Let me first say that I am a Christmas freak. I always have been. The lights, the music, the tree, the food and decorations, I can’t get enough of it, and I can’t get it early enough. I am all schmaltzy and chirpy like an elf around Christmas time. I am dementedly chipper about Christmas.

Santa Claus, on the other hand, has been a big disappointment.

I was once all in Santa’s corner. I was a die-hard believer until I was ten, way past when other children had gotten the inside skinny on Santa. I was the dope that dropped my jaw when I overheard the second grade teacher tell her class to remember that the Kindergarteners still believed. I still believed. I was in fifth grade.

For me, finding that Santa was a bust made Christmas a bust. Santa was Christmas. Santa was the magic, the mystery, the faith, the hope of Christmas. He was the possibility that the world could still improve, if only one night a year, while I was sound asleep. Finding that my faith in Santa had been badly misplaced made me lose my faith in everything. After all, who or what could hold a candle to Santa? The Easter Bunny? The Tooth Fairy? Baby Jesus? They were pale imitations to the fat man who wiggled down my chimney once a year to deliver piles of presents and then zipped away into the night on his magical flying reindeer.

Now, as an adult, I can take a critical view of Santa and see that even if he had turned out to be real, he would have been kind of a jerk compared to Jesus. In a celebrity death match, Jesus would take down Santa in the first round. Here’s a breakdown of what the judges might consider.

Santa watches all year and decides if I’ve been Naughty or Nice.

Does this ever work as a behavioral motivation model? 360 days out of the year I would be the same, somewhat selfish, little creep I always was. Then a few days before Christmas I would ramp up my goodness quotient, and VOILA! On Christmas morning I got a heap load of presents. Every year, no matter what. I never got coal. If I had been at all analytical about this, I could have come to only one of two conclusions. Either Santa was a complete moron, or his standard of goodness was just about the same as mine.

Jesus’ standard of goodness incinerates mine. He took one look at my Naughty or Nice list, shook his head, and said “Your only hope for Christmas is if I intervene.” And he did intervene. And now he rips up my list and posts His in my place. Every day. No matter what.

Santa is always jolly.

There’s a reason he only comes to town once a year. One day a year he can pull off the jolly thing for 24 hours. Then he goes back to the North Pole where he does who knows what. Have you ever actually seen Mrs. Claus or the elves? That’s because they’re covered in bruises, and drink to get through the day. Have you ever wondered why Santa lives at the North Pole? Maybe it’s because it can be five o’clock there all day long.

Jesus wept. He got angry and turned over tables. He grew frustrated and disappointed. He was tired, and sometimes he snapped at people. He spoke truth to power, but remained silent when no good came of speaking. He was whipped with barbs until his skin fell off, then he was nailed onto wooden cross bars, hauled up vertically and left there for gravity to rip his heart apart inside his chest. Jesus was able to forgive all of us while he hung there, and he knew better than to be jolly.

Santa is big and fat and can slide down chimneys.

Santa can slide down your chimney even when you don’t have a chimney. Now there’s a marketable skill. Santa is also greatly beloved as a fat man but hasn’t lifted a finger to help with the self esteem of little fat boys and girls. Santa is an iconic figure, but not a role model. Nobody ever wants to grow up to be like Santa. He’s a fat guy who slides down chimneys for a living.

Jesus was, most likely, gaunt, dark skinned, calloused, weather aged, and had bad teeth. Despite what you might think around Christmas, he was only actually a little baby for the standard amount of time, and lived a much scrutinized life in public for three years. All but one of his best friends chose to be killed rather than stop telling the world about him. The one that lived was banished to a remote island forever. For two thousand years people have been trying to be like him or trying to do away with his influence.

Santa makes pit stops in the home of every child who believes in him, all in one night, and still gets home in time for breakfast.

Sometimes he needs help from NORAD and the local weatherman but still… On the other hand, he’s pretty inconsistent. He leaves much bigger booty for the little rich kids than for the little poor kids, and sometimes, in spite of what his agent and PR people claim, sometimes he just plain forgets or fails to show up at a home. He doesn’t always read his mail very carefully either.

Jesus is much more popular among the poor, the sick, the broken, the abandoned, the forgotten and the evil doers than he is among the rich and powerful and good people. In fact, you pretty much have to get to the point where you realize you are poor, sick, broken, abandoned, forgotten and an evil doer before Jesus will even make an appearance. Jesus is more about thoroughness than speed in getting his work done, and he doesn’t give up on those who are no longer children.

Santa can’t fly, but he is resourceful enough to find some reindeers that can.

But after all these years, has anyone ever actually seen this entourage in the air?

While he was dead, Jesus raised himself from the dead. He appeared to lots of different people, friends and enemies alike. A month after he had been killed, he appeared to four hundred people at one time. Then he disappeared and no one has found his body. People are still talking about it.

Santa is about pretending.

About smiling no matter what, about keeping your eyes closed, about telling yourself what you wish was true. You can only keep that up for so long.

Jesus is about becoming real.

It’s an adventure that only starts with Christmas.