Explainer
Christmas culture
Creed
5 min read

Santa Claus and how not to give gifts

John Barclay unpacks the nature of gift-giving and finds Santa’s list is moralising in comparison to an older unconditional way.

John Barclay is Lightfoot Professor of Divinity at Durham University. He researches the history and thought of early Christianity and early Judaism. 

A Santa tiptoes in a darkened room carrying a lamp and holding up a finger in a gesture of silencing
Anderson W Rangel on Unsplash.

Christianity is a religion centered on the notion of gift.  It is no accident that Christmas, linked with what Christians consider the ultimate gift - the birth of Jesus, is a festival of gift-giving.  All sorts of historical and cultural traditions have accumulated around this festival, for good and ill, but one, it seems to me, has become especially problematic: the myth of Santa Claus.  The form of giving we associate with Santa Claus is the very opposite of what counts, in the Christian tradition, as a good gift. Here’s how. 

In the English-speaking world, Santa Claus (originally St Nicholas) is the man in the red coat and white beard to whom children address their requests for presents.  For many, he becomes a bit like God, and as such, shapes their image of God as normally absent, occasionally useful, and generally benign.  But if Santa is the distributor of gifts at Christmas, two things mark his giving: first, he gives according to merit; second, his giving is one-way and one-off, creating no relationship of trust, love, or obligation.   

The famous Santa song is better known in North America than in the UK, but it has lasted long in the popular imagination. It has also shaped our ideas of gift-giving.  Santa, you will recall, has a list of who’s been ‘naughty or nice’, and is using that list to direct his gifts. He is all-seeing and all-knowing (‘he sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake’), so his merit-judgments are unfailingly correct: he ‘knows if you’ve been bad or good’ – so ‘be good for goodness sake’!  Santa’s gifts, in other words, are merited and conditioned.  At one level, this is an adult ploy to get children to behave at Christmas.  But at another, it reflects a remorselessly moralizing society, quick to judge who is deserving of praise or blame.   

As Harvard philosopher Michael Sandel has argued in The Tyranny of Merit, we have allowed the notion of ‘merit’ to govern so many aspects of our society that those who miss out on social and economic success are led to believe that it is really their fault. Santa is the projection of our sense that nothing good comes our way unless we somehow deserve it. 

The other feature of Santa’s giving is that it is all over in a trice: it creates no relationship and establishes no long-term connection.  The children who write letters asking for presents are not encouraged to enquire after Santa’s wellbeing during the rest of the year.  There is no friendship, no commitment, just one-way gifts that arrive without reciprocity or interpersonal depth.  That fits Western individualism, where we dislike the constraints created by long-term relationships. We will take a gift ‘with no strings attached’ because thereby we retain our autonomy, our power to choose, our independence.   

This was a gift ‘with strings attached’ – not unwelcome new obligations that forced them to do what they hated, but strings of love that enabled them to be better and fuller versions of themselves. 

he Christmas event was originally understood as a gift of a very different kind – in fact the inverse of the Santa-gift.  What the early Christians celebrated about the gift of Jesus was that it was completely unconditioned: it was given without regard to merit or desert.  Even in ancient times that was an unusual, even a bizarre, form of gift: surely it would make better sense to give to those who were worthy of the gift?  But what the Gospel writers and St Paul celebrated was that the gift took effect in unexpected, undeserving places – with uneducated fishermen, with women as much as men, with non-Jews as well as Jews, with the social underdogs and the morally dubious.   

This was a gift that had nothing to do with merit: it was given irrespective of worth and in the absence of worth.  Paul the persecutor received this gift; so did Mary, a village teenager; so did Peter, who let Jesus down time after time; so did idolatrous non-Jews; so did Zacchaeus (a tax-collector – about as popular as a loan shark today)).  This was not because the gift was given randomly. It was a strategic policy to make the gift available to all.  As an unconditioned gift, not dependent on gender, cultural background, social level, or moral achievement, the gift of the ‘good news’ belonged to no-one – and could go to everyone.  

As a result, the early Christians formed new kinds of communities that crossed most social boundaries, and excluded no one on the basis that they were not good enough to join.   

And was this a ‘Santa gift’ in the sense of creating no relationship, no ties, no expectations?  Far from it!  The gift of Christ was understood to transform those who received it, because ultimately it was the gift not of a thing but of a person.  Where Santa disappears for eleven months of the year, the Christians found that Jesus stuck around, not as a threat but as a transformative presence (in the form of ‘the Spirit’), who slowly, subtly, but definitively made them different than what they were before.  This was a gift ‘with strings attached’ – not unwelcome new obligations that forced them to do what they hated, but strings of love that enabled them to be better and fuller versions of themselves.  The Christ-gift drew its recipients, as theologians would later say, into the life of God, which is the best imaginable place for humans to be. 

So, how might you give gifts differently this Christmas?  Well, you could go beyond ‘the usual suspects’ and include some you would not normally include on your giving-list; why not reach out, with some gesture of goodwill, to someone with whom you have had a difficult relationship this year?  You could try to make your gifts more personal, as a token of who you are and who they are, and you could make an effort to continue the friendship beyond the ‘once a year’ gesture.  And if someone gives to you and you haven’t thought to give to them - a common source of embarrassment - no problem: take it as an invitation to friendship, to which you can always respond at some other time and in some other way.  There is always an opportunity for change and growth. 

An unconditioned gift that changes who you are - liberating and transformative, underserved and perpetually effective.  There might be reasons why we prefer the ‘no commitment’ gifts of Santa Claus, but we also know that the most meaningful gifts are personal; they create or sustain ties of friendship; even if they are things, they represent an interpersonal commitment of love.  Christmas is always a mixed blessing, but it is not helped by the Santa songs (or, indeed, by some terrible lines in Christmas carols!).  But at its origin it carries the tune of a different kind of gift, which takes no account of desert but changes its recipients in ways they can never forget. 

Essay
Belief
Creed
Football
Sport
6 min read

Argentina’s adoration of Lionel Messi

The icon of the beautiful game holds a nation's gaze, giving insights into redemption.

Matthias is a priest-theologian, and Centre Lead for St Mellitus College, Chelmsford

A child on the shoulders of a parent wears a light blue and white stripped football top, waves the Argentinian flag
Pedro Chosco on Unsplash.

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” 

The words recited by the priest during the Eucharist as the chalice and host are lifted, inviting participants to fix their gaze on Christ, encapsulate the profound truth that what we gaze upon has inordinate power to shape us. It is a truth echoed not only in spiritual practices but also in our everyday experiences. In a world flooded with visual distractions, an age dominated by screens, this act of beholding is a counter-cultural reminder of the reality that our gaze determines our desires and, ultimately, the people we become.  

Of course, our gaze is not limited to religion or technology; it also relates to culture, and our idols in music and sport deeply influence us for better or worse.  

This truth became vividly real to me during our family travels through South America last summer. Our synaesthesically-rich itinerary of truly memorable encounters with the vast natural and cultural heritage sites of the continent coincided with Lionel Messi’s triumph in the Copa América. As a family we enjoyed witnessing the national celebrations of the football giant taking his foremost place in the pantheon of La Albiceleste – the Argentinian national team. As part of our backpacking through Argentina, we visited Rosario, the birthplace of the great man. 

For my six-year-old son, the trip was a chance to step into the world of his hero. Visiting the modest house where Messi grew up, his kindergarten, the playground where he would have played, and the club he represented before moving to Barcelona and global fame was fascinating. But far beyond all these famous sites was the immediate visual bombardment of graffitied murals across the city’s walls celebrating his legacy, life and achievements. They highlighted how deeply intertwined Messi’s story is with the local and national consciousness. Navigating our way through these vibrant backstreets and billboards, our own human senses blurring in the Argentine cultural imaginary, we reflected on how we were also manoeuvring our way through a modern-day pilgrimage. 

For the figure of Lionel Messi commands etheric resonances far beyond the immediate significance of his footballing career. His story is about more than sporting success, and as a cultural icon in Argentina he has now surpassed Diego Maradona. Messi’s journey conjures a strikingly messianic arc, encapsulating themes of death and resurrection. From his emergence out of humble beginnings before being flung into international stardom, his resignation from the national team amid public outrage to his triumphant and redemptive return, leading Argentina to World Cup glory. 

Along our travels, we were surrounded by beauty; in creation, culture, and human creativity. This beauty and artistry also shines forth in Messi and his craft. Watching someone of such skill and elegance on the pitch, and such apparent humility away from the cameras, embodies the joy of the beautiful game. Messi’s place within the Argentine cultural imagination, as a social actor producing and reproducing a shared sense of meaning that verges on the spiritual, is also cemented in the country’s cultural delights. These narratives of new beginnings and flourishing are evident not only the vibrant street art, but also in the exquisite steaks and fine Malbec wine consumed in the fashionable Buenos Aires restaurants frequented by footballers and other celebrities.  And, in the ubiquitous ‘Number 10’ football strips we saw worn by every second visitor at the breathtaking Iguazú Falls. This powerful symbiosis between Messi and the collective idea of ‘Argentina’ means that his triumph in 2022 became a communal act of redemption for a nation whose imagined identity is intricately tied to the sport, the culmination of a wider set of imagined bonds fostering a collective sense of belonging, meaning, and beauty. 

Beauty and the Church 

This appreciation for beauty resonates deeply with the Christian tradition. Beauty matters – not only in life but also in the Church, in worship, and in encounters with the divine. Just as Messi’s artistry captivates, so too should the Church inspire awe and wonder. The synaesthetic experience of Christian worship, the harmony of liturgy and sacred music, provides glimpses of the divine and transcendent beauty and is designed to draw the gaze upward, to behold Christ and his beauty. In the early Church, when Christians emerged from the underground catacombs and built churches and cathedrals, pagans marvelled at the beauty of the liturgies occuring inside. The order, reverence, and otherworldly radiance of Christian worship captivated those who encountered it. 

The importance of beauty in worship echoes the Transfiguration, where Christ’s divine glory was revealed and transfixed his disciples. On Mount Tabor, Christ unveiled the divine radiance that transforms all who behold him, all who fix their eyes on him. The beauty of God transforms us when our minds are oriented toward God. This is not merely aesthetic – it is theological: our entire being is beautified. St. Maximus the Confessor argued that when our mind is oriented toward God, it is beautified by him, and as this beauty flows outward it also shapes and transforms our being. Conversely, when we turn our attention away from God, we lose this radiance and harmony, becoming shapeless and disordered. 

Beauty, then, is not just a peripheral concern; it is integral to worship and formation, to our becoming fully human and being fully transformed into the image of God. The Church should be a place where we encounter the beauty of Christ, where the liturgy itself becomes an icon that draws our ears and eyes, minds, hearts, and bodies towards God. 

The Redeemer gazing back

In our culture, we are drawn to watch figures like Lionel Messi, whose brilliance and beautiful artistry inspire devotion and cement collective cultural and even spiritual meanings. Yet, while football and an individual’s life story might inspire and unify, as we are reminded by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, they nevertheless remain penultimate. These worldly things, be they football, fame, or even national unity, cannot satisfy our deepest longings and thirst for ultimate meaning, and will ultimately fade away. In the wider spiritual imagination, these moments of beauty do however encapsulate a deeper, lasting reality, and so may point beyond themselves, toward the source of all beauty – God Himself. And this is where theology and the gaze converge, bringing us back to where we started: that what we choose to look upon shapes us profoundly. As we navigate a world filled with distractions and idols, it is a reminder that what we choose to behold not only reflects our values but also shapes the people we are becoming. The question is then, where – or rather at whom – are we directing our gaze? 

Our South American travels culminated in Rio de Janeiro, at the feet of the iconic statue of Cristo Redentor. Standing atop a mountain, Christ himself gazes over the metropolis, the shimmering beaches, the favelas, and the Maracanã Football Stadium. With outstretched arms, the statue is an enduring symbol of Christ’s immanence. Not a distant, transcendent God removed from our world, but the present Christ.  

In considering what shapes us – be it football legends, the wonders of creation, or the allure of our screens – it becomes evident that only one gaze has the power to redeem. The story of Lionel Messi may inspire us, but the story of Jesus Christ redeems us. Only in Christ do we find a beauty that is both immanent and eternal, calling us to fix our eyes on him and be transfigured by his glory. For we can only behold him at all because he was beholding us first. 

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