The morning dawned glorious. Bright winter sunshine illuminated the frosted winter landscape. The children’s breath steamed on the air, as, wrapped warmly for the walk back from church to school, I dropped them off at Grange Methodist Church and sought a parking place. Here, in Grange, the annual Christmas tree festival was in its second year, and gathering momentum. Different civic groups have decorated trees that are lined in joyful splendour down the walls of the Methodist church. Each is them themed on a carol, so Grange School has one on “While Shepherds Watched…” all cute cotton-wool sheep and glitter stars. Amnesty International has an angelic theme of some sort, the title eludes me as the tree itself was so overwhelming; sparse, with agonisingly evocative mug-shots of lost and tortured love ones interspersed with 1960s plastic angels inherited from God knows where.
The church was full, and buzzing with atmosphere, excited children chatted and gawped at the multitude of lights and baubles, and parents sat entranced, caught in the magic of Christmas, checking out the donations boxes at the bases of some trees, and handing over coins to each other to go in them. The children’s hospice in Carlisle etc receiving money in return for the pink flush of altruism that combined with wintered cheeks and blasting heating to make every one a ruddy as Dickensian carol singers
Reverend Daly stepped forth, beaming, his words ensuring a gentle hush – “Welcome to the House of God at this special time. It is such a delight to see you all here, celebrating advent, and anticipating the miraculous birth of baby Jesus…” Actually he didn’t, that’s what he should have done. No, he stalked up and down the front of the church, then took a stance, glaring at all comers. Once the anticipatory buzz had reached its peak he bellowed, “Will you all be quiet, remember where you are and show respect for the house of God.” Clearing his throat he continued “now let us pray!” As the inevitable latecomers arrived in dribs and drabs he glowered at them too, like a disconsolate crow. Luckily, the Head Master, Mr Milner stepped in to take over the short sweet assembly and talked about the Christmas tree festival. The children showed their lovely Christmas themed work, embroidered stockings, Christmas tree collages done by the nursery, and other such heart warming things they had diligently worked on during advent. The oldest children talked about the history of Christmas trees, how the Romans had decorated them in Saturnalia and how St Boniface had first linked Christmas to fir trees, and how Prince Albert had brought the tradition of indoor decorated trees to Britain. We sang a few Christmas compilations, just stopping short of “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby, then in was time to go, our 30minutes was up. Reverend Daly came once more to the fore.
“I’m going to leave you with just one thought, just one. “ He frowned. ”This is advent, the build up to the birth of baby Jesus, But where is he, where do you see him?” Pause for effect “Nowhere.” He screeched, sweating and glowering at all the little faces, the nursery kids eyes like saucers staring back. ”Nowhere.” Mums rolled their eyes, coins saved for the Methodist church leaving collection tinkled into the hospice and civic gardening boxes instead. “And, look at the adverts in Marks and Spencer’s, look, its not Christmas without …, its not Christmas without what? Mylene Class? Stephen Fry or any other these other so called celebrities. I leave you with one thought; it’s not Christmas with out who?”
Well Reverend, for 5 year olds its probably not Christmas with out Santa, Granny and Granddad, and a host of the other things, but yes, its not Christmas without Christ. The kids have a more sincere wonder and belief in the miracle of the birth of baby Jesus than most vicars. They go wholehearted into the myth and sing the songs that are currently under attack from the highest strata’s of the church for their inaccuracy, totally absorbed in the story of the baby in the manger, the angels, the awestruck shepherds etc. Baby Jesus is real to them and this magic reality will remain the lynch pin of their Christian faith.
You can take baby Jesus out of Christmas. Christmas is superimposed on much older pre Christian midwinter festivals which mesh with the ancient Pagan saturnalia, and mingle with Diwali for the Hindus, and Hanukah for the Jews. All culture has their festivals of light in the darkness. The early Church chose to superimpose Christmas on the winter solstice in a take over bid of something much older and universal. The fairy-lit lit foodie festivities we enjoy are current manifestation of the deep human need to celebrate the light in the darkness and the birth of the sun from the winter’s nadir. It easy to have Christmas without Christ, but for now we’d prefer to keep the baby and enjoy Him as we always have done. But bellowing vicars castigating audience as young as four about enjoying Christmas is symptomatic of the slow lingering death of Christianity in this country.
Reverend Daly wants to take this ancient midwinter magic away , from an audience that is closer to baby Jesus that any adult or preacher. These innocent faces made me recall the words of Jesus, Luke 18:14-15 in which people bought their children to Jesus, and were turned away by the disciples, whom Jesus rebuked, saying that the children should be allowed to come unto him for all should be as little children if they would truly come to him. I looked at those innocent faces, all potential and trust and love, and looked at the bitter man, sweating, with a face as if he was chewing lemon with chilli stuck up his arse, and sadly pondered how little had changed in 2,000 years. Suffer little children to come unto him, Reverend Daly. This Christmas magic is a potent hook that keeps people coming back, year after year to Christianity, even if it is only nominally to have their children and marriages blessed and their loved ones buried, and to come to these special services. In these they accede to your wisdom and your spiritual ordinance; take the magic away and they will see the man not the priest, the man I saw before me this morning. We can all come to Jesus without the ordained few dictating how we should come to Him, and perhaps the bitter welcome we suffered this morning is about that, your fear of how we can do very well without you. We do not need you to block the light of Christ from our Children, driving us away from your church in droves when you so desperately need us to keep it open and to keep your job.
We’re having guests for Yuletide festivities this weekend, I was going to Booths, the northern equivalent of Waitrose for lovely snacks, but instead, on a point of principle, I’m off the Marks and Sparks.