INSULT TO INJURY: FROM BETHLEHEM TO BEDLAM: A CHRISTMAS ODYSSEY

"O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie."

-- Phillips Brooks

"City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style."

-- Jay Livingston/Ray Evans

"Silver Bells"

As far as I'm concerned, if you are foolish enough to venture out to department stores or strip malls any time during the peak Christmas shopping hours, then you have officially forfeited any right to whine about how terribly crowded it is out there.

The way I figure it, if you are out in the midst of this mess, squeezing your minivan into micro-mini parking spaces and elbowing your way through the already packed aisles on your way to the already packed cash-register lines, then you are part of the whole Christmas crowd problem.

The solution? Well, duh. Stay home.

Yes, I know there are always those few overly merry individuals who actually enjoy being a part of the city sidewalks-busy sidewalks and dressing in holiday style, but I've always thought such folks have been dipping into the holiday eggnog just a little too early and a little too often, if you know what I mean.

What's more, my burgeoning misanthropic side can't help but think Scrooge had it right all along when he holed up in his hermitage, far removed from the festive Yuletide revelers and the huddled masses celebrating the season.

Mind you, it isn't that I'm into the whole money-grubbing thing that ol' Ebenezer did so well. I have never been much of a miser. Hardly. If anything I am far too fast and loose with my wallet. And only the federal government has more trouble balancing its checkbook.

And it isn't that I won't go shopping this Christmas. I will. If things go according to form, I'll probably end up spending money I don't have on gifts I can't afford to give to people I don't even like. But, hey, it is Christmas. Right?

But what I really have trouble tolerating is the holiday horde.

In order to avoid the Christmas consumer crunch I have instituted a policy of buying only presents I can purchase at 3 o'clock in the morning at truck stops up and down the interstate. So far this Christmas I've bought a case of Valvoline motor oil, 14 packages of teriyaki beef jerky and a bumper sticker.

I'm still trying to decide whether to get my 80-year-old mother that new set of wiper blades or a Jack Daniels ball cap.

Ahhh, Christmas.

I know I shouldn't complain. The turn from peace on Earth to pandemonium, from the holy creche to the holiday crush, has been a staple of Christmas for years. It's nothing new. It's our annual trek from Bethlehem to Bedlam.

In fact, the etymology of the English word "bedlam," meaning a scene of uproarious confusion and chaos, actually has ties to the Christmas season. (Go with me on this one.)

When King Henry VIII broke from the Roman Catholic Church and established the Church of England, one of his first official acts was to confiscate all of the land that had once belonged to Rome. Not surprising really. In some ways the English Reformation was, as far as Henry was concerned, as much about real estate as it was about theology.

One of the properties Henry confiscated was a London monastery named "St. Mary of Bethlehem." The monastery was made into a hospital and the name shortened to simply "Bethlehem."

Eventually, the hospital was used only to treat the mentally ill. It was, as they were then called, a madhouse or lunatic asylum. And the treatment of patients bordered on the barbarous.

As people mumbled the name "Bethlehem" over the years, it was further corrupted until they were calling the asylum Bedlam. And a new word entered the language.

From Bethlehem to Bedlam. Things never change. Confusion still reigns.

But there is hope.

Tradition has it that the magi did not arrive at the manger of the Christ child until Jan. 6, nearly two weeks after the shepherds, their flocks and the multitude of heavenly hosts had crowded in at the nativity scene. Showing up late is one way to beat the Christmas crowds, I suppose.

No wonder they were called wise men.

~Jeffrey Jackson is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.