A Charlie Brown Christmas

Technically, I don’t know if you can call this brilliant piece of work a movie because it’s only twenty-five minutes long—thirty with commercials inserted. Nowadays, you can watch it any time, in full color, without commercials, simply by finding it on You Tube. But when I was a kid, it aired once a year with plenty of fanfare leading to the big event so you could be sure to catch it—provided the winter weather didn’t mess with your antenna and turn your TV screen to snow. Even in black and white, it was worth waiting for.

A Charlie Brown Christmas was created in only six months in 1965, on a shoestring budget. The producers broke from common practice by hiring children to do the voice work, by using a jazz soundtrack (performed by pianist Vince Guaraldi), and by not using a laugh track. Experts predicted it would be a huge flop. Fifty-four years later, this classic remains a must-see in many homes every Christmas.

The story begins with a typically depressed Charlie Brown, who visits Lucy’s Psychiatric Help booth to share his dismay over the commercialization of Christmas. His sister Sally writes to Santa saying she wants cash—particularly tens and twenties. Lucy complains about always getting toys instead of what she wants: real estate. Even Charlie Brown’s dog Snoopy succumbs, turning his doghouse into a gaudy display in hopes of winning a neighborhood contest.

Upon receiving Lucy’s five-cent advice, Charlie takes on the project of directing the Christmas play, which only leads to more frustration as the entire cast remains distracted by the glitz and glitter of Christmas. When Charlie picks out a Christmas tree, he chooses a spindly one—symbolically, the only real tree on the lot—recognizing that it just needs a little love. For this too, Charlie Brown becomes a laughingstock. In desperation, he cries out, “Can’t anyone out there tell me what Christmas is all about?”

To which a tiny voice responds, “Sure, Charlie Brown. I can tell you.”

Thus begins the pivotal moment when little Linus, blanket in hand, takes the spotlight. He quotes Luke 2:8-14 verbatim from the King James Bible. At the end, in his sweet little lisp, Linus says, “And that’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

The simple but brilliant message reflects the heart of Peanuts creator Charles Shultz. One subtle but important element of Linus’s big scene goes unnoticed by most of us. At the exact moment when the angel says, “Fear not!”, Linus drops his security blanket to the stage floor.

When our daughter and son-in-law named their son Linus, I knew I wanted to give him something significant for his first Christmas. It took some hunting, but I found a little figurine of Linus van Pelt as he appears on stage for his recitation. When you press a button on the bottom, you hear the story from Luke in Linus’s voice. I hope it keeps working until our Linus matures enough to appreciate the full meaning of it.

How are your Christmas preparations coming along? Are you becoming caught up in the lights, the food, the shopping, the presents? Are you enjoying freedom from security blankets because God’s gift at Christmas taught us that perfect love casts out fear? I hope you’ll take some time this season to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas with fresh eyes and an open heart. Enjoy the nostalgia. Reflect on Linus’s recital. Notice the blanket drop. Read the passage for yourself. And join the children when they sing, “Peace on earth and mercy mild; God and sinners, reconciled.”

Elf: A Longing to Belong

First, a bit of trivia that Elf fans may not know. Remember Buddy’s thirteen-second-long belch after guzzling a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola? The burp was real, but dubbed in by Canadian voice actor Maurice LaMarche (who voiced Brain from Pinky and the Brain, among many other cartoon characters). We should feel so proud.

This 2003 movie stars Will Farrell (who stands six-foot-three) as Buddy, a human raised by Santa’s elves. It always makes me laugh, but be sure you’re in the mood for extreme silliness when you decide to watch it.

Buddy has never been told he’s not an elf, and he grows up feeling inferior. He’s far too large for the elves’ homes and furnishings. He can’t make toys as quickly as they can. Though he feels loved by Papa Elf who adopted him, and accepted by the other elves who are too kind to hurt his feelings, Buddy knows he doesn’t fit in.

When Buddy learns he’s a human whose mother died and that he has a biological father unaware of his existence, he treks from the North Pole to New York City. His mission? To find his father and redeem him from Santa’s naughty list. The people he encounters, including his father, assume he’s completely dysfunctional and in need of serious help. All kinds of crazy scenes play out as Buddy gradually wins over his half-brother, his stepmother, a department store elf he’s quickly falling in love with, and—finally, his father. The group must then save Santa’s sleigh from certain destruction by raising NYC’s level of Christmas cheer. Buddy ends up a hero.

The touching part of this story is the part to which our souls relate: the hunger for belonging. We yearn to understand our roots, find our people, know where we fit. We long for father, and when that longing is met with rejection, it becomes the harshest rejection of all.

Regardless of race, class, nationality, or gender, our relationship with our father is deeply tied to our identity. That need is so strong in us, it can drive people into bad relationships, gangs, and cults. Even those fortunate enough to enjoy a good relationship with their parents understand the need for more. We were designed to be loved perfectly, but no parent or partner can measure up.

Deep inside, we long to know who we truly are. Whose we are. Though we may not admit it, our souls desire a relationship with our Creator. The good news is, our Creator desires one with us even more. Christmas made it possible. We don’t need to make a long trek to him. He sent his son to us. Because of the sacrifice Jesus made, look at what the Bible tells us about who we are in him:

I am a child of God. (John 1:12)

I am a friend of Jesus. (John 15:15)

I will not be condemned by God. (Romans 8:1)

I am accepted by Christ. (Romans 15:7)

I have wisdom, righteousness, and redemption. (1 Corinthians 1:30)

I am a new creature. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

I am set free. (Galatians 5:1)

I am blessed. (Ephesians 1:3)

I am chosen. (Ephesians 1:4)

I am forgiven. (Ephesians 1:7)

I am loved. (Ephesians 2:4-5)

I am provided for. (Philippians 4:19)

That’s only a partial list, but it includes twelve verses for you to look up—one for each of the twelve days of Christmas. Google them if it’s easier. I hope you’ll take some time this Christmas season to remember—or perhaps to discover for the first time—the identity and belonging your Creator offers you because of Jesus.

Merry Christmas!

How the Grinch (Almost) Stole Christmas

One movie in our DVD must-watch collection is the 2000 version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas with Jim Carrey in the title role. It’s based on Theodore (Doctor Seuss) Geisel’s 1957 book by the same name. Making a feature length movie out of a children’s storybook requires much expansion of the original. The writers of the screenplay created an entire past for the Grinch that makes him a somewhat sympathetic character and explains why he hated Christmas and the residents of Whoville. They also needed to add several extra scenes and plot points to the story, while staying true to Seuss’s rhyming style.

You may or may not be a fan, but Jim Carrey could not have been a better choice. If ever a role called for his maniacal style, this one does. Carrey delivers. I think it’s his performance and the brilliant makeup work that bring me back to this movie. My favourite lines do not appear in the book, like when the Grinch steps on the scale to discover his heart is down a size and he promises, “This time, I’m keeping it off!”

When the Grinch receives the invitation from Cindy Lou Who to their Whobilation festivities, Carrey ad libs. Flipping the pages of his calendar, the Grinch reads his tight schedule aloud:

“Four o’clock, wallow in self-pity; Four-thirty, stare into the abyss; Five o’clock, solve world hunger, tell no one; Five-thirty, jazzercize; Six-thirty, dinner with me—I can’t cancel that again; Seven, wrestle with my self-loathing. I’m booked.”

The part where the Grinch teases director Ron Howard by donning Howard’s famous ball cap and “directing” Max the dog on how to play a reindeer was all Jim Carrey’s. Howard loved it and left it in.

Like most Christmas movies, this one makes no references to the real Christmas. Its redemption comes in the lessons on bullying and its long-range results, on the emptiness of consumerism, and on the value of community, love, and goodwill.

But the real Christmas did include a grinch. His name was Herod the Great and he, too, had a past. Known for his architectural ambitions, this king of Judea was brutal. He executed members of his own family, banished at least one wife in order to “marry up” politically, and unfairly taxed the Judeans. Scholars agree Herod suffered throughout his lifetime from depression and paranoia. He was so concerned no one would mourn his death that he commanded several distinguished men to be killed at the time of his own death to ensure the displays of grief he craved would take place. Fortunately, this order was not carried out.

One equally horrific command was realized, however. King Herod felt so threatened when he learned about the birth of Jesus Christ, he determined to have the child murdered. When his initial plan was thwarted, he ordered all male children under the age of two in Bethlehem killed. While scholars tell us the total number of babies murdered would have been a dozen or so (not hundreds like is sometimes portrayed), I’ve sometimes wondered how I would have felt toward Jesus years later if I’d been one of those bereft mothers and if I understood why my child had died.

Jesus escaped this massacre, thanks to a warning given to Joseph in a dream. Like the Grinch’s, Herod’s attempt at stealing Christmas failed. Not long afterwards, Herod died an excruciating death.

Unlike the Grinch, Herod never experienced an epiphany. He never came to understand that, “Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas means a little bit more.”