An unreligious baggage writes about Christmas

A guest post from Apollyon Toynbee of the Guardian.

Christmas comes with good cheer. The tragedy is the religious baggage.

I love Christmas! It's the time of year that all we Guardian writers are filled with good cheer, as we migrate to our villas in Tuscany and take part in all the usual traditions. Hot cross buns! Easter eggs! Drinking ourselves sensible!

I watch "It's a pretty rotten life", that movie in which a rich capitalist decides to kill himself, and we all cheer him on. (I turn off before the last bit, which is about a fascist creature called an angel, who stops him.)

I also watch "A Christmas Carol" in a special feminist version in which Ms. Scroogy goes to Bob Snatchit's House and steals all his food becase he is a SEXIST PIG.

No religion in any of these films, you will notice!

Disgusting!

No, it's the attempt by Christians to hijack the event with their nonsense about a baby being born in Nazareth, or wherever it was. Why, they've even hijacked the traditional name "Christmas", deciding to call their imaginary baby "Christ". I haven't gone into this in detail, but it seems that they also worship other imaginary children called East and Pente!

My atheist great-grandfather, Gilbert N. Sullivan, a classical scholar and also president of the humanists, called Christmas “Mithras' birthday”, because Jesus usurped this winter festival from him. (Hang on, Eccles, she really said that!) Of course the shops refused to sell him Mithras' Birthday cards, which just goes to show the level of bigotry in our society.

And don't get me onto the subject of the three "kings" bringing gold, frankincense and myrrh, when - so they tell me - ordinary citizens can't afford these luxuries and have to rely on myrrh banks! I blame Rishi Sunak.

In general, I am very tolerant of religions, provided that they are practised behind closed doors where nobody can see them. (And no cheating by making silent prayers in the streets! My friends in the Police have stocked up with tear gas, rubber bullets and tasers, just in case anyone tries to pray while thinking - or do I mean tries to think while praying?)

The anti-prayer task force has spotted a lady praying silently!

No, at this time of year I show my religious sensitivity by wishing all my Muslim friends a "Happy Hanukkah", since I know that in their gurdwaras they are celebrating that moment - sacred to them at least - when Krishna did whatever it is he did.

Admittedly, they sometimes utter a discreet "Ali Baba!" ("God is great") as they go about their traditional stabbing activities, but we can overlook such solecisms because we all believe in diversity!

Confucius he say "This is brilliant, Polly!"

Christianity is the worst, though. I dug into the Guardian bag of insults and out came "homophobic", "transphobic", "pro-life", "preaching" and "smashing and decapitating a vast statue of Athena". So there we are!

Give me the badly behaved quarrelsome gods of Valhalla, the Greeks and Romans. (Hang on, Eccles, she really said that as well!)

But worst of all, is the fact that organized religion has robbed us of the right to bump off Grandad when he's being a nuisance (The "right to die"). A lot of these do-gooders wear crosses - an instrument of torture - but whenever I suggest to them that I should be allowed to crucify Grandad Gilbert, who has a nasty dose of arthritis, they hurriedly change the subject.

So Christmas comes with good cheer, enjoy it. But know that it also comes with grandparents - I mean, religious baggage - that we should shed!

Will this do? I have recycled some of the best bits from my 2006, 2015, 2019 and 2021 articles on the subject, but there are one or two new bits as well. Apollyon.

From the desk of Katharine Viner (Editor). Not bad, Polly, but couldn't you have mentioned the fact that Christianity was invented by bronze age goatherds like C.S. Lewis (I think it was)? Love, Kathy.

"Christmas? Bah, humbug!" says Pope Francis

For Catholics at least, Christmas is cancelled this year, after Pope Francis declared that "Christmas is approaching: there will be lights, parties, Christmas trees and nativity scenes… it's all a charade. The world continues to go to war.

Bah! Humbug!"

Of course the Holy Father has a point. This is the first time in 2015 (or so) years that the world has not enjoyed peace on earth at the end of the year. Remembering that God sent a Saviour to the world is a bit traddy really, and we should regard Christ as an irrelevance, and worry more about climate change and terrorism.

Pope Francis - always one to practise what he preaches - has decided to omit the usual Christmas Day Mass and Ubi et Orbi blessings. Given that he dislikes so many people he is finding it increasingly hard to issue blessings, anyway. Instead he intends to go into a dark room and sulk meditate - his meditations will later be published as a new encyclical Nolite Laetare or "Stop enjoying yourselves!"

"And you can take away that stupid tree, as well."

Catholics involved in nativity plays over the festive season are asked to rewrite them to avoid all mention of Jesus, but instead to populate with them with earnest left-wing intellectuals making gloomy speeches about war, violence, and bloodshed.

"Ho, ho, ho!" But the jolly white-bearded man dressed in red is not welcome this year!

Christmas carols will naturally be rewritten to make them as gloomy as possible, so we expect to hear songs such as: "Ding! Dong! Gloomily on high", "Get lost, all ye faithful", "Aaaaaghhh! The Herald angels sing" and "A plague on merry gentlemen".

So, following Pope Francis, we wish you all a really miserable and gloomy Christmas, and a disastrously painful new year. And take that smile off your faces.

Only joking, folks!"

A Christmas Carol

Martini was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The Catholic world was stirred but not shaken to hear that Martini, the "Commie Cardinal", had gone to meet his Maker, to tell Him where he had gone wrong.

Berscrooglio knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Berscrooglio and Martini were partners for I don't know how many years...

Cardinal Berscrooglio, living humbly.

(Get on with it, will you, Eccles, nobody wants to read an entire novella. When do the ghosts appear?)

All right then. Berscrooglio looked out of the window at the jolly Franciscan Friars of the Immaculate, as they processed towards St Traddy's Church in order to celebrate a Mass in the Extraordinary Form. "Bah! Humbug! Self-absorbed Promethean Neo-Pelagians" he sneered, and retired to bed.

Berscrooglio lay, half-awake, until the clock had struck midnight; then the curtains were drawn aside; and then, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, Berscrooglio found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them.

"I am the Ghost of Synod Past," exclaimed the spirit, "also known as Vatican II. Come and see what we did!" The ghost took Berscrooglio back to the 1960s, to a vast meeting of the Great and Good. And Basil Loftus. There the Wise Fathers of the Catholic Church decided to follow the Spirit of the 60s, and encourage the faithful to become hippies. Well, actually they didn't, but somehow sex, drugs and rock-and-roll crept into the spiritual life of the Church soon afterwards.

"I, the Ghost of Vatican II, took most of the credit for this," explained the spectre. Every night in the Vatican there was a rumbling sound, as of an earthquake. It was an army of dead popes, all turning in their graves.

The Ghost of Synod Past.

Moving on quickly, now: the next night Berscrooglio was visited by the Spirit of Synod Present (or at least, only just past), which manifested itself as a smiling man with a fanatical expression on his face. "I am Kasper, the Spirit of Synod Present," said the grinning spectre. "I have come to change the church's teaching on the family; that of course includes homosexuality, divorce and adultery, which are jolly good things that can only make the family stronger. O Berscrooglio! Beware Burke! Send him to Africa, we don't take any notice of people down there. Or even as far as Malta will do."

The Ghost of Synod Present.

Berscrooglio woke at dawn with a shudder, but he knew that his torments would continue. Sure enough, when midnight arrived, a third horrific phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached him. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. "Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Synod Still To Come?" he asked. "Strange Spirit, who art thou? Cormac? Vin? Tiny Tim Radcliffe? Surely not Catherine Pepinster or Tina Beattie?"

"I am all these, and none," said the Spectre. "My name is Legion, for we are Many. See how the Church fades away, as we make it conform with the world!"

The ghost of Synod Still To Come.

"Horrible! Horrible!" said Berscrooglio. "After all, Uncle Benedict was right - it is time for us to become religious again! It is not too late for me to repent - away with my giant Pinocchio puppets, my copy of 'Tango-for-Dummies', even my CD of 'Paul Inwood's Greatest Bath-Time Gurgles'!" Hurriedly dressing, he made his way through the early morning mist to the livestock market, where he bought the largest tiger you ever saw, and left it at Cardinal Kasper's door as a Christmas present.

A present for Cardinal Kasper.

"God bless us, every one!" said Berscrooglio. "Even Eccles!"

A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dawkins

Will nobody say a good word for The God Delusion?

Scroogeard's career was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. He had given up biology, a subject at which he was considered to be very capable, in favour of theology, about which he knew almost nothing; as a result, he was reduced to sitting by the fireside all day long, foaming at the mouth, and shouting "Bah! Humbug!" whenever there was any mention of Christianity on the television.

As he sat there watching the BBC's Christmas Special, A Tribute to Jimmy Savile, and reflecting how, by telling the Daily Mail that bringing children up as Catholics was worse than raping them, it would give him some more column-inches and pay for Lalla's next trip to Gallifrey, the room darkened and a ghostly figure appeared before him.

The Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Hey," said the ghost. "Let's not be formal here. Just call me Tony."

"B-b-b-but you're a Catholic," gasped Scroogeard in terror. "You follow the beliefs of that vile Catholic church. Keep away from me!"

"Let's just say that I've got my own beliefs, and I'm encouraging the Catholic church to follow," said the ghost. It showed Scroogeard a vision of a world run by Blairite Catholics, in which abortion could thrive, and in which religion was gradually sidelined.

The vision faded, and another horrible figure appeared.

The Ghost of Christmas Present.

"Another worshipper of sky fairies!" shuddered Scroogeard. "An Anglican! That's nearly as bad!"

"Don't worry," said the ghost calmly. "The Anglican church does what I say now. If I want women bishops, it will appoint them. But I have an even better scheme, which I'm sure you'll like. Since men and women don't get married very often these days, we're going to insist that men marry men, and women marry women! And, as it says in the Bible, the lion will lie down with the lamb and have its babies, because after all, it has rights like anyone else. If this doesn't get the Catholics screaming, I don't know what will!"

The second vision faded, and Scroogeard, now considerably perked up, awaited to see what horrors lay in the future.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.

"But you're not a Christian at all," cried Scroogeard gleefully to the third ghost. "If you come to power, we shall see the triumph of atheism after all! Harriet Harman will rule with an iron rod, we shall become daily ever more equal and diverse, and the Catholic Church and the Church of England will disappear! Oh joy! Oh rapture!"

"Well, not entirely," said the ghost. "We will simply appoint Giles Fraser as Archbishop of Canterbury, and Tina Beattie as Archbishop of Westminster. That way, the churches will be able to move away from God, and be more in step with the great secular adventure."

Scroogeard, overjoyed, rushed into the street, generously showering gifts on all the poor people he met. To Bob Cratchit, whose family had no fuel, he gave a copy of The Blind Watchmaker, which Bob gratefully put on the fire.

But what of poor Tiny Tim, who lay sick in a corner of the room? Why, Scroogeard had a wonderful gift for him too, a copy of The God Delusion.

Yes, it was the biggest turkey they'd ever seen!