It's Christmas Eve. To be more accurate, as I sit down to write this it's the morning of the day before Christmas. We are anticipating a friends and family Christmas Eve gathering later today at my sister's and brother-in-law's house; there will be another one tomorrow at our house. Pies are being baked (thanks to my wife), I have made lots of my fresh cranberry relish, the refrigerator is full, the Christmas music is playing, and there are Christmas decorations all over the place. By the way, the place smells great! There's nothing like the aroma of pumpkin pies in the oven.
For me and most of those closest to me, this is the time of Christmas. But if people want to say "Happy Holidays" that's good for me, too. After all, it's not Christmas for everybody. Well, maybe it is, but not in the same way for everybody. As I see it, Christmastime is big enough that it can be shared among everybody who wants to participate in it. It's a time of celebration and gathering that is both secular and religious, so there's no reason to exclude anybody, not even those who might be terminally grumpy.
Which is not to say that I am unaware of the religious significance of Christmas. But significance is one thing, and origins and history and heritage and context are other things that are part of Christmas, too, and those other things do not belong exclusively to religious Christianity.
December 25 might be the date of birth for Jesus, or it might not be. Nobody knows for sure. Birth records from the domains of the Roman Empire of two thousand years ago are scarce to non-existent. Bethlehem in Israel was a part of the Empire. The Empire conducted a census, but it produced no birth records.
Why, then, December 25 as the date of Christmas?
It was a matter of convenience; and, also, the fact that the early princes of Christianity were no dummies when it came to public relations.
The date was chosen by the authorities of the early Christian church to take advantage of well-established celebrations of non-Christian origins. During the later days of the Roman Empire, the festival of Saturnalia--beginning on December 17, and lasting for several days--provided a convenient time of celebration and merry-making that the new religion could connect itself to as it was gradually replacing the old one. It was a time of transition.
Some two or three centuries later, the Western Roman Empire was a fading memory, but Christianity was rooted throughout the old realm, with one exception. That exception was Britain, and what took place there shaped the celebration of Christmas in ways that have profoundly influenced Christmas traditions the world over.
When the last of the Roman legions departed Britain in the early 400s, the poorly-defended island became a tempting target for the expanding and migrating peoples of northern Europe, the so-called Germanic tribes. Though they called themselves by many names, eventually we have come to know them as the Saxons. Determined resistance by the local British population--some of which was so effective that it probably formed the beginnings of the Arthurian stories--was nonetheless eventually overwhelmed by the Saxon invaders. After two hundred years of invasion and conflict, the land that we now know as England was a relatively stable conglomeration of several Saxon kingdoms.
Barely Christianized by the earlier Empire, and now inhabited by vigorous newcomers who were themselves only somewhat adherent to this religion that spoke of only one god--and a peaceful one at that--the rich territory of England was viewed with some alarm by the Roman Church.
And with good reason. Consider, for a moment, that young Saxon boys were being brought up in an England which, as they would learn in stories from their elders, was conquered by their parents and their grandparents. The stories might be told especially during December, when the land was cold, the days were short and the skies were dark. Some might wear Christian crosses, but the old religions were still much a part of their lives, and so some would wear a Thor's hammer, too, on a thong or a chain about the neck.
The boys would hear stories of religions, too. On the one hand, they are told of a nameless god of peace. On the other, they learn of a host of named gods, each with a personality, and some of whom wield war hammers, lightening bolts, spears, bows and arrows. They also hear that later in the month the dark and dreary days will be interrupted by the great pagan festival of Yule.
Which collection of religious stories do you think is more likely to grab hold of the imagination of young boys? No surprise, then, that there was no assurance of success for Christianity in Saxon England.
Sometime in the early 600s, one of the brighter bishops of Rome--it might have been Pope Gregory I, also called Gregory the Great--directed that the Church in England should take advantage of the population's great affection for the Yule festival by declaring that Yule and Christmas were one and the same. And a good idea it was, too, for many reasons other than the convenience of crashing an already-existing party. Peace was plentiful during winter, if only because the weather made it so difficult to organize and supply armies for fighting, and thereby helping to lend some credibility to the preaching of the virtues of peace. The relationship between Yule and evergreen flora was easily connected to the Christian gospel of everlasting life.
The old stories, of course, could not be stopped. Over time, however, they changed.
England eventually became thoroughly Christianized, albeit in a way in which its popularity was in large part determined by its absorption and adaptation of pagan culture and tradition. Christmas became so important to the Saxon English that after another two centuries had passed, King Alfred the Great--the monarch who united the Saxon kingdoms into the first cohesive English nation--is said to have decreed that it was illegal for anyone to work during the time known as the Twelve Days of Christmas.
Alfred was devout, but my guess is that he was smart enough to realize that there's always some work that has to be done. Still, he set the stage for eight centuries' worth of Christmas celebrations--taking place at Yuletide--in England.
All of which came to a screeching halt in 1652 when, on Christmas Eve of that year, Oliver Cromwell, the Puritan Lord Protector of England--and usurper of a monarchy that traced its traditions as far back as Alfred's reign--outlawed all observation of the Christmas holiday. Shortly thereafter, the Puritan authorities in the Massachusetts colony followed suit by legally requiring that people perform work on Christmas day. Would anybody be surprised if Alfred turned in his grave at that time? I think not.
The official English prohibition against Christmas celebrations lasted less than ten years. The restoration of the monarchy in 1661 also brought about the restoration of Christmas celebrations. But they were faded celebrations in comparison to the lavish affairs of pre-Protectorate English days.
An interruption of celebratory traditions, however, does not overcome the basic human need to tell stories, and not just to re-tell the old stories, but to build on them and create new stories that in some ways reach for higher goals.
We tell stories for a host of reasons. Stories are fun -- they entertain and amuse. Stories make us think and help us to understand -- they tell us who we are, what we are, and sometimes even why we are; they can tell us of our origins and shared events, and speculate on where we are going. Exceptional stories make us wonder. Some cause us to ask "why?" A very few present us with the ultimate question -- "Why not?"
Christmastime has always been a time for stories. Christmas honors an event, but as the celebration has become more than a religious commemoration, so have the stories become more than merely stories of origins and religion.
A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, is my favorite Christmas story of all time, and the one that I recommend to you when you seek insight to, and comfort with, the amalgam of contemporary Christmas. Feverishly written by Dickens in the later months of 1843, this gem of a story is as timely now as it was then. An educated man, Dickens knew of the history that I have written about here, and it provided a basis for some of what he wrote. A socially-aware man, Dickens was conscious of the inequalities in wealth and well-being that were the scourge of all of man's nations of his time, but especially in his homeland of England. He felt that England could and should do much better for its people.
If you prefer to watch a story instead of reading it, then try out the 1984 film version of
A Christmas Carol. It's closely based on the Dickens story--not only in spirit (forgive the pun) but also in dialog--and it is well-adapted for contemporary times. The film has the fine actor George C. Scott in the lead role as Ebenezer Scrooge. If there's ever been a better performance of Scrooge, I have no idea when it could have been done.
My time for this is drawing to a close, as our Christmas celebrations are set to begin. We don't bake cookies around here--remember the pies, instead?--so this writing substitutes as my offering of Christmas cookies. It's bite-sized, tidy and hopefully tasty.
Merry Christmas to everybody with whatever Happy Holidays meaning is dear to you, and Best Wishes to all for 2014!
