In the classic movie "Raiders of the Lost Ark" renowned archeologist Indiana Jones sets off to find the Old Testament lost ark of the covenant. As he pursues this priceless, sacred object, he encounters wildernesses, snakes, booby traps and Nazis all bent of preventing him from finding this most holy of relics.  For the past several years, with a few changes in details, this story reminds me of the contemporary Christmas season.  Let me explain:

I picture myself as Indiana Jones, complete with fedora, seeking Christ at Christmas. Like Indy, everything I encounter seems to want to keep me from finding the nativity.  Christmas is keepig me from Christ.  I imagine I'm lost in a wilderness of artificial Christmas trees: not the nice modern ones tht look real, but the vintage 70's silver, white and pink aluminum foil trees with branches that look like bottle brushes.  In an attempt to find my way to the manger, I'm hacking through this gaudy forest with a machete, but the trees just get thicker and thicker.  I keep chopping my way through the ever denser forest when I get tangled up, not in jungle vines but Christmas garland.  I'm caught in the gold ropes of tinsel, unable to continue my quest to find baby Jesus until I cut through the garland and begin to run.  

I run because I hear the fast approaching hoof beats of reindeer.  An entire herd of these creatures are stampeding toward me, and they are clearly gaining on me.  Snorting, antlers pointed toward me, they are just feet away. I'm in such a panic that I can't even think about my hope of finding the lost nativity.  

Suddenly, to my amazement, the reindeer veer off track and head the opposite way. I immediately see what caused these beasts to change path: from the west, a giant, spherical rock is bounding through the woods, demolishing fake Christmas trees like a child knocks over building blocks. Then I recognize the rock for what it is.  I am being chased by a giant boulder of credit card debt, hell bent on destroying me, or, at the very least, keeping me from discovering Christ this Christmas season.

With boulder in hot pursuit, I accidently stumble and fall head first into a pit.  The boulder bounds over the pit,and continues its path of demolition, but any relief I feel from avoiding being squished is short lived.  I feel movement on the floor of the pit.  Before I know it, I'm being grabbed by the shins and bitten on the knee caps.  "Elves! Why did it have to be elves!"

Somehow I scramble out of this pit of elf flagellation. I've managed to keep hold of my machete, and the trees seem to start to thin out as I continue my search for the lost nativity.  As the fake foliage thins, I'm blinded by unbearable light.  Unfortunately, It's not the star of Bethelehem, but rather Christmas lights.  Not the pretty, twinkling ones on upscale restaurants or a New England Bed and Breakfast.but rather the pulsating, out of sync casinoesque lights you'd see in a trailer park.

But in spite of these blinding lights, and because of the thinning foliage, I see it!  In the distance I see the Holy Family in the stable.  I have found Christ in Christmas after all.  However, just as I start to run, from behind some of the remaining trees step Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman and Ralphie Parker: the holly jolly trinity.  Frosty weilds his broom like a basebat bat, ready to swing at my head as if it were a Nolan Ryan fastball. Ralphie points his Red Ryder BB gun, prepared to shoot my eye out.  Worst of all, Santa pulls out a pen, ready to put my name forever on the naughty list. The manger is visible in the distance, but I never actually experience it.  Once again, Christmas has kept me from Christ.

In past years, this is where my fantasy has stopped; Discouraged as another December comes and goes without really celebrating  the Savior's birth.  This year, though, I've added to my story.  I figure, my fantasy, my finale. 

So, With my path to the manger blocked by Santa, Frosty and Ralphie, in the distance, I see baby Jesus peek over the edge of his crib, and point a pudgey finger our direction.  Then, just like happened to the Nazis who opened the Ark pf the Covenant, Jesus melts Santa Claus's face like an advent candle. Frightened, Frosty and Ralphie run away, and I sprint the final 200 yards to the manger.  I kneel, and worship the newborn king.  It is truly the night of our dear Savior's birth.

PS:  Melting Frosty would have been too predictable.  Melting Santa Claus is ironic.

And God bless us, everyone!