This year marked the 50th anniversary of Fortean Times, a journal of paranormal phenomena loved by believers and skeptics alike. In the latest edition, Simon Young, the resident fairy expert, notes that in centuries past, Christmas was considered a “thin period” where “the line between this world and the other world blurred , almost to the point of disappearing.”
The animals were particularly sensitive to it: the bees buzzed differently, the birds sang day and night and the farm animals were observed kneeling as if to worship the Lord. Farmers in the southwest were careful not to tie their livestock too tightly lest they strangle each other – “So great was the compulsion to get on their knees! »
Today, this passion for religion is rare among British humans. Church attendance is minimal; less than half of the population believes in the Almighty; and Paul Scriven, a Lib Dem peer, recently submitted a bill to abolish the Church of England. While leftists complain that established churches are out of touch – especially when it comes to sexuality – conservatives complain that they are endlessly woke, driving away their natural voters by prioritizing social activism over faith.
Complaints about mixing politics and religion are, I suppose, a symptom of a bigger problem: the loss of faith in metaphysics. Very few religious people do not believe in life after death. Many of them, however, assume that the public cannot accept this idea, that we are put off by God’s talk – so it is better to root religion in material matters, to link theological concepts to more understandable political positions. A typical approach at this time of year is to focus on Mary as a single mother, the Holy Family as refugeesand giving birth in a stable as a sign of commitment to the poor – something Christians are called to emulate.
This is a legitimate and laudable reading of the Christmas story, but clothing the poor and feeding the hungry are not the only dimension of the Christian faith. An Orthodox friend recently gave me a copy of A pilgrim’s path, an extraordinary 19th-century work about a man who wanders Russia trying to save his soul through incessant prayer. He longs to escape people; he longs for silence. The less the pilgrim eats, the more his mind is focused on God – and the fewer things he owns, the less distracted he is from the business of salvation. Contemplation trumps social engagement.
THE Pilgrim’s Path isn’t faith a statement about materialism: “what can we do about inequality?” » – but a total rejection of all material concerns, combining his hero with these saints sitting on poles in the desert or living on bread, salt and water. There was a tension in the early Church between believing that Jesus’ return was imminent (in which case why worry about sustenance?) and determining what we do in the meantime, which required caring for society. The Christian is invited both to look around him with expectation and with compassion, to love God and man.
In the 19th century, our perspective was gravitationally shifted by Darwin and Marx. Technology has made the feeling of awe much more difficult to feel. And our current narcissism, with its emphasis on feelings and self-realization, makes ego transcendence – self-abandonment – a very hard sell. Yet a religion that attempts to pander to a superficial generation by proposing a Church that emulates its values offers no contrast, much less antidote, to their superficiality – and thus becomes irrelevant.
A few weeks ago, I visited the Reichstag in Berlin and discovered its hideous chapel, covered in modern art so abstract that guides have to advise children not to climb on it. Our host proudly demonstrated how the room can be adapted to different faiths by showing a wooden cross placed face down on the altar. She took it back: “Now it’s Christian, Yes?” She put it down. “That’s not the case now. Do you understand?”
By being open to all, which is a democratic instinct, the Reichstag Chapel means nothing to anyone in particular. This is what modern faith must not become: a void into which the individual enters – without rules, without demands, without judgment – and finds… nothing. An empty tomb.
What’s fascinating about the Christmas story is not its political subtext but its bold, fantastical claims that push rationality to its limits – from Gabriel’s visit to a virgin birth in Bethlehem, complete with stars sacred places and choirs of angels. Let’s reject cynicism! Suspend disbelief! Even today, even after these decades of secularism, magic seems possible on December 25 – that’s why Santa delivers presents and the BBC broadcasts ghost stories.
Furthermore, the animals frequently depicted at the Nativity – the ox and the donkey – are not mentioned at all in the biblical story, but were added later as the tradition developed. A feeder is a place where animals come to feed; Jesus is the “bread of life,” the non-physical food we must eat to be saved (more important, in fact, than real bread). This is why St. Augustine interpreted the popular imagery of the ox and the donkey as a metaphor for humanity encountering the Lord and becoming aware of who He is and what He means to them.
In some religious images, they actually bow their heads. In others, they tenderly warm the precious infant with their breath.
Merry Christmas!
