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In the waning days of the old year, when the sun turned hot and the wind warm, there came word from the South Country. It was said that the Fellowship of the Festive Fans had a mission in the land of the Middle Earth. A spiritual quest was formed to find the Kiwi Christmas.

Could it be there, not in the cold hearts of the orcs and the trolls, but in the ordinary folk in the country and the cities?  Is it absent, scattered like starlight across the sea, faded in the sad and meager lives like the weary world we see in the moving picture called Christmas? 

The festive group sets out from a small and stunning hamlet, nestled between the misted ranges and the blue hush of the Pacific. The sun is high and the grass is green in Oceania, not like the world above with its snow and shoveling.  What is Christmas in this land?  Does it have its own songs and laughter, along with its long and golden evenings?

Along the journey, there are ancient ferns and plants here with many rivers that whisper of old magic. There are no icicles, no frosty panes — only fish grilled hangi-style and sweet wine. We travel to the roadstops, strange but beautiful places with names like Queenstown and Auckland, and the companions are bewildered. There are no wreaths, no sleighbells, no reindeer. Only sunburn, barbecues, sausages, and Snoopy’s Christmas. We ask the same question: “Have you seen Christmas here?” 

At last, the company arrives at a high hill above the Bay of Islands, where an old pohutukawa blooms with crimson fire.  It is the place where the first Christmas mass was celebrated.   The tree stands watch, its bark gnarled with age and memory. Beneath it, is a message, spoken not with tongue, but with the wind and sea, and in a voice as deep as midwinter. 

“You seek Christmas,” we all hear, though no voice speaks. “Know that men carry it with them. You speak as though Christmas lives only in a wintry place, with its snow-laden songs.  But here, it wears jandals and is found in the barbecue smoke. It dances in the eyes of tamariki leaping through sprinklers.  It is summer-born, and it lives in true hope and kindness, no matter the location."

And so, after this episode, the circle is no longer sad for the plight of the family in Christmas.  We do not search any longer, we are knowing.  Christmas is found in New Zealand, and not with traditional images of snowmen, skating, and fireplaces.  Instead, it lives with blue skies, beaches and the sunlight borne by its residents to the ends of the Middle Earth.  And lo!  It is good, especially for a 50th episode!

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