is presented, not to a king, but to humble shepherds. Just like the shepherds, Charlie Brown is on the outside of society—consistently marginalized and humiliated by his peers. After hearing the Gospel reading, Charlie Brown recognizes that God's love for the outsiders and marginalized applies to him as well.

In a newfound sense of personal worth, Charlie Brown is able to accept himself and accept the little tree. He is able to believe that his tree (and he himself!) is beautiful, despite what others might think. The Gospel proclamation helps make sense of Charlie's experience of finding the sacred within such a meek tree. After witnessing both the Gospel presentation and Charlie Brown’s reception, his friends repent and realize how wrong they were to bully and ridicule him. They even recognize the beauty of Charlie Brown’s tree (and Charlie himself): “I never did think it was such a bad little tree. It’s not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love.” Charlie Brown’s tree was always beautiful, and the support of his friends help make it even more so. The episode ends with a rendition of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” a song that encapsulates the Gospel reading. God's Kingship is found in a humble baby, who reconciles the lost to God — a reconciliation experienced by Charlie Brown and his peers.