The True Meaning of Christmas

 November 2015 | Science Fiction | 1070 words

    The first ship landed in the United States during the latter half of November. This event was covered well by an array of rapacious television reporters speculating the significance of what had been spotted above snow-packed woodlands north of New York City. After a few days of hyped discussion, it was concluded that the object had in fact been a UFO. We then resumed our lives, occasionally bringing up the subject and wondering exactly which theory of the alien invasion would turn out to be correct.
    “I bet they have advanced weaponry!”
    “Obviously, but we’ll never give in.”
    “Not unless they can play with our emotions. They’ll want to get on our side, rally us together.”
    “If history has taught us anything, it’s that the best way to enslave any group of people is through religion.”
    Nearly everyone believed aliens had arrived. Interestingly enough, those who didn’t believe were the only ones struggling to remain calm about it; they attempted to drive our focus back to “what was important,” to “what was real,” but we couldn’t pay attention to them.
    Within the next week, a thin, limp species with skin the color of crisp dollar bills had made its presence known. Reporters came from every state to inspect the emergence of these new creatures as the entire nation watched eagerly with a child-like interest. December arrived. Perforating the ordinary spangle of holiday commercials were news broadcasts and live interviews with the creatures. On air, they professed an overt love of our God, whom they agreed was the almighty. We took them on tours of our homeland. We trusted them.
    Eventually, the novelty of their presence died off. Images of aliens on television screens, store windows, and magazines were once again replaced with tinsel, felt, and paper; with sledding and merry carolling; with cocoa and stockings by the fire; with red, white, and green; with evergreens, and gold and silver ornaments; with a special arrival from a jolly elf; and with other such things characteristic of a traditional Christmas.
    Though our focus snapped back to this perennial reality, the creatures were never far from sight. People rushing into stores for gifts were surprised to find the creatures walking with reverence through the toy and candy cane aisles. Before entering malls and post offices to marvel at the beautiful decorations, some creatures made sure to wipe their feet out of respect. Some of them were even caught stowing statuettes of Santa away in their clothing. Many creatures, becoming confident, drew crowds while preaching good tidings on the streets of New York. Upon the flashing of Christmas paraphernalia on cinema screens, they fell out of their seats and bowed low on the soda-coated floor, attempting desperately to conform to our customs.
    We were grinning at the creatures' adorable nature. We were studying it fascinatedly. We asked each other, “What do they expect to prove?” We couldn’t anticipate the answer—they believed we worshipped Santa Claus.
    Soon, a large army of followers emerged. The creatures walked the streets in lines, dressed in red and green tunics, shouting out words of salvation to the human onlookers. The “elves,” heralding the arrival of “his most jolliness,” claimed to have known first-hand of the truth of Christmas. Now that they had finally found a civilization of "common believers," the wished to “enlighten” us with their knowledge. They offered us the chance to walk humbly with “he whom we worship” forever in the white wonderland of which we so dreamed. All we had to do was do exactly as they said.
    To convince us, a jolly, round, white-bearded creature dressed in a red suit slid through the streets on a sleigh, waving to us and demanding to know if we would obey him for the chance to be saved.
    We didn’t know how to react.
    Though the president attended to the attempted invasion with gravity, once it was discovered they possessed no weapons and posed no threat, we berated the creatures with laughter. By the time the last few chuckles had been drawn from our cores, the creatures were already long gone. The threat was a joke, and the thought was ridiculous. The president voiced it best: “Had they come at any other month of the year, they might’ve had a better shot at enslaving us through customs and religion. Did they really think we worshipped a cookie-loving elf from the North Pole? They clearly didn’t stay long enough to see the true meaning of Christmas.”
    That year, Christmas fell on a Sunday. While most families were at home revelling in the spirit of gift-giving, many stores were not yet emptied. Returns were made and toys were purchased. Members of every religion and no religion came to splurge on wanted things, including the new collection of knick-knacks modeled after the month-long invasion of the “space-elves,” which became an instant holiday classic. As it happens, through the transaction of bills and coins, those creatures really did infiltrate the country.
    And yet.
    Remarkably.
    Even in the day’s festivities, many Christian pews remained occupied.
    Stubborn, white-knuckled patrons came to pray furiously for themselves and for their friends, who they feared had lost sight of what really mattered. Through all that had occurred in the previous month, their king stood idly by in churches across the country, lovely but blue on that wooden cross, like a cold meal that only they would stay to eat. One priest, observing a mob of preoccupied shoppers at the mall across the street from his church, smirked (as he did every Christmas before beginning mass). Oh, how heartwarming it was to see what joy the celebration of Christ’s birth brought them year after year in that store.
    He had witnessed the invasion, and he had listened to the president’s address, and all along he didn’t have to wonder, as everyone else did, why the creatures thought we worshipped such a thing of fantasy. We would do anything for the rush we get in the stores. We would ignore anything innocent, anything traditional, for the right to give in to a new temptation. Year after year, the priest had watched the population of his church dwindle. The patrons he once had, had found a new religion.
    He brought his gaze to the heavens. His smirk turned bitter. Wait a year, he lamented. Then come back. See if we stand a chance.