Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling
Growing up, my family had a disproportionate amount of nativity scenes, and, as we would always take Christmas decorating very seriously, each year we’d get them out and scatter them around our house. Every little nook and cranny had a nativity scene nestled inside. I think my mom used to collect them for a while, but after acquiring a few too many, she switched to a less intricate collection of nutcrackers and snow globes. Still, it’s always a decorating highlight to put up a couple nativity scenes, at least for me. The figures have to be positioned just so as to demonstrate the appropriate amount of inanimate awe, the distribution between people and animals just enough to make the little scene believable, a perfect integration between man and beast. A couple of nativity scenes my mom has held on to even now, having discovered (apparently) that perfect feng-shui to make the divine Lord smile down upon the plastic likeness of his birth. My mom and I are the only two in my family who hold a sort of reverence for nativity scene decorating and, although my brothers experimented with the sets when they were younger, the work remains largely to the two of us now. Even before, my brothers’ arrangements were a little too parallel and perpendicular, so I would fix them to follow my design anyway.
When we were kids, though, the nativity scenes, more than being a source of Biblical likeness, were toys to play with. My brothers and I would make lines of the little mismatched figures, all taken from their different sets, and march them around the house, a somber parade of bearded men with boxes, kneeling women, and sleepy farm animals. Somewhere along the way, one of the more breakable sets — a little, delicate ceramic collection — got injured. The animals’ ears sustained the worst of the damage, and now most of them are missing one or both of their tiny appendages. The cow, tragically, lost both ears, keeping only her nubby horns attached to a now all-too-circular face. Nevertheless, we never had the heart to get rid of her or her damaged brethren. So, year after year, she takes her place dutifully by the altar, ears missing but nonetheless basking in the glory of tiny, ceramic baby Jesus.
And thus, a legend was born. From that point onwards, my younger brother, still being in those formative years in which a special emphasis is placed on the animal kingdom, unable to identify that our sad figurine was merely a cow that lacked ears, termed a new name for this pious little creature. And so she became the Christmas Hippo, a now-essential part of our nativity scene. Every year when we decorate, my mom tells the story of the Christmas Hippo, and every year, she laughs until she cries at the Christmas Hippo, plaintively placed with her barnyard companions. The holidays are not complete without her now that we have her, and, despite the sharp, rough divots where her ears used to be, she has transformed into a beautiful relic of Christmas joy.
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“Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling” is actually one of my favorite Sufjan Christmas songs, in that it’s one of my least favorites. It’s one of the most cacophonic and most auditorily unpleasant Christmas songs he has to offer. Naturally, I find it an absolute joy to listen to and, perhaps moreso, to share with others, as the season ordains. Throughout the holidays, “Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling” is my go-to Christmas song to play when my friends and family request a little holiday cheer, mostly because I know they’ll hate it. And they do. It’s a catastrophic song to listen to, so sharing it with others brings an unparalleled joy, especially when I hear that tell-tale moan of, “What is this?” We all have our little quirks to get through the holidays, I suppose.
For all its mess, “Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling” maintains a sense of genuine theology, a truly impressive feat. I’ve even suggested to my dad that he incorporate it into his church’s Christmas service, but somehow, despite its spotless doctrine, my dad still declines the song’s beckoning invitation. This song, like many a Christmas classic, still proclaims the miracle of Jesus’ birth, his liminal status as both fully man and fully God (if we read between the lines a little), and his role as the king of both heaven and earth. Furthermore, Sufjan, in the simplest terms possible, also asserts that, because of this, Christ is deserving of man’s praise, echoing (intentionally, I’m sure) the tenets of Westminster Shorter Catechism question one. Depending on how we choose to interpret the lyrics, the song even describes how man is joined to God in a heavenly union reflective of the earthly sacrament of marriage. We — the church, mankind — are the bride and Christ, the long-awaited groom, coming to save us from this world of sin we live in. Admittedly, though, this interpretation is a lot to draw from the line, “As we wear the diamond ring / Wear the diamond ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling.” Still, the song has more theological correctness than many other classic Christmas songs (I’m looking at you here, “Little Drummer Boy”).
And yet, despite its fervent religiosity, “Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling” stands in stark contrast, I think, to the somber, stuffy candle-lit Christmas Eve services of my childhood. Personally (and I say this at risk of eternal damnation), Christmas Eve services were always my least favorite part of the holiday season. I grew up in a very religious Christian family and so, year after year, my parents would force my brothers and I into scruffy, black velvet Christmas formal wear, and we would attend our church’s candlelight service on Christmas Eve. Of course, this was the last thing we wanted to do, especially when Elf was playing on ABC Family while we were out. Attending church every week was boring enough as is, and attending it the day before Christmas was exponentially worse. Every year, people would read the same passages, the violins would play the same things, and the pastor would preach the same passage. And my brothers and I would sit with absolutely unhinged anticipation, dreaming of what we would find under the tree the next morning. The candles, though, were undoubtedly the best part of the service because then we could at least pretend to catch each other on fire with our little, flickering flames, much to our parents’ chagrin. Plus, someone would always end up getting burned with the hot wax as it dripped down the candle through the cheap, paper hand-guarder. We would wait with the utmost joy to find out who it would be this year, and we would then proceed to mock the unlucky victim for the rest of the night to heighten their shame. Needless to say, my brothers and I were not very good in church.
Anyway-- backtracking-- “Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling” stands in stark contrast to those monotonous Christmas Eve services because it has something that those services never did — it’s fun! It can maintain its religious themes and avoid the stuffiness of some of the other theologically-sound hymns because of the fun, chaotic, pleasant unpleasantness that makes the song so charming. It’s something nestled into the abysmal choir. And in the mismatched percussion, the clashing guitar, the wailing. In the cheap, tongue-in-cheek lyrics, the endless cycle of the same onomatopoeic rhymes. It’s fun, and I don’t think we always get that in Christmas songs. I smile every time I listen to it. You can almost hear the smile in the choir too, can almost picture the ensemble of singers looking to each other with laughing eyes as they deliver what may well be some of the worst Christmas lyrics ever conceived.
But ultimately, the song isn’t about the lyrics, the tune, or the melody (or lack thereof, as the case may be). It’s about the laughter, the togetherness, the gift of being able to create with friends and family. It’s about running away from the somber, stuffy dogma of the “Christmas Religion,” about making memories that you can look back and smile on from holidays past. It’s about the fact that truth can be brightened by humor, not dulled by it. It’s about the reality that not every song, not every creation, has to be perfect or serious or deeply meaningful to inspire joy or even to have meaning in the first place. It’s just fun. It’s a gleeful if ephemeral respite from the pressures of perfectionism —Sufjan himself admits as much when he closes the song with, “Alright, let’s do a real song now.” And sometimes, that’s all we need. With “Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling,” Sufjan has made a song that exemplifies that fun ought to have a place in the world of art, that fun doesn’t lessen the message one is preaching, and that fun for the sake of fun is meaningful.
And so, this song reminds me of my little Christmas Hippo, if you’ll remember her. It’s ugly, it’s weird, but every year it takes its place among Sufjan’s Christmas Catalogue, and I could not be happier for it. A symbolic hippo in the barnyard, “Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling” nevertheless demonstrates an important part of the Christmas story, silliness included, and puts a smile on our faces while doing so.
Olivia VanVoorhis is an English student and an avid candle lover. After she graduates, she hopes to contribute more writing to the world than just this analysis of “Ding-a-ling-a-ring-a-ling.” In the meantime, she has fun cultivating playlists on her Spotify (@yavecave).