Once upon a wintry Christmas Eve, Donald J. Trump, President of the United States of America, was alone in the Oval Office, passing the quiet hours in fervent prayer and readings of his favorite poem, Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross. All of a sudden, a haunting visage appeared in the door.

“Great Dickens!” he cried. “It is the Ghost of Christmas Past!”

“No, Honored Father-in-Law,” said the visage. “It is I, Jared Kushner. I have come with an urgent message from the North Pole. St. Nicholas has been kidnapped!”

“Heaven forfend,” said President Trump. “Not the treasured defender of Nicene orthodoxy? What foul wretch could inflict so grievous a wound on the world’s children this very night?”

Jared Kushner raised a fist in the air. “We are beset by the mortal foe of the glorious God on High: Satan, the Accuser!” he wailed. “And the Mainstream Media. The Accuser drove their Prius.”

“By the Immaculate Mother, we must chasten ourselves by fasting and the shrieving of our many sins, for which the Savior shed his precious blood as propitiation,” said President Trump. He fell to his knees and wept, and he tore at his sackcloth suit and his very real hair. “I pray in Christ’s glorious name, may my own name and honor be forfeit for all generations to come if only we may save Christmas!”

“Say nothing of the sort! Truly, it is as the Twitters say, you are the very vision of King David!” said Jared Kushner. “Let us away, Venerable Father of Your Children. The elves have brought St. Nicholas’s red sleigh. It is this vessel which shall bear us into the heavens to chase our prey, as Elijah was born to God’s bosom by the chariot of flame.”

President Trump and Jared Kushner flew to the White House roof and climbed into the sleigh. The Secret Service and the reindeer saluted them in awe and reverence.

“Take the whip, Devoted Husband to Your Wife,” said Jared Kushner. “You must name each beast in turn, and Christmas magic, such as it lives in the hearts of the innocent, shall give us flight!”

President Trump did as he was bid, and in a warm, sonorous voice which banished the night’s chill, he cried aloud, “Now Bannon, now Zinke, now Spicer and Perry! On Sanders, on Priebus, on Scaramucci!” And away they flew into the December night, just as the clouds parted and revealed the guiding light of the silvery moon.

Jared Kusher, his skin as pale as snow, turned to President Trump. “Tell me again, Trusted Defender of the Foreigner and the Stranger, for what reason did St. Nicholas the Wonderworker strike the fiend Arius on the cheek at the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea?”

President Trump frowned as he spoke. “For his vehement denial of our Lord Christ’s co-eternity with God the Father, of course. Do you not see, my Beloved Peacemaker, that only God may join man to God? For if Christ our Savior is not also God, then we are derelict and forsaken, and our salvation is nothing. But look! I spy the Accuser and his fell steed.”

The Prius raced along below them on the well-maintained Interstate 495. President Trump flew the sleigh ahead and stopped, blocking the road. The Prius skidded to a halt, and not one, but two figures appeared. The Accuser had been driving, but alongside him in the passenger seat with capacious leg room was none other than Arius, former presbyter of Alexandria and foe of the Blessed Trinity!

“Thou hast caught us, Sainted President,” snarled the Accuser. “But the hour is late. Render unto me thy dignity, and to thee I shall return the Wonderworker.”

Jared Kusher began to weep and said, “Can such a bargain be struck in God’s sight?”

But President Trump raised his hand. “My own name is as nothing, for to God alone is honor due. Take it, foul fiend, for I would rather live in ignominy until the end of the age than see a single child deprived of a single Christmas day’s joy.”

The Accuser laughed, and after unlocking the Prius, vanished in a flurry of ash. Arius stood alone, watching them with impertinent eyes as Jared Kushner helped St. Nicholas out of the trunk.

“I thank you, President Trump,” said St. Nicholas. “You have saved Christmas. But what of the fiend, Arius? Shall I strike his other cheek and demand he beg forgiveness?”

“No,” said President Trump. “Have you not heard what our Savior said in his sermon from the blessed mount? It is you who ought to beg forgiveness. For though he has wronged God, you have hated him, and thus you have committed murder in God’s eyes.”

“You speak true,” said St. Nicholas. “Verily, your name shall ever be blessed on the lips of angels, though it shall now ever be cursed by the world.”

“A Christian’s glory is favor in the merciful eyes of God, not the praise of men,” said President Trump. “A thousand times a thousand years would I bear the jeering and mockery of this wretched mortal race in humble silence, if only to hear my Lord Christ say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant’ at the Day of Judgment.”

It then began to snow. Arius wept at the wisdom and mercifulness of Donald J. Trump, President of the United States of America. He climbed into the sleigh with St. Nicholas, and the Wonderworker snapped the reins. Jared Kusher stared at them in awe as they flew away, but President Trump bowed in his head as prayer.

As the silhouette of the sleigh and reindeer cut across the belly of the moon, they heard a pair of ancient voices thunder against the dark: “Merry Christmas, men of good faith! Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”