St. Nicholas Goes to His Eternal Reward
written by: John Willems
Nicholas found the goal of his life had been achieved: he’d reached Heaven. He blinked twice and rubbed his eyes, but remained where he was: standing on clouds before a set of towering, white gates carved out of unstained pearls. He now expected to live the life he had always wanted, free of persecution and busy work: a life of prayer and study. Perhaps he would even be allowed to gaze directly into the Holy Trinity or speak personally with Christ.
Nicholas looked at himself, finding that his beard had become puffy like snow, and he wore a strange set of red and white robes he’d never seen before. He also sported a peculiar set of shoes made from a strange, smooth material. The Lord clothed him in fine raiment, Nicholas mused. I won’t be speaking to Christ like this, will I, he thought? He found the outfit rather silly.
In a flash, an elderly man appeared holding a set of gold and silver keys.
“Nicholas! You are finally here! Welcome to the Kingdom of Heaven, great teacher! I am Peter,” the man introduced himself.
“The Rock of the Church! This must truly be paradise!” Nicholas proclaimed. “Blessed be to God! My entire life has been aimed at crossing this holy threshold! My cup overflows!”
Nicholas got on his knees and prayed with his whole heart to God. He thanked the Lord for having accepted him into personal union despite his sins—which were voluminous. The uncharitable glance he once gave a centurion who struck him. The time a stray memory of an unchaste woman, posing in the city square, crossed his mind. His failing at the Council of Nicaea, where he struck that blasphemer. When he opened his eyes, Nicholas noticed that St. Peter looked concerned rather than serene.
“My elder in the faith, what bothers you so?” Nicholas asked. “Have I offended thee?”
“Oh no! It’s just that, now that you are here, you have a particular assignment,” Peter answered.
“Whatever the Lord commands,” Nicholas replied. “What is the assignment?”
“I must tell you it is rather strange,” Peter said.
“Does it pertain to my important work on the council of Nicaea?” Nicholas asked. “Or does the Lord require some special penance from me after that unfortunate incident with Arius?”
“No, not at all, the Lord thinks a night in jail is sufficient for that,” Peter said, waving his hand, “and Arius deserved it.”
“He was an hour over his allotted speaking time,” Nicholas agreed, nodding his head gently. “Then this must relate to my work as the Bishop of Myra or the many miracles I performed!”
“It does involve supernatural occurrences,” Peter said. “Think earlier. It involves giving gifts.”
“You don’t mean that time I donated the dowry money so that man could marry his daughters off,” Nicholas guessed. “I was just trying to keep them out of a life of prostitution, and I would have preferred my actions to remain secret. To brag about charity is most sinful.”
“Closer, closer, Nicholas,” Peter replied. “Come with me.”
Behind Peter, the gates of Heaven slowly swung open, as if moved by some great but gentle force. A bright white light shone forth from the widening portal, bringing Nicholas to his knees once again. After closing his eyes and offering another quick prayer, Nicholas got back on his feet and followed Peter through the portal.
Crossing that holy and blessed threshold, Nicholas unexpectedly found himself in a frozen wasteland, covered in pure, undisturbed snow save where he and Peter trod. The strange obsidian boots began to make sense now, as did the red and white robes, both of which protected him from the cold. Peter, though wearing much thinner clothes, also appeared to be protected from the cold, as His Holiness did not shiver amid this Arctic setting. This was a very strange Heavenly Kingdom, Nicholas pondered. Why had the Lord led him here?
Despite his misgivings, Nicholas dutifully followed Peter through the snow, and as they marched on, Nicholas began to see a set of green, yellow, and red lights blinking in the distance. The lights emanated from a series of glass baubles tied to a strange, thick string he’d never seen before, strewn upon a large building, perhaps three stories tall, made from wood. Having never seen anything like this in his life, Nicholas wondered what its purpose was, but did not doubt the Lord could do such things in Heaven. Above what appeared to be the front door of the building hung a series of letters reading “St. Nicholas’s Workshop.”
“St. Peter, I am not a craftsman,” Nicholas said. “I have no use for a workshop.”
“We know,” Peter replied, knocking on the front door.
The door opened, revealing a short man wearing a silly-looking green suit with bells attached to his shoes and an odd, droopy hat. His mouth formed an irreverent smirk that made Nicholas distrust him, as he gave off the air of an impious merchant, the sort always trying to drum up profits from an inequitable deal.
“Hey! Petey!” the man greeted St. Peter. “Did you bring him?”
Petey. This man called the Vicar of Christ “Petey,” Nicholas thought, feeling aghast. Before Peter could answer his question, the short man looked over the Rock’s shoulder and spotted Nicholas.
“You did!” he said, bypassing Peter and offering his hand to Nicholas. “My name’s Tingle!”
Nicholas accepted Tingle’s greeting, shaking his hand. Generally, people did this on Earth to ensure the person they met carried no weapons. Nicholas wondered whether this would be necessary in the hereafter, but either way, he trusted the man a little more now, seeing he was unarmed. Nicholas got a better look at the short man, whom Nicholas assumed was Greek from his dark hair and olive skin. Tingle turned back to Peter.
“It’s okay, Petey! I’ve got it from here,” Tingle said.
Peter nodded his head and then disappeared in a flash. Nicholas would now rely on this Tingle character Peter left him with. Tingle took Nicholas by the hand and led him inside the building. Therein, Nicholas saw a host of little people dressed just like Tingle, each of them seated at worktables, hard at work in various trades, from carpentry to metalworking, to sitting at a white box and pushing buttons on some strange device. The workbenches stretched out down a long hall, which appeared to go on forever. The high ceiling was decorated with green garland and some kind of bright red vellum that shimmered with light. Strange music played in the background, emanating from seemingly nowhere. Nicholas’s head swam as he took all of this in. This couldn’t be where he was spending eternity, could it?
“Hey guys!” Tingle called. “Santa’s here!”
All of the little people momentarily turned away from their work and cheered at the sight of Nicholas, whose cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment. He laughed nervously at the attention, his belly shaking like those fruit preserves enjoyed by the wealthy. He’d always found them too decadent. He found all of this too decadent. The gaudy ornamentation of this “workshop,” irritated him. It was like the lodgings of Caesar. He preferred a life of study in a monastery or a hermitage. Peace and quiet, not raucous applause and strange music. He felt Tingle pull him again, this time through a side door.
The room had a cushioned chair behind a large wooden table with various compartments, painted red, green, and white. On the table, a placard bore the name “Santa Claus.” The rest of the room contained what appeared to be children’s toys, lists of names, and very large socks hung up on the wall. Tingle led Nicholas to the chair and lowered him down in it.
“I guess you have a lot of questions,” Tingle said.
“Yes. Where are we?” Nicholas asked.
“Santa’s workshop. That’s you, Santa Claus,” Tingle explained. “You are also known as Father Christmas and Kris Kringle. It’s a long story, but it starts with you dying and being canonized.”
“It is an honor of which I am unworthy,” Nicholas replied.
“You’re very humble, Santa, but practically what it means is that there is a St. Nicholas, who, over time, becomes Sinterklaas, who then becomes Santa Claus,” Tingle continued. “You get a saint’s day near Christmas. Myths build up, and after a few thousand years, you’re not a bishop of Asia Minor during the late Roman Empire anymore. You’re a mythical character who makes toys and gives them to children every year on Christmas.”
“I just died. Why are you talking about thousands of years?”
“Heaven exists outside of time, so we all kind of show up at the same time,” Tingle said. “Well, I got here a little before you did because it’s my job to guide you through it all. I mean, when I say a little, it was ten years, but you know, in the eyes of God a day is a thousand years and a thousand years is a day.”
“I see,” Nicholas replied, mulling over the eternal, timeless nature of union with God. “I was born a Patrician in Asia Minor. I know no craft. I do not know how to make toys of any kind.”
“You really don’t need to,” Tingle answered. “You just let us elves take care of that.”
“Elves?”
“Alright, so the elves are deceased toymakers from different points in history,” Tingle explained. “My real name’s Bob. Bob’s not a good name for an elf though, that’s why I chose Tingle. I used to work in a toy factory in Cleveland. Then one day, a pallet of Tickle-Me Elmos fell off a forklift as it was leaving the factory and crushed my body. Those elves working for you have got thousands of years of toy-making experience. All you have to do is fly the sleigh.”
“I have a flying sleigh?” Nicholas asked.
“The reindeer can fly,” Tingle continued. “The reindeer pull the sleigh. Look, I’m guessing you’ve never seen a reindeer either, but they are kind of like big deer.”
“They have wings?”
“No, but one has a red nose,” Tingle answered. “That one comes from a department store. Montgomery Ward.”
“Montgomery Ward?” Nicholas asked. “What’s a department store?”
“It’s a place where people buy things,” Tingle said.
“They sell reindeer at department stores?”
“No, it was more of a marketing gimmick. I guess you don’t know what that is either. It doesn’t matter. Let me show you.”
Tingle walked over to a window and opened it. He pushed a pile of snow out of the way and pointed outwards. Nicholas peeked his head outside and found nine caribou hooked up to a red sleigh rimmed with gold on the edges. The beast in front had a red glass bauble rather than a nose. The beasts, tied together by a silver rope, all turned to Nicholas in unison and grunted in pleasure.
“So, I fly this sleigh around the world and deliver toys to children through the window…” Nicholas began asking.
“The chimney,” Tingle replied.
“The chimney,” Nicholas said, accepting the correction. “What is a chimney?”
“It’s a thing that comes out of the top of a house so people can have fires inside without filling the place up with smoke.”
“Is that how this place got so warm?”
“No, that’s just how things are in Heaven.”
“Why do people have chimneys in Heaven if they do not need to start a fire for warmth?”
“So you can come down them and deliver presents.”
Strange. This was all very strange, Nicholas thought. He pondered why God would have him do this in Heaven. He had no training in flying animals around the world, or in making toys. He barely interacted with children. There had to be other people in Heaven better qualified than him to do this. He was qualified to do…better things. Perhaps he would only have to do this once?
“How often do I need to do this?” Nicholas asked.
“Once a week,” Tingle answered.
“I was told this was for Christ’s Mass. That only happens once a year.”
“On Earth, it happens once a year. And in Heaven, if you’re an adult, it happens once a year. For kids between the ages of 2 and 8, it happens once a week. Once a month for kids between 8 and 12. Most of those kids know Santa Claus is not real.”
“I am real. I thought I was Santa Claus.”
“On Earth, Santa is really their parents, but here, we like to put on a show,” Tingle explained. “You see, these are the kids who died as kids. Bone cancer. Malnutrition. Abuse. Depressing stuff. The first thing these kids want to do when they get to Heaven is meet Santa Claus, which is why the first thing you have to do is meet this group of kids who just died in a plane crash. They are right outside.”
Tingle pointed to another door that Nicholas had not noticed before, indicating that these children were supposedly already here and waiting for him.
“Hmmm…. I see your point,” Nicholas said, absorbing the situation. “What is a plane?”
“It’s a flying machine that won’t be invented until 1600 years after you die, give or take a century,” Tingle replied. “I got to ask, you seem like a nice guy, but how much experience do you have with kids?”
“None. I live a life of celibacy.”
“Right, there was this story that you raised kids from the dead…”
“Pure embellishment.”
Nicholas could tell from Tingle’s face that he was nervous, and so was Nicholas. This was not how he imagined spending eternity in Heaven, handing out toys to children. Where was the life of study and silent prayer he’d hoped for? This might be fine for someone who was a craftsman, but Nicholas was a bishop, more of an academic. He dealt with the life of the mind and walking with God. Then again, you served the Lord when you serve the least among us, Nicholas thought, and Christ himself did not savor his appointed task during the Agony in the Garden. The Lord does not always ask us to serve in the way we want. He asks us to serve how He wants. Nicholas thought he’d be done with service in Heaven, but perhaps he needed to consider service as Heaven.
“I suppose if the Lord wills it, I will meet with these unfortunate children,” Nicholas said. “Point me to them.”
Tingle opened the door to let Nicholas meet the kids. The great saint looked out of the door and found a group of children dressed in red pajamas, evidently in shock. They waited on the floor, sitting around a golden chair with bright red cushions next to a roaring fire. Nicholas walked into the room, and the children flocked to him, reaching out to touch his robes. A few tugged at his ancient whiskers. A little impertinent, yet Nicholas maintained calm in imitation of his Lord. Let the little children come to me.
He took his seat. Yes, Santa was on his throne, and all was right in the world. No sooner had he sat, than one of the children from the mob hoisted himself onto Nicholas’s lap. The boy was about eight years old. He had pale, white skin and dark, brown hair with freckles. Nicholas wondered at his quite forward behavior. Was it typical in the world this child came from to do such a thing when meeting a bishop or other authority figure?
“Little boy, what is your name?” Nicholas asked.
“My name is Billy Horrigan,” the boy introduced himself. “I would like a PlayStation 5 for Christmas.”
Nicholas had no idea what that was, but he nodded, thinking it was better to play along.
“If the Lord wills it,” Nicholas said, seeking to change the subject. “Billy, do you say your prayers every night?”
“Well, Santa, my parents aren’t very religious,” Billy said. “My dad told me you aren’t real, but people tell stories about you, so kids behave. He says God is like that.”
Nicholas grimaced at the boy’s admission of his father’s godlessness. This unfortunate youth had a fool for a father, likely some barbarian from Germania. Thankfully, the boy did not seem unintelligent.
“Billy, you can see that I exist, as you are sitting on my lap,” Nicholas replied. “What does that imply about God? Furthermore, I would hope that as you celebrate Christ’s Mass, you contemplate what the coming of the Lord means.”
“You mean Jesus,” Billy said. “My dad tells me that people say he was God, but that he was really just a nice man.”
The reaction was immediate. Nicholas pulled back his right hand immediately upon hearing the boy repeat Arius’s slur. The same fire burned within him as it had in Nicaea, and he was about to fail the Lord…again. But, Nicholas wondered, why should he? Why give in to wrath, now that he was in Heaven? The Lord did not need Nicholas to defend Him against this small boy. Why strike the boy down when God had not done so? After all, wrath is His alone. Nicholas held his hand back and then slowly put it down. His anger abated as if a holy wind had put the fire within him out. Peace enveloped his heart.
“Billy, I do hope you investigate the facts of the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord,” Nicholas said.
“Okay, Santa,” Billy said, leaving Nicholas’s lap. “Since I’m in Heaven now, I figure I should go to church.”
“That’s good, my son,” Nicholas replied.
“Good enough for a go-kart?”
“That depends. What is a go-kart?”
- St. Nicholas Goes to His Eternal Reward - December 20, 2025
