Here’s a little public relations counsel for angry people engaged in the battle of words around the “War on Christmas”:

Stop it.

This “war” has come to overshadow what the season supposedly represents. If the champions of Christmas want to preserve the message of hope and goodwill, they can begin by exercising a lot more of both.

Let’s start with a few facts. It’s clear that many people who don’t follow the Christian faith actively push for less religious emphasis on the holiday, considering it exclusionary and revisionist—Jesus almost certainly wasn’t born on December 25, a date chosen by the church 300-plus years later. On the other hand, many Christians feel efforts to genericize the centuries-old tradition and what it means to them constitute an attack on their beliefs.

There are regular skirmishes on both sides. Local governments are assailed on an annual basis for allowing Nativity or Hanukkah displays on public property. Retailers are threatened with boycotts for favoring the term “holiday” over “Christmas” in their advertising. Schools face the hopeless task of honoring all views while offending no one. (In fact, I’ve been personally involved in the latter, helping an elementary school craft a level-headed policy when a parent objected to Christmas carols.)

Being a Christian, I hold the Christmas holiday in high regard. It has deep meaning for me. But its value is rooted in what it represents. Fighting for a turn of phrase instead of the belief upon which it’s built will win no war.

In recent years, social media has opened an entirely new battlefield. It’s true that some among the anti-religion masses use it to ridicule the Advent crowd. Yet I cringe when self-professed Christians angrily post, “No one is going to tell ME I can’t say ‘Merry Christmas’!” making a cantankerous claim about a greeting that should be anything but.

On that point, the Bible has something to say: “Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?” (James 2:15-16).

How often do we say “Merry Christmas” without doing something meaningful to make it so?

The modern church is mystified by its reputation of being quick to condemn and slow to care. To be sure, some of this reputation is unfairly assigned. Yet, sadly, some of it is earned by people who would rather dig a foxhole than extend a hand.

As I’ve said in this space many times, public relations is about “walking the talk”—holding fast to high ethical standards and building relationships in which dialogue happens and positive change takes place. All who cherish Christmas would do well to embrace this thinking. 

I'm not suggesting it's wrong to hold onto "Merry Christmas." I relish those words as well. But do you really want to change the course of the Yuletide war? Skip the boycotts over meaningless ad copy and take aim at the real enemies: poverty, injustice and despair.

As a Christian, I’m equally comfortable waging that war under a shout of “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays."

It always seems impossible until it’s done.
     —Nelson Mandela

The first time I saw a “Free Nelson Mandela” bumper sticker, I was too young and self-absorbed to pay much attention. I knew about apartheid, of course; while it struck me as reprehensible, South Africa was half a world away, and I had other things to concern me. How I regret that narrow-minded youth!

Fortunately, the future did not depend upon my involvement. Mandela was freed despite my apathy, and an entire nation was transformed.

This week’s passing of the man called Madiba saddens me and the rest of the world—not just because of the amazing things he accomplished, but because he never wavered from his message: reconciliation is greater than retribution. Mandela kept hammering on that point through most of his life, even after 27 years of being unjustly imprisoned.

The 2009 film Invictus, based on John Carlin’s outstanding book, Playing With The Enemy, has a scene that is forever seared into my heart. Book and film tell the tale of how Mandela used the 1995 Rugby World Cup to bring South Africans together, regardless of race, and begin the process of healing.

In the aforementioned scene, South African team captain Francois Pienaar, portrayed by actor Matt Damon, is reflecting upon his visit to the prison where Mandela spent much of his incarcerated years.

“I was thinking,” he says, his voice an amazed whisper, “about how you spend 30 years in a tiny cell and come out ready to forgive the people who put you there.”

In a movie or a novel, maybe. But no man could be that compassionate, that forgiving, in real life. And yet, Mandela walked this talk to the very end. He wasn’t perfect; no man is. There was a time long ago when he espoused a more violent path. But ultimately he was determined to deliver the message of grace he believed, in word and in deed, to the best of his ability. Forgiveness is better than revenge; freedom and compassion trump the Pyrrhic victory.

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered,” Mandela once said.

The paths I trod in my clueless youth are re-crossed now and then by an older me. I find Madiba’s words to be true: I am altered in large part because of the courage of Nelson Mandela, one of the greatest leaders and communicators in history.