
They sat across from each other, eating Christmas cookies and drinking hot chocolate. The air was scented with pine and a drowsy feeling filled the room.
“Why do you think people need to believe in their gods?” he asked, biting the head off of a gingerbread man.
“Fear. Humans are always afraid of something, mostly each other, and believing there’s someone invisible who can rescue them, makes them feel better. Think of how many gods there are. Each of them considered to be the true god, the only god, the real god. It’s ridiculous. Why don’t people realize that the god they believe in, is the god that came with where they live and how they were indoctrinated? If they had been born somewhere else, in a different country, they would believe in the god that exists there.”
“That’s true.”
“I know,” she said.
“So, what do you believe in?”
“I think Mary had a girl and Joseph ran away with her to avoid her mother’s wrath for getting her daughter pregnant.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Ah, a mother’s wrath.”
“Don’t underestimate it. But Joe was smart. He didn’t want to take responsibility for what he did, so he blamed someone invisible and sold it as a religion. Mary, went along with all of it because her reputation was at stake and she would have been shunned for having sex before marriage.”
“Wow,” he said.
“Wow, what?”
“That all makes perfect sense.”
“Because it’s true. Christmas is a pagan holiday celebrating the return of the light and longer days. The catholics took over all the pagan holidays because they couldn’t stamp them out. The trinity was originally, Maiden, Mother, Crone. They just took what they wanted and tried to erase what was already there. But the nice thing about their story is that women don’t need men to have children, so believing in a Goddess makes more sense than any of their gods. Either that or they would have to fess up to their big lie. Well one of their big lies, that is.”
“So, what does Christmas mean to you?” he asked.
“It’s a party with people I care about. It’s about presents and laughter, good food, and silly songs about flying reindeer, who are all female, by the way. It’s about over eating cookies, and catching up with those you haven’t seen in awhile. Mostly it’s about getting rid of long dark days. Minutes of light are added from Christmas on, which means summer is only months away. It’s the hope for warmth, flowers and SUNLIGHT. But it really is about presents. We don’t do ugly sweaters in my family.”
“We don’t either,” he grinned. “Do you have any traditions?”
“Not really,” she said. “My cousin used to go to the zoo and sing to the animals. No one knows if the animals were happy about that, but then no one ever asks them what they want, do they. They haven’t gone in years. The weather has been too cold and horrible. I guess the only tradition is that we get together on Christmas Eve. Christmas day is for taking the decorations down. But the one thing I would really like to do is have street artists go into a church and do their thing. Imagine how wonderful it would be to let people see real artwork done by people with a different vision. Big bold works of art, or delicate birds and animals running across the ceiling. Get rid of pews and all the rigid, controlling structural things. Altars that only some can access. Make everyone equal, no one higher than another. It could be a free zone, with beauty everywhere. No lies, no control, no brainwashing, just art and fun.”
“Well that would be a rec center,” he snickered. “Not a church.”
She smiled. “True enough, but think about nature moving in. Stained glass windows of tigers and trees. It’s just a thought.”
“An interesting one,” he said.
She nodded. “Status quo. You don’t mess with the beliefs of the people. That’s why nothing ever changes for the better. Being set in one’s ways, halts forward progress. I mean I’m the same way. We all are. We think that what we believe is the thing to believe.”
“Did you make these cookies?”
“No. Why?”
“They’re good.”
“Christmas is all about cookies. One thing I love about Christmas is that all of our companion animals get presents, not that they don’t get presents all the time, but these are wrapped and special. Although special is in the eye of the beholder, like everything else. I mean my cat has a dish that says, cat’s rock, but I don’t think she cares. Cats already know that they rock, and they don’t need to tell others about it, so basically her dish is for me. And what about the camels.”
“Camels?” he said, frowning.
“Yes, the magi, or whatever those guys call themselves, rode camels. The camels, like everyone and everything, men subjugate, had no choice. They were born, tied up, saddled, sat upon and ridden. Enslaved, like everyone else. Horses, all animals and minorities, women and children, all of us held between the fingers of patriarchy and crushed, never allowed to become. It’s wrong and deadly, to have only one thing in power over everything else. It will destroy us.”
“What do you have for dessert?”
“Cherry cobbler, brownies, ice cream and strawberries, chocolate lava cake, cookies, banana bread and…don’t think I didn’t notice that you changed the subject.”
“We usually just have cake and cookies.”
“Dessert is the most important part of the meal. Everything else is just going through the motions to get to the dessert.”
“What’s your favorite cookie?”
“Snowballs and burnt chocolate chips. How about you?”
“Peanut butter and sugar cookies.”
“We have nothing in common,” she said, emptying her mug.
“Maybe more than you think.”
“How long have you been a priest?”
“A long time.”
“How’s it going, with all the rapes and things?”
“Could be better.”
She nodded. “You guys should clean up your act. Tell the truth for a change and stop being such…”
“Power is too much of an aphrodisiac. And we are powerful.”
“Selfish and…”
“Yes, that too.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I know,” he laughed.
“You know you’re not anyone’s father, don’t you? Why do you think people should call you that?”
“I guess it’s just another tradition.”
“One that means you better do what I say or no dessert, or I’ll beat you?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I’m going to go somewhere where people aren’t you,” she said, smiling at him. “Merry Yule and may the Goddess bless you and try and show you how to get out of the mess you got yourself into.”
He laughed out loud. “I’ll watch for a sign,” he said.
“I’m the sign,” but I guess you’ll never see that, will you.”
He stared at her.
“See ya, priest.”
“See ya, non-believer.”
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Written
on December 30, 2022