Christmas as a Heathen

Back when I was a believer, Church at Christmas seemed like cough medicine: it was unpleasant, but I knew that it was good for me. Nowadays, I happily go because it's only once or twice a year, it makes one or both parents happy, and the unpleasantness of Church provides me with karma balance, so I can enjoy the pleasures of food, drink, family and presents guilt-free. Because I'm such a nice person, I tear myself away from the warmth of my room and the excitement of various free online games and attend the Christmas Church service.

I'm handed an exciting looking candle upon entry, which distracts me throughout the prayers being offered by a ten-year-old, which all end with a resounding "god wiv us". I'm clearly not looking devout enough, as a man in white, like the priest but not the priest (his sidekick, perhaps?) frowns disapprovingly at me. For a second, I feel we're going to start a horrendously violent physical fight atop the altar, as the priest faints and various members of the congregation bay for blood on the outskirts, placing bets on who'll be disembowelled first. But he seems to lose interest as a cake is brought out for Jesus. Although we sing him Happy Birthday, Jesus declines the opportunity to blow out his own candles, and the priest, who considers himself a reasonable stand-in for the son of god, does it himself.

The inevitable contradictions of a Christian service all seem to be present, as the priest lectures us on the nearest fire exits, whilst lighting the hundreds of candles he has distributed. No one seems to mind either that the ten-year-old next to me is three inches away from setting his mother on fire, or that I'm entertaining myself by trying to drip candle wax on everything around me. I also know for a fact that around 30% of the musicians playing hymns in front of me are atheists. As we eat Jesus's birthday cake, I wonder whether there are parts of the congregation's body baked into the cake, as a small way of saying thank you for the millions of pounds of flesh Jesus must have given Christians worldwide throughout the centuries. Although I make fun of their beliefs now, I find these sorts of Christians relatively benign and mostly very pleasant too, so I don't mind making the occasional sacrifice to spend an hour or two with them. After all, did not Jesus give himself up for sacrifice at Christmas? No? Oh.