“You can’t take the Christ out of Christmas”

Dear Christmas,

It’s not you. It’s me.

We both knew it was a marriage of convenience from the start, and more for my benefit than yours. I got to celebrate His birthday while no-one else was looking, even though we both knew it was only an official birthday. You got the snazzy name. We lived separately for a while, then we did more things together, then we were were a class act for a long time. We didn’t agree on everything, but we found things we both liked – our songs and traditions, a bit of generosity, bringing light to those long dark European winters.

Lately, though, I feel we’ve been drifting further apart. We don’t have the same values any more. Please believe me, I’m not against parties and celebrations, and I’ve been trying so hard to enjoy yours, I really have. But if I’m honest, all that excess food, drink, spending, entertainment, expectation isn’t my thing. I don’t like how it leaves so many people stressed, exhausted, indebted, or feeling left out. No wonder you spend so long building up to it and flop after the big day. I liked it better when we left the parties till then and kept them up for twelve days afterwards, though even that was a compromise.

You’re singing your own songs now. Don’t get me wrong – some of them are good songs – but I can see our songs being forgotten. And I wish you wouldn’t keep going round with that big red toyboy of yours and his weird entourage. What with him, and all the bits you’ve added to our Founder’s story, it’s no surprise people can’t tell true and fake good news apart. Then again, it’s only because I’ve had to dumb the story down that people miss the all the deep symbolism and get hung up on what’s true or not.

Our Founder wanted good news for the poor, outsiders, foreigners, people without anyone to look after them. He wanted us see he’s the Boss and will put things right for everyone. I know you’ve been making token efforts on these things, but it’s almost pointless because your whole set-up works against them. You’re carrying on as if the boss isn’t Him, but is every year’s must-have gift and the market that makes it.

I’m even wondering whether some of the way I’ve been telling my story the last couple of centuries is driving you away from me.

I can’t help feeling that I’m holding you back. Lots of people admire you who know nothing about me. I don’t want to stop them. Family reunions, swapping gifts, children’s concerts, panto, wishing people well, having time off work (for the ones who can) – they’re good things. People need a holiday in the dead of winter. But I think you’d do it far better without me.

I think we need to live apart. I’m going to go and find another time of year to remember the Founder’s birthday – September might be more accurate. You can have all the big celebrations. I’ll take the lessons and carols and Christingles and throw a big party for waifs and strays. Please don’t try to find me.

Oh – and about the name. You can keep it if you really want to – I don’t have to take it with me. Winterval wouldn’t suit you. But your old name’s really nice too – it has a ring to it, don’t you think, Yule?

Your truly,

Christianity.

But what if we did? What if Christians, if we could, somehow withdrew our consent for the rest of the world to use the name of Christ in this annual festival of light, overindulgence, debt, hypocrisy, and greed? Suppose the Church copyrighted the word, and anyone who wanted to carry on would have to fall back on Yule (really, there’s no need for Winterval or Happy Holidays when an ancient word is available)?

Some followers of Jesus have. Certain radical followers of Jesus like Plymouth Brethren, Jehovah’s Witnesses, the Jesus Army, have long opted out of Christmas. Why wouldn’t they? Choosing the 25th of December to celebrate Jesus’ birth has no grounding in the bible (September seems more likely if it can be dated at all). It’s not an arbitrary date, but was chosen for good political reasons: to allow the persecuted young Church to meet on a Roman holiday without arousing Roman suspicion, and fleshed out in Europe by reference to pagan midwinter traditions.

More than ever, Christmas is a fully secular festival. Its most popular songs have nothing to do with the birth of a child who grew up to preach good news to the poor. Its nominal god is an anagram of Satan, though its real god is either consumerism or (more kindly) family and friendship. Growing numbers of nonbelievers may choose to stay away from mention of the religious myths of Christmas. Most carols, much as I love them, will be forgotten in a generation for lack of singing. Those who do turn up at church can easily hear modern myths alongside the ancient ones – from collusion with the Santa myth, to embellishments of the nativity, to lyrics and liturgy which owe more to nineteenth century post-enlightenment theology than the original intention of the bible narratives.

In the bible stories there is no donkey, no snow, no innkeeper, no stable, no shepherd boy bringing a lamb, no kings bringing gifts, no camels, and no gathering of the strangers from the east at the same time as shepherds. There is a baby born out of wedlock, a manger, shepherds, angels, magi (perhaps as well translated wizards as wise men) bringing peculiar gifts to a house sometime up to two years after the birth of a child. More to the point, the narrators seem concerned less with proving the literal truth of these elements than alluding to their rich symbolic meanings. God sends a special liberator to free an ethnic group from occupation, with a subtext of restoring former greatness, and a surprise element of vastly widening the scope of liberation. But he comes as a displaced baby at risk, and not just for the top table – he’s good news for outsiders and foreigners. He’ll be a ruler and a priest who will die to rescue the whole world.

Rescue the world from what? Again, the clue is in words. At the time of Jesus’ birth, Augustus Caesar was transitioning from Roman republic to Empire, sending “gospel” messages to tell everyone that he was their Saviour and Lord, and the Son of God. It wasn’t a statement of a God complex so much as a way of stating that Rome ran the show. Matthew and Luke used the same language to reclaim Caesar’s titles for Jesus Christ. Christ is not a surname but the Greek for Messiah, which means the anointed one. Today we might call him The Special or Chosen One. He’s to rescue the world from dominant systems and vested interests that trample on the weak and powerless. Caesar is not in charge; Jesus is.

To understand what it means, we have to translate that into its 21st century implications. Who rules our lives? Is it Trump, Putin, the EU, G8, Murdoch, Deep State, Google, Facebook, Amazon, Apple, the Bildenburg group, Brexit, Radical Islam, Big Data, the stock market, consumerism, the Church, technology, fashion, food or drink? The good news told by Matthew and Luke is that none of them do: Jesus is in charge after all. If Jesus is in charge, read his message of nonviolent subversive resistance to oppressive authority. If it doesn’t look as if Jesus is in charge, put his message into practice to prove that he is.

But that’s not what Christmas, as it is, celebrates. There is some token thought for and (often misplaced) generosity to less fortunate strangers. There are hearty warm sentiments about getting friends or family together and being kind. Largely Christmas plays homage to dominant forces which cause debt, illness, family arguments, loneliness, poverty, and misery. Even in a household which attempts to spend some of Christmas Day talking and singing about the birth of Jesus, it’s very hard to end it without feeling that I have been spending it looking after my own selfish genes.

Bah humbug? No. Lets keep Yule with gifts for children, family reunions, celebration, panto, singing children, Santa, even some warmth and generosity to poor and lonely people, and whatever else we like. But can we decouple Yule from Jesus? Would the Church dare? Would that slowly kill off the Church by dropping its main recruiting event? Or would the Church regain legitimacy and a challenge to the powers that be? Would non churchgoers mind or notice? For how many would it really make a difference?

How could it be done? If the church celebrated the birth of Jesus at a different time of year, what would it take with it, leave behind, and add? Special services? Nine lessons and carols? There might be some different carols, or different words. How dare we change traditions? The traditions are not as old as we think. Plenty of carols have verses which have been rewritten or dropped – Silent Night, for instance. What’s the difference anyway, if many carols will die out in a generation for lack of singing? Why is Handel’s Messiah, most of which references Holy Week and Easter, a Christmas thing? If the shops weren’t all closed and people not expected to host their own families, could churches be properly generous? Could special church services be followed by a big banquet inviting homeless people, people living alone, old people, refugees? Would people who steer clear of churches stop getting angry about Christians banging on about religion? Would new Christmas be any kinder on the stress and health of clergy and laypeople? Would Yule be better without pretending to be Christmas, and Christmas better without piggybacking on Yule?

Or would churches lose their relevance by abandoning their main annual draw? Would Yule lose its soul and mean nothing? Would seasonal market forces abandon Yule and follow the new Christmas? Would the world's economy implode?

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