Ausmas

They keep telling me that its Christmas time. I laugh. Were it physically possible for spherical members of my anatomy to actually sweat off, those suckers would be long gone by now! Never have I ever experienced the lead up to the holiday season as long days of sunshine, boiling temperatures, and sunburn. But then again, this is Australia and Santa delivers presents on a surfboard. Typically in the US when I see people leave the privacy of their own homes and expose themselves to the public in Santa hats, I shake my head in pity. But when people walk down the street dressed in tank-tops, shorts, and flip flops, topped off with sweat-saturated woolen Santa hats, I rack my brain for reason. Can you imagine forcing your child to sit on Santa’s lap after he’s been sitting in the stuffy air of a shopping center all day stuffed with pillows to pronounce his belly, muzzled with a fake beard, and draped in a snow suit! No wonder kids constantly cry at the poor old man. I can appreciate the festive feeling brought about by a finely decorated Christmas Tree. But Queensland isn’t exactly known for the grandeur of its towering evergreen forests. Where are all these pines and firs coming from? Why are their needles so shiny? Why don’t they need any water? And why do they conveniently collapse into a cardboard box? WHY!? Ok, fair enough, who doesn’t have a fake tree, but I just feel like Australians should decorate palm trees. Even if they are fake (the palm trees I mean, I know that Australians are real). Here is your homework: Pull out your Christmas music (I know you still have in on hand and haven’t quite tucked it away yet) listen to the lyrics of each song. Now transport the “winter wonderland“, “white Christmas“, and “Jack Frost nipping” to the tropical environment of Brisbane. Nothing like nearly crashing into the car in front of you because sweat keeps dropping into your eyes while stuck in a traffic jam with a broken air conditioner singing along to the radio “let it snow, let it snow, let it snow”. Christmas has more of a Fourth of July feel to it. Instead of gathering around the fire place, the barbecue is where the action is. Snow ball fights and snowmen are replaced by the beach, building sand castles and playing volleyball. But the Christmas Eve church service must be a universal truth. A jam-packed church, squashed and uncomfortable, standing room only. No matter what climate your in its hot from all the body heat. Slightly more boisterous than your typical Sunday morning, your anxious and eager for the service to finish up to finally stretch your legs and open a present or two. But then it happens. The lights slowly dim, the band and choir begin their solemn and comforting chorus of Silent Night. As candle after candle becomes aglow and the church flickers in song; echoes of Christmas past rush through your memory. Young boys will always try to light their programs on fire and the person seated behind you will lift up his voice, singing with a non-human tone. But as you light his candle from your own and exchange gentle smiles it doesn’t matter. Christmas has come upon the congregation and whether in Two Rivers, Wisconsin; Brisbane, Australia; or Timbuctoo this sole tradition defines Christmas for me; those few moments in which your world is at peace (maybe not the outside world, maybe not even everyone in the church, but you yourself). As the candles are extinguished and the aroma of melted wax and wick fill the sanctuary, you are slowly stirred from your serenity as “Merry Christmas” and “Happy holidays” are exchanged.