Christingle
When the kids were teeny weeny little toddlers and we were still in our overprotective phase of parenting, we took them to Christingle at the local church, because it seemed like a Christmassy thing to do. Little did we know it’s a Protestant Rite of Passage, where only the fittest and least combustible survive.
Being a good Catholic I’d never heard of this, because Catholics don’t like to try and kill their newly born children (as a general rule). But now that I’m a bad Catholic, I was able to enter a Protestant church without God’s biblical anger turning our little village and the one just down the road into Sodom and Gomorrah.
But, let me tell you, I wish he had stopped me.
To be honest, the ceremony started well.
We sang some Protestant Christmas carols, which sounded pretty much like our Catholic ones, the priest changed his name to a Vicar, which I could deal with, and then, after softening us up, the sacrificing began.
All the children, who had just graduated from being foetuses, were called to the front and given ninja death stars, let’s look at them again:
They were actually oranges with cocktail sticks sticking out of them with Liquorice Allsorts stuck on them.
I know,,,
….Liquorice Allsorts.
What would’ve happened if one of the poor cherubs had eaten one of those?
But that’s not the dangerous bit.
The children stood in a line while the Chief Executioner, I mean the Vicar, lit candles that were sticking out of the top of the death stars.
We’d just told our daughter not to play with matches or go near mummy’s candles that smell of bed sheets wafting in a summer meadow. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the smell of noses burning, but it’s very distinctive. Here’s a diagram I found on the internet, showing safe distances before your nose burns off.
This safe limit was not adhered to by these little characters, who had only recently discovered standing up.
But that’s not the dangerous part.
The graduated foetuses were in a queue. A cramped, tightly packed queue. Our daughter started laughing and wobbling and fell forward almost setting the girl in front’s hair on fire. Worse the tiny boy behind was being a tiny boy and pretending to set my daughter’s hair on fire, and he was good at it.
Then the Torturer told us a funny story.
‘You’re not going to believe this, chortle chortle, but a couple of years ago when we were doing this, chuckle chuckle, several children’s hair set on fire and someone got a cocktail stick in their eye and had to go to hospital’
All the overprotective parents laughed like maniacs and wondered why they weren’t calling 999.
The happy ending is this – our daughter survived with just a singe and loved it. And, once we were over the finicky vigilant phase, she played with fire and matches and candles and very sharp objects as much as she wanted.
FYI Glow sticks had been invented by then, just saying.
Have a great weekend and hope you’re not going to a Christingle.
Take care and all the best,
Ian
(If you want to leave a comment below, that would be great)
I was brought up Protestant (in Glasgow where the very thought of visiting the place of worship of “the other mob” is still frowned upon today) but I have never heard of Christingle (which sounds like the feeling you get when you hear Coldplay on the radio, swiftly followed by Chrisvomit and Christurnthatoff).
Maybe it’s an English thing, if you ever get the opportunity to go, don’t. Stay at home and listen to Coldplay 🙂
I remember being the delegated “grown-up” – goodness knows why since I’m the auntie who buys drums and recorders for the small people in my life – for 2 small boys who did their best to set the lady in the pew in front of us on fire. Their perfectly understandable reason was that she wasn’t very nice.
We didn’t do Christingle the following year.
p.s. I think Christingle is the protestant equivalent of the Catholic – possibly just in Italy – Santa Lucia
Well, if she wasn’t very nice then I totally agree. Thanks for the heads up, if me mam, who’s still a good Catholic, invits me to a Santa Lucia event I will politely decline or dress in asbestos
Christingle!! Wow that’s a blast from the past. I remember holding an orange with a skinny red candle stuck in it, no memories of cocktail sticks, liquorice allsorts or hair singeing though.
We must’ve gone to the extreme Christingle service. Glad you survived yours 🙂
My i needed that laugh. Daughter did it once at girls brigade..kept looking at me as if to say…your allowing this
Glad you enjoyed it Julie, and more importantly glad your daughter got through it with only a few mental scars 🙂
My girls loved Christingle! The cocktail sticks had jelly tots and raisins on. Never even had a close call with singeing, which was a minor miracle to be honest!!!
Brill, it’s always good to hear about a positive side to a story. My girls loved it as well, it was me that was the problem, as usual 🙂
It’s German in origin, makes sense for you Angled Sexyones tae indulge in it, these crazy Lutherians know how tae build character I hear. And like Ian above, I grew up in the Proddy Church but in Johnstone (well, till i wis 12 and saw the Light, they were thankful I turned atheist and no’ Catholic, I think) and never did it, till a few years ago and some trendy West Endy folk we knew made me make one as they deemed it Christmassy, poked my haun with it and made it sair.
Much prefered tae sit by an ingle bleezing finely, wi’ reaming swats that drank divinely (Tam O’Shanter, wonder if the ingle is because ye set fire tae the orange) than set fire tae oranges . But when I wis wee I did enjoy setting matches in the tails of my model planes (usually the Gerry ones) and chuck them oot the upstairs windae, then pretend I wis a fireman and chuck water on them, and naw, not peeing on them before ye say anything… Froliche Weihnachten
Froliche Weihnachten to you too. You took us on a Scottishy Germany Christingley adventure there. Wish I’d stopped at home and threw burning planes out of my bedroom window, sorry fenster (that’s the only German I remember) instead. Never even crossed my mind that you’d pee out of your window (did that sound sincere?)
Jack Daniels just came out of my nose. Laughed too hard. Also, a fart came out. A wet one. These should never be trusted. Must go. Poodle tits!
Haha, sounds like you had a lot going on there, Jez 🙂