Once upon a Christmas

All the best stories begin at the beginning. Like Christmas. After a bit of preamble the Gospel writer Luke began his version of Jesus’ birth-day story in chapter 2.

And what a story it is!

Set in an occupied country, its people suffering the indignities and restrictions of a bully-boy emperor who had ordered a headcount of his subjects. There’s a young couple, miles away from home and family, with a baby ready to be born any time soon and suitable accommodation impossible to find.

Then the simple words: “. . . the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to a son, her first born.” That’s the point where Luke can’t contain the wonder of this new-born, wrapped in the customary swaddling clothes and laid on a bed of straw.

He struggles to find the words to tell his readers about the wonder of a baby boy, born in Bethlehem cave. The images fly off the page – sheep and angels, shepherds, stars and music, as he rejoices in  this baby who would grow up to reveal himself as the Promised One.

Chapter 2 of Matthew’s gospel goes even further than Luke. He tells a story of wise men, maybe even kings, of a new star in the sky, a long dangerous journey, and it reads like a Net Flicks plot. This baby would grow up to be a focus of dissension.  

As century followed century, the ever growing groups of Christ followers kept Jesus’ baby story alive. The integrated it into their cultural world, they rejoiced in the stars that papered their wintery night skies and gave a new meaning to the turn of the seasons. As for the 25^th December – well, it was probably due to the weather. Way back in the 3^rd century that date marked the birthday of the sun – a convenient date to link a pagan custom with a Christian one. 

And now it’s Christmas time. Where I live the sun is shining. Everywhere I go there is sparkle and colour. Wherever I shop there is a Chrismassey musical background on repeat. Greetings invariably end with Christmas wishes. Even on the supermarket checkout. Children are excited and the adults are hopeful.

It’s lovely to see how 2,000 years on Jesus’ birth-day is still celebrated, even if the original story has been largely swallowed up by big business and a well-built man with a white beard and a penchant for dressing in red.

And I’m doing my best to like it better than I actually do. I watch the News and the latest bulletins from Ukraine, and I remember Bethlehem and Luke’s lovely imagery where banks of angels sang about peace, that peace the people of Ukraine ache for. Across the world children pay the cost that accompanies family violence and political neglect while we celebrate the birth of the Christ child.

Enjoy the good things of Christmas, spread the peace it brings.  And try to find some time to re-read the story of that first Christmas.  Even better, tell a child the story.

Judith               judith@judithscully.com.au