Every December, I get excited about meeting that grand old elf in his red and white suit. Seeing him really puts me into the spirit, especially as I am now too old to worry about being on the naughty list. The story of Santa begins long before red suits and reindeer. Around 300 BCE, in what is now Turkey, a boy named Nicholas was born into wealth. When his parents died during a plague, he gave away everything he inherited, and devoted his life to helping the poor. He became the Bishop of Myra, and was known for his compassion.

During the Roman persecutions, Nicholas was imprisoned for his faith, but eventually released. After his death, he was buried in the local church, where people claimed a sweet-smelling liquid—manna—seeped from his tomb with healing powers. Pilgrims came from across the land, seeking cures and comfort.

Legends of his kindness spread. One tells of a poor man with three daughters who had no dowries. One night, three gold balls mysteriously landed in the girls’ stockings hanging by the fire. Nicholas’s secret gift-giving inspired the tradition of hanging stockings, in hopes of receiving small treasures.

Another story recounts how he rescued a kidnapped boy, who miraculously reappeared unharmed a year after Nicholas’s death. Sailors too, revered him; they said he once calmed a deadly storm through prayer. To this day, seafarers still pray to St. Nicholas for safe passage.

His remains eventually found a new home. Concerned for their safety, sailors smuggled them from Myra to Bari, Italy, where a cathedral was built in his honour. It remains a major pilgrimage site.

St. Nicholas’s feast day, December 6, was celebrated throughout Europe. In Germany and Poland, boys dressed as bishops and collected alms for the poor. In the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg, St. Nicholas arrived from Spain by steamship, riding a white horse through villages, handing out treats to well-behaved children. Dutch youngsters left hay and carrots in their shoes, hoping to find sweets and chocolate initials by morning.

When Europeans came to North America, they brought their traditions with them. Christopher Columbus even named a Haitian port after the saint. The Puritans and Pilgrims, however, frowned on saintly celebrations, and the legend might have faded if not for Dutch settlers in New Amsterdam, who kept the spirit alive.

Christmas in those days was not the warm family affair we imagine. It often meant loud crowds, excessive drinking, and vandalism—more riot than reverence. But as attitudes toward family and childhood evolved, the season softened. People began to see it as a time for home, generosity, and reflection. St. Nicholas, too, evolved—from stern judge to benevolent giver.

In 1821, The Children’s Friend introduced “Sante Claus,” a sleigh-riding visitor from the North Pole, a blend of Dutch “Sinterklaas” and German “Sankt Niklaus.” The book shifted his arrival to Christmas Eve, replacing the old December 6 feast.

Two years later, Clement Clarke Moore’s poem ’Twas the Night Before Christmas, gave the world a vivid picture of Santa’s appearance, while Haddon Sundblom’s 1931 Coca-Cola ads, cemented the image we know today—the round, red-suited man with twinkling eyes and a hearty laugh.

Across centuries, the details have changed; bishop to toymaker, donkey to sleigh, Europe to the North Pole, but the heart of the story remains. Whether he rides through snow or sails across seas, he carries the same message: kindness, generosity, and joy.

Maybe, in our rush of traffic, technology, and shopping lists, we could all use a little of that old-fashioned generosity. After all, it’s not the beard or the sleigh that make Santa who he is—it’s the heart behind the gift.

And so, I wish you peace, happiness, and a truly merry Christmas