I was told to hike up a snowy mountain, at night, and to meet an agent of the resistance at the summit. I ended up waiting about 10 hours, until dawn, before the man I was supposed to meet showed up. I was freezing and I was sure they were going to have to lop my toes off.
“I’m sorry for making you wait. Come with me,” was all he said as he led me down the other side of the mountain, through miles of fresh snow, until we could see the smoke curling from the chimney of a cabin nestled almost invisibly in the middle of a stand of trees. This, I had been told, was where they still celebrate Christmas.
Ramadan is, ever since the Obama administration’s decree of 2010, the only official state-sanctioned holiday. Everyone in the cabin I met had been forced to observe the monthlong holiday or risk exile, imprisonment or worse. But here, they told me, far from the prying eyes of the government, they could truly celebrate the holiday closest to their hearts.
“It began with the War on Christmas. That’s very far behind us now,” said Joe, a man who asked not to be identified for fear of reprisal. “Back when they took Christmas celebrations out of schools and nativity scenes out of public parks, we never thought they would go as far as they’ve gone. We should have known better.”
The story of Christians meeting in basements to read scripture and hiding their crosses and Bibles has become a common theme in recent months, but the less-reported story has been of those radical enough to worship freely, even if they do it, as the group I witnessed did, in an area that was relatively safe.
The festivities were somewhat subdued, and for once it seemed like the commercial aspect which had heretofore dominated Christmas had at last been banished. There was a tree8212;a sapling cut down recently enough that sap had formed at the base of its trunk and seeped out onto the floor8212;and there were a few presents, but for the most part the focus was on swapping stories (of narrow escapes) or just enjoying being in the presence of other people far from the stresses of everyday life. The presents turned out to be gag gifts anyhow8212;one man gave his wife a pocket-sized Koran, and she laughed, kissed him and then threw it on the fire burning in the hearth. There were cheers as its pages curled black and the flames licked at its cardboard cover.
The theme of this Christmas, however, was not hatred but love. I, as a total outsider, expected to be excluded or even viewed suspiciously as some kind of mole. But nobody ever asked me if I was wearing a wire and nobody tried to hide themselves from me. I was as much a part of the celebration as anyone else8212;and it was a celebration, I must have had a gallon of eggnog.
The next day, I tried to leave the cabin but they told me I had to stay with them a while longer. “It’s so nice to have someone to tell my stories to,” they said. When I asked them what they would do if I turned out to be a spy, they shrugged their shoulders and went back to eating breakfast. “I’ve already gotten all I need out of life this Christmas. I don’t want anything else.”
Editor’s Note8212;The above article is a satire and should in no way be taken seriously.