Whatever happened to myrrh?

By Tim Cerantola

There are some Christmas traditions that confuse me. OK, I get the part about Mary and Joseph and the birth of Jesus. And I’m very okay with the message of love, the sharing and the peace on earth.  Peace on earth sounds like a great idea to me.

As for the Christmas lights on the house, decorating the tree, Christmas carols, Santa Claus, exchanging gifts, mistletoe and even that partridge in the pear tree thing - hey,  I’m with the program. All of these are a part of the wonderful, loving spirit of Christmas.

But the festive Christmas fruitcake?

Who decided that Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a fruity version of concrete?

It’s not even Christmas and I’ve already been threatened numerous times by fruitcake bakers and their menacing clumps of cake.

“What?” They ask in disbelief. “You don’t like fruitcake? Well, you’ll just have to try MY Christmas fruitcake. Everyone loves MY fruitcake. I have a special recipe. The secret is to soak your nuts in brandy.”

Well, that’s just weird - not to mention an awful waste of brandy. Hey, if you must eat their fruitcake,  just drink the brandy and keep your pants on (unless of course  you go for that sort of thing).

Sorry fruitcake lovers, but in my opinion, Christmas fruitcake is the black hole of the baked goods universe. In fact, some of the cakes I’ve been forced to endure, were so dense they commanded a significant gravitational pull.

I’m sure that one day soon, scientists will conclude that fruitcake is the miracle material of the 21^st century - with an almost indestructible durability that outlasts steel, plastics and all the latest carbon polymers put together. Imagine, one day, bridges, skyscrapers and even space stations will be made of fruitcake. Impenetrable, bulletproof, edible (more or less). 

The next Christmas tradition that mystifies me is eggnog.  What’s the story here?

For sure you can bet that the chickens are completely against the idea.

Personally, I believe that eggnog is an evil, wicked, nefarious plan designed by a secret organization known as “The Egg Men”  - the military arm of the Egg Council of Earth. And, as soon as these depraved, iniquitous fiends make enough money from their Christmas eggnog scam, they will join together with vegetarian forces and take over the world, or maybe just outlaw meat. One of those two.

Now, before you chicken farmers out there get your shorts all in a knot and start flooding my inbox with emails, complaining and/or trying to convince me of some kind of bizarre Christmas significance to eggnog, forget it. There isn’t any significance to eggnog. In fact, biblically speaking, eggs were never mentioned in the bible. Not once. So there.

As for you egg men out there, I’m well aware of your fruitcake torture techniques, but I am not afraid. I've been drinking a lot of brandy. The jig is up boys. Once I’ve spread word of this conspiracy of liquefied eggs and milk (with cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg), the world will finally know what you evil bastards are up to.

OK, I could be completely wrong about that eggnog conspiracy thing. After re-reading what I just wrote, it does seem a little over the top. Too much late night talk radio I guess. OK, let's just forget that last bit and turn our attention to myrrh!

Yeah, myrrh! Whatever happened to myrrh?

Apparently, the baby Jesus got a major wad (clump?) of myrrh on his birthday. I never got any myrrh on any of my birthdays. Why did we forget about the birthday myrrh?

You know what they say; a Christmas without myrrh is like a… well… I already know what a Christmas without myrrh is like - and it’s not that bad! It’s a Christmas with myrrh that I’m not so sure about.

Now the dictionary defines myrrh as a fragrant, gummy substance obtained from various shrubs of Arabia and East Africa. It did not, however, explain what myrrh was used for.

I can imagine my Dad coming through the door on a cold and snowy Christmas Eve of long ago.  A sad look covers his face as he expresses his regrets to his young family that has gathered to greet him at the door.

“I’m sorry everyone, they were out of myrrh. We’ll have to settle for Bazooka bubble gum again.”

“Awww… Dad! We were counting on myrrh for Christmas. The Joneses are having myrrh.”

Anyway, I have a theory about this myrrh business.

In fact, I believe myrrh was a useless, insignificant substance until the Three Kings arrived from the East to give their gifts to the baby Jesus. The third king, upon realizing he’d forgotten to bring a gift, had to think fast. So he ran outside and grabbed a hunk (Blob?) of myrrh off a nearby tree.

Then, upon receiving the gift of myrrh, Mary, being the well-mannered and courteous girl she was, probably said something very gracious like, “Oh look Joseph, it’s myrhh(?) How very nice. Thank you very much. It’s what we’ve always wanted.” And the rest, as they say, is history.