I’m traveling this week—and working on an intense philosophical review of Disney’s new animated film Wish—but while I’m away, here’s a fun one from the archive. If you’re the listening type, you can listen to the original podcast version here. Friends have often asked, both jokingly and seriously, for my theological defense of Santa Claus (a controversial figure, I know). This is not exactly that. But consider it a preface to the masterpiece I shall someday write. Hope you enjoy…
Intro: What Has The North Pole Got To Do With Bethlehem?
Way back in the third century, the early church father Tertullian, concerned with the increasing influence of Greek philosophy on Christian theology posed the question, “What has Athens got to do with Jerusalem?” In what follows, I pose a question of similar weight and breadth: “What has the North Pole got to do with Bethlehem?” Why do I have a reindeer and an angel in my front yard right now? Why does the radio play “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” and “Away In A Manger” back to back? What is the meaning of the magic of our secular Christmas? Why do children everywhere find it hard to sleep on Christmas Eve? What are they anticipating? The coming of Santa or the coming of Christ?
Happy Advent, everyone. So, I want to do something here that might seem kind of weird. Because it’s Christmastime, I want to try to relate the famous passage from Luke’s Gospel about the birth of Jesus to the story of the movie Elf, which probably all of you have watched--or will watch--this holiday season. That’s why I want to look at it. For whatever reason, this movie has become stuck in our consciousness. For many of us, it’s become a regular part of our Christmas tradition. And besides the fact that it’s hilarious, I think there are some surprisingly deep reasons for that. So here we go…
The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be registered, each to his own town. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
— Luke 2:1-7
Okay, so the obvious question is: what on earth does the movie Elf have to do with this passage? But before I answer that, it’s worth recognizing that it’s not me who says it does. It’s everyone. Everyone says it does. How do I know this? Well, it has to do with how we use the word “Christmas.” For example: What is this passage in Luke 2 about? Christmas. What is the movie Elf about? Christmas. See what I mean? Ok, you say, but the same word can have more than one meaning. In the first case, Christmas means “the birth of Jesus.” In the second, it means the fairyland of Santa and elves and reindeer.
This is true. But are you so sure that those two things are entirely separate? They certainly aren’t separate in our experience. In fact, in our culture, the two are almost seamlessly intermingled. The radio plays, “Here Comes Santa Claus” and then “Away In A Manger” back to back. In my front yard right now, I have an angel and a reindeer. Why? Because...Christmas.
Consider your experience as a child.
It’s finally Christmas Eve. You want to go to sleep, because the sooner you do, the sooner you’ll wake up and it will be Christmas Day. But you can’t, because you’re just too excited. Why? It’s not just excitement about the fact that Jesus was born two thousand years ago. But it’s also not just about the gifts. We know this because your Birthday Eve isn’t quite the same thing. No, at Christmastime, the whole season builds up to this one moment. You’re always asking: how many more days until Christmas morning?
And then, finally, it’s the night before. The night before what? You don’t quite know. But you feel it. A kind of mystical visitation. And who is it that’s going to arrive into your world on Christmas Day? The answer is not obvious. In one sense, it’s Jesus. In another sense, it’s Santa. One is obviously, sublimely more important than the other. But they are both, at least in the experience of my children, real. And, as you grow, and consider the fact that the presents of Christmas Day never quite live up to the anticipation of the night before, you begin to see the truth: Santa was only ever a kind of elfish John the Baptist--teaching us how to prepare for the real thing.
But how did we end up with all these magical fairytale elements of Christmas (like Santa) in the first place? There’s something about this season that is more than material, more than history, more than words. You can teach your children the facts about Jesus, the facts about Christmas. You should. But the facts themselves will not exhaust what Christmas is. There’s always more, always something you cannot account for. Something like magic. And the creator of this Christmastime magic cannot be found in some list of modern secular storytellers or songwriters or marketing gurus, though, of course, they all partake in it, whether they believe in Jesus or not. Of course they do. In fact, their constant participation in it proves the magic is bigger than them. But none of them made it. No, the creator of this “magic” was born 2000 years ago on Christmas Day. Because, on that day, a baby in a manger single-handedly re-enchanted the world. That’s what Christians celebrate on Christmas.
Why then should we be surprised when Christmastime feels enchanted, even for totally secular people? How are we to reckon with the mythic quality of this moment, when the days are shortest and coldest, and yet everyone around you suddenly—almost unknowingly—adopts a whole new set of ritual patterns, singing and baking and putting up lights in the darkness? (Again, is there anything in our secular culture more participatory than Christmas?) It is almost a kind of magic. Why should we be surprised if we turn to Elfland to express it?
The North Pole is an Elflandish embodiment of Advent, a strange-but-true picture of the people of God, living and working and waiting in hope for the Day of Days to arrive.
Think about it. We don’t watch the movie Elf in July. Why is that? Because the magical work of elves and reindeer--everything the North Pole represents--culminates on Christmas Day, the day we celebrate the birth of Jesus. Well, you say, that’s just a random connection. But, no, it’s not. I mean, for starters, St. Nicholas is an actual saint of the church. But also, consider the world of the North Pole. Its entire existence hangs on one day. What do Santa and the elves and the reindeer do all year long? They prepare for and anticipate the coming of Christmas Day. They labor and sing, because they know the long-awaited moment will soon arrive. I mean, let’s just say it: the North Pole is an Elflandish embodiment of Advent, a strange-but-true picture of the secret people of God, living and working and waiting in hope for the Day of Days to arrive.
And yes, probably nobody meant it to be exactly that. But that’s almost the point. It couldn’t help but take that shape. Because at Christmastime, the enchantment of Christ is the air we breathe. Every story is pregnant with its Advent magic. Not even Scrooge can escape it.
Which brings us to the movie Elf...
The Parable of Buddy The Elf
You know the plot. The story begins by telling the tale of Buddy the Elf (played by Will Ferrell), who is not actually an elf, but an orphaned human, who comes to live at the North Pole. So, from the very beginning, the audience knows…the North Pole is real. Santa, the reindeer, the elves, the magic—all of it is real. We know this from scene one. And for Buddy’s whole life, he’s only ever known this reality. In fact, he actually thinks he’s an elf.
But as he grows, things get awkward because he’s so much bigger than all the other elves, and he works so much slower. Eventually, Santa has to break the news to him: He’s a human. His biological father lives in New York City. The time has come for Buddy to go down into the mysterious realm of humans and meet his father, who, even more shockingly still, is on the naughty list. (His father sells children’s books, but he’s lost his way. He only cares about money. He hardly even notices that it’s Christmastime, because all he can see is his business.)
Anyway, before Buddy leaves for NYC, he learns about another, even bigger problem. Papa Elf tells him, “Buddy, you should know that a lot people down south don’t believe in Santa anymore.”
“What?!” Buddy says, “Who do they think puts all their toys under the tree?”
“Well, there’s a rumor floating around that the parents do it.”
“That’s ridiculous. I mean, parents couldn’t do all that in one night.”
“Yeah, I know,” Papa Elf says, “But every year, less people believe.”
They’re talking about the disenchantment of the world. The magic is disappearing. Why? Because when people don’t trust anything beyond themselves, they lose the ability to see anything beyond themselves. And because Santa’s sleigh is powered by this Christmas spirit, the decline in Christmas spirit is putting the whole operation in jeopardy. So with that knowledge, Buddy begins his journey.
And that’s when things get interesting...because, again, all Buddy has ever known is the North Pole, where Christmas spirit and Santa and elves and magic and Walking in a Winter Wonderland are the 24/7 reality. And, when he first arrives in New York, the rough, vulgar world of the city is a hilarious contrast to the world he grew up in. For example,
He assumes all the old bubble gum on the side of the road is free candy
He thinks the disgruntled men passing out flyers on the sidewalk are trying to play a game with him
He thinks he and his father are going to be best friends immediately.
But it turns out, New York is not the North Pole.
Except, there’s a funny twist.
Buddy has arrived in the city at Christmastime, so there’s an element of familiarity to everything. There are decorations and lights everywhere. People are dressed in festive colors. He’s especially taken in by this department store, Gimbells, where everything is Christmasy and perfect. The employees are even dressed like elves, so he fits right in.
In effect, Buddy finds out that there are two worlds within New York City: one that feels foreign (because no one out in the street seems to care about Christmas) and the other that feels like home (because in Gimbells, they seem to share his Christmas spirit and affinity for elf-culture).
EXCEPT...
Despite the festive ambiance and the common language and apparel, strangely, no one in Gimbells is actually excited about Christmastime. The outward signs and symbols of Santa and the North Pole are all around, but no one there seems to think it’s actually real. It’s almost as if they’re just pretending, as if they don’t even believe in the magic of Christmas.
So when someone from the real land of Christmas actually appears, they don’t recognize him. They just think he’s a crazy person.
My favorite image of this is when the manager comes out and announces in a sort of matter-of-fact tone to all the employees: “Alright people, listen up. We’ve got a big day tomorrow: Santa’s coming.” At which point, Buddy flips out: “SANTA!!! Santa’s coming! I KNOW HIM.” And of course everyone looks at him like he’s a maniac. But again, he’s lived in the real North Pole. He doesn’t just know Santa exists. He knows Santa. He talked to him just before he left. Santa is not just an idea. Not just a name. Not just a character. He’s real.
This tension really comes to a head when the fake Santa arrives, and Buddy is in disbelief. “Who the heck are you?” he says. “You sit on a throne of lies. You smell like beef and cheese.” And they get into a fight and destroy the whole beautiful Christmas scene.
And, for the audience, the dramatic irony of all this is so great. Because, the whole time, we know the secret. No matter how crazy Buddy might seem to the disillusioned people of New York City, he’s the only one who actually knows the truth. He can see. Everyone else is blind. He is sane. Everyone else is crazy. And now he’s being forced to live in this fake world full of all the trappings of Christmastime without any of its reality. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not comprehend it.”
For the record, I’m not saying Buddy the Elf is a straightforward Christ-figure. It’s not so simple as that. (In fact, he’s more like another elfish John the Baptist!) But...isn’t it all starting to feel vaguely familiar?
Okay, that’s enough for today. Suffice it to say, the humor and power of Elf relies on the dramatic irony of spiritual blindness—the inability of almost everyone to see what is right in front of them.
Tomorrow we will see how the story of Elf ties in to Luke 2, which is also about spiritual blindness. At the beginning of his story, Luke depicts the ironic blindness of Rome and Israel to the Messiah through two key images: the census (Rome / Buddy’s father) and the inn (Israel / Gimbell’s Department Store). When Jesus enters the scene, both groups are blind to him, but in different ways.
More tomorrow…