With the bells of Bridgemas already tinkling on the crisp November air, it seems the ideal time for me to shed a few friends by opening up the can of worms that is, what I like to call, Scroogicity.

In basic terms, I have a problem with Christmas. Strangely, I don’t have a problem with the season’s mass-scale, tinsel-strewn commercialisation; if it takes a few weepy Christmas adverts about lovelorn penguins for us to invest in our nearest and dearest for just one day a year, then I’ll be sprinting frantically around John Lewis on Christmas Eve with everyone else. I don’t even have a problem with the frankly ludicrous optimism Christmas encourages, and the consequent disappointment when we inevitably realise that no, we do still find second-cousin Arnold mind-numbingly dull, and a few shiny baubles won’t quell the family’s ongoing primal feuds. I don’t mind having to feign exuberance at every Christmas tune, having to choke down putrid Brussels sprouts, or – even worse – having to listen to people make endless jokes about how horrible Brussels sprouts are.

Weirdly enough, I have a problem with Christmas because I’m a Christian. Now everyone knows that the festival we call Christmas is about as far from its ostensibly religious roots as Fifty Shades of Grey is from the GCSE reading list. This in itself isn’t a problem: for any one group sharing the same faith to insist that on one day a year everyone pretended to agree with them just for the sake of tradition would be ludicrous, not to mention unhelpful to their cause. We all accept that, while Christmas presents a wonderful reminder to Christians about the incarnation, for the majority of people the carol services, nativity plays and advent calendars are simply the cosy vestiges of tradition, the outer clothing of a religion lent to wrap a season of forced cultural merriment.

But even a festival generally so far removed from any real religious feeling can’t help but say something about the belief system from which it takes its name and imagery. And I would argue that, as far as the hint of Christianity which people do get from Christmas is concerned, we are all being seriously deceived. And whatever your beliefs, or lack thereof, no-one likes being deceived, especially about something as significant as faith.

So what species of ‘Christ’ do we see in Christmas? Well, he’s a baby who only really turns up once the main drama is over (see Mr & Mrs Joseph’s battle with last-minute booking) and then sits around, not crying (apparently a big deal) while various strangers come and give him exotic stocking fillers, until all sing a rousing song about friendship as the curtains fall and one of the shepherds throws up his chocolate Santa.

The Christ of Christmas, then, is sweet, quiet and apparently quite a present connoisseur. The Christianity of Christmas naturally therefore seems similar: a familiar, comforting blanket of tradition which brings people together with good, old-fashioned stories and values. In most churches, seasonal services are naturally traditional, too, sinking us ever deeper into the cosy bubble-bath of ‘Christmas-ianity.’ It would be quite fair for someone to draw the conclusion that this, in basic terms, reflects Christian belief.

Such a conclusion would be deeply wrong. The Jesus that Christians follow is not like this – indeed, he is quite strikingly the opposite. From accounts we have of his life, from believers and nonbelievers alike, we know that he is not, and never claims to be, a cosy, comforting, nativity-play saviour. He was deeply controversial, denouncing many of the religious celebrities of his day, turning brother against brother by his radical teachings. When he spoke, the same words drew cheers and death threats. Where he walked, women collapsed at his feet and authorities tracked him with murder in their hearts. He ate with the people society loved and the people it marginalised, he washed people’s feet like a servant and said he was God incarnate, he brought dead men to life and was slaughtered on a hillside like a criminal.

To many he was the promised Messiah of Jewish heritage, to others he posed a threat to that very tradition. He taught a way of life that sometimes seemed mad and full of risks, but equally promised that he will never leave us to follow it alone, and that he loves us powerfully and passionately, to the point of death and beyond. This is a figure who divides opinion. He invited people either to adore him or despise him. The one thing you cannot do, then or now, is write him off as inconsequential.

I’m certainly not trying to encourage people to give themselves over to this way of living. Faith is clearly something people should come to carefully, thoughtfully – it is a pretty monumental decision, after all. All I’m trying to do is get across just how misleading the cosy Christmas ‘Christ’ is, so that this decision can be made on the right evidence.

So enjoy all the fun, all the hype and all the warmth of Christmas – just don’t look for Christ there.