A Christmas Story in Santa Monica

By Michael Ashcraft --

Once upon a time, there was a city by the sea, and this city was perfect with beautiful weather and beautiful beaches and beautiful people who loved trees and loved people. And the city was called the City of The Christmas Story.

It was called the City of Christmas Story because it hosted Nativity Scenes on its bluffs that people drove from all over Los Angeles to see.

And the Nativity Scenes were such that once a year, churches dropped doctrinal differences and dogmatic squabbles and came together to sing and rejoice around the centerpiece of their faith to celebrate Santa Claus. I mean, the Baby Jesus.

But the years rolled on and a wicked witch arose to destroy the City of the Christmas Story's claim to fame. I mean a political movement arose, and adherents looked rather grinchingly upon the Nativity Scenes. They were a people who turned up their noses to traditions and screwed up their faces at faith and snootily snorted that the bluffs were no place for religious displays.

And the City Council listened to these people and canceled Christmas.

Oh, they kept Christmas. They kept the Christmas lights and the Christmas trees. They kept Christmas gift-giving and the Christmas gift-buying. They kept the Christmas carols (especially if they didn't mention a certain baby born in a manger 2,000 years ago).

They even kept Santa.

But the Baby, and the magi, and the camels, and the Virgin, and the shepherds had to go. They were part of a quaint piece of ancient history that the Promoters of Progress insisted needed to recede into oblivion.

And this is how the City of the Christmas Story moved on and progressed and woke up to new Utopian realities.

The churches were cross. The Christians were glowering. They even brought a lawsuit to an appellate court, but alas, they were not to prevail. The City had a smooth-talking lawyer who held the day.

They had eliminated the Christ from Christmas. They were merry and revel-making staying only with mas.

But there were elves and fairies and reindeer who were not happy with the sad end to the story.

On a cold and snowy night (well, ok, no snow in Santa Monica, I'm making that part up), they gathered around a fiery hearth and shared a cup of wassail and discussed what should they do. They had lost with the Council, they had lost with the Courts.

They expounded and fretted, they worried and whined, they talked and muttered and ran out of words until at last in the wee hours of that deep night from the corner of the room the Fairy Godmother spoke.

We shall still celebrate Christmas, the Fairy Godmother spoke softly.

The crowd was surprised. The crowd was astonished

Please pray tell how? they said. They canceled us at the Council and they canceled us at the Courts. What shall we do to display our beloved Nativity Scenes?

The Fairy Godmother spoke softly. She spoke confidently. She revealed a plan.

We shall keep our camels, our shepherds, our magi. We shall keep the annunciation, the stars and the straw, the cold Bethlehem night, the manger, the animals. And most of all, we shall keep Baby Jesus.

And then the Fairy Godmother sent her elves and her reindeer all throughout the city to organize the Nativity Scenes.

Their work is on display at 2311 Main St on Sunday at 2:00 p.m. for all the children and adults with faith in their heart, for the people for whom Christmas means more than consumerism and drinking parties.

And the Fairy Godmother will be there. You might know her as Kari Czer.