It is that time of year again. The streets turn red and gold, children’s eyes sparkle with anticipation, and an air of innocent magic fills the sky. The feast of Sinterklaas — St. Nicholas as the Dutch celebrate him — is, we are told, an innocent fairy tale, a tradition that brings joy. But what if this game, this seemingly innocent ritual, is in reality one of the most insidious and effective catecheses in unbelief that we can give our children? What if, with the best of intentions, we are administering a spiritual poison that can seriously and lastingly damage their capacity to know and love the true God?

This is no exaggeration. This is the hard reality of a dangerous game we are collectively playing. This article is a plea to stop the game and to choose Truth, precisely for the sake of our children’s souls.

The First Acquaintance with God: A Toxic Caricature

For most children, Sinterklaas is their first concrete encounter with a higher, invisible order. He is the first “holy good man” they come to know: an all-knowing figure who sees everything, who judges between good and evil, and who from an invisible world intervenes in our own. In essence, the Sinterklaas myth is the first, rudimentary theology that is offered to a child. And it is a deeply corrupt theology, directly opposed to the Catholic faith.

What does this child learn about “God”?

1. Faith Is Transactional, Grace Is Material: The core message is simple: if you are good, then you get presents. This is no lesson in virtue, but a training in transactionalism. The reward for good behavior is not spiritual — inner peace, a clean conscience — but purely materialistic. The grace of this “saint” comes in the form of plastic and candy. The child learns that blessings can be bought with conduct and that ultimate goodness has a financial value. This is the theology of the “Prosperity Gospel,” imprinted upon a child’s soul.
2. God Is Unjust: Every child experiences it. The naughtiest, most disobedient child in the class may receive the most or the most expensive presents. The promise of justice turns out to be a farce. The unspoken lesson is devastating: the higher power that judges is arbitrary and unjust. Good behavior is no guarantee of reward, and bad behavior is not consistently punished. This sows the first seeds of cynicism about divine justice.
3. God Must Be Feared, Not Loved: The basis of the relationship is fear. The rod, the sack, the great book — these are instruments of control. Love and obedience do not arise from a desire for the good, but from fear of punishment. The relationship is grounded in submission to a power that punishes, not in a loving surrender to a Father who wills our greatest good.

The Great Disillusionment: The Crisis of Faith and the Birth of Materialism

Then comes, inevitably, the moment of disclosure. It is not just any disappointment; it is an existential crisis. The child discovers that the most trusted authorities in his life — his own parents — have for years staged an elaborate and detailed deception. This breach of trust has two catastrophic consequences.

First, the child’s confidence in his parents as bearers of truth is damaged. If they have lied about something so fundamental, what else are they lying about?

But the second consequence is spiritually far more deadly. The child learns the most fundamental lesson of materialism: what you cannot see is not real. Faith in the invisible, in the transcendent, is defined as something childish, a tale you grow out of. The adult world, the child learns, is the world of the tangible, the demonstrable.

The Long Aftermath: A Life Closed Off from the Spiritual

This early “crisis of faith” functions as a spiritual vaccine against true faith. It creates a lifelong aversion to the spiritual world. How can a young adult turn to the Church with an open heart when the whole concept of “believing” is inseparably bound up with the embarrassment of childhood naïveté? The mocking question, “Do you still believe in St. Nicholas?”, becomes a rhetorical weapon against every form of adult faith. So as not to be taken for a fool, one closes oneself off. Believing, after all, is for little children.

This is the deep tragedy. Christ Himself tells us that we must become as children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven (Matthew 18:3) — with an unconditional, unguarded trust. The Sinterklaas lie takes this childlike trust, abuses it, and then destroys it. It teaches a child precisely how not to believe like a child.

The Duty of the Parent: Image of God or Accomplice in a Lie?

As Catholic parents we have the sacred task of being an image of God the Father. We are the first teachers of the faith, the first source of truth and security. Would we want a God who deceives us, who tells us untruths, who teases us with games? Would we want a Father who makes His love depend on our performance and whose blessings are merely material?

Of course not. And yet that is the image of fatherhood, and the image of God, that we present by taking part in this game.

The alternative is not a feast without joy, but a feast rooted in Truth. Let us tell our children the true, inspiring story of St. Nicholas of Myra: a courageous bishop, a hero of the Church, a defender of orthodoxy against heresy, and a model of radical, Christian charity. Let us teach them about a man whose faith was so strong that it brought forth miracles, and whose generosity flowed not from a sack of toys, but from a heart full of love for Christ.

Let us put an end to the dangerous game. Let us stop raising our children to be materialists and cynics. Let us give them the truth, for only the Truth will set them free.