From an adult point of view, and as if by the flick of a switch, we are in the run-up to Christmas, and in terms of music, entertainment, shopping, and parties, and office parties, it is entirely predictable. Then, and as if by another flick of that same switch, it is New Year: time to party, in Sydney, Shanghai, London, and New York and wherever, to be blaze, and obsessed with shopping, and hide from others, our innermost thoughts, what we know to be true: that this New Year, in all likelihood, will not be that much different from the old. There will be wars and rumours of war; and the hungry and destitute will still struggle to eek out an existence; and while people will fall in love, hearts will be broken by personal tragedies of every conceivable kind, and much of the good that so many people did last year, will be done, quietly, again this year, and pass unnoticed, as we go in pursuit of the sensational and superficial.
Well apologies if I have got you depressed; for that was not my intention: I am simply getting myself of my chest, by sharing a few dark secrets with you, before getting around to the matter in hand, which is to share with you, a truth, that the innocence and simplicity of the birth of Christ in a stable at Bethlehem, has always stood in marked contrast to the reality of life as we know it.
Then, it was the Roman occupation of Israel, and an edict from Caesar Augustus. Wanting to count the number of people under his thumb, he inconvenienced everyone, by requiring that heads of households return to their ancestral home, to be registered in a census. On the roads it was chaos, which was why, Mary and Joseph, arriving late from Nazareth, found themselves homeless, and desperately in need of somewhere to stay, and why, in the end, they had to make do with a stable.
Now in the context of the dichotomy that is Christmas, it is worth reminding ourselves of one of the most improbable of edicts. It came about in England, when Oliver Cromwell, as Lord Protector, or Head of State, presided over a puritan parliament, and religious fervour was at its height. It was the edict, that made unlawful, the celebration of Christmas; and that despite the fact, that it had nothing to do with shopping, but with the celebration of a heavenly proclamation, of, "news of great joy, a joy to be shared by the whole people", that "today, in the town of David, [Bethlehem] a saviour has been born to you, he is Christ the Lord."
Well, when I read the extract, quoted below, from John Evelyn's Diary. (the year 1657), at a certain point I laughed, but of course, at the time, it was no laughing matter, for besides illustrating again the dichotomy between the simplicity of the story of the birth of Christ, and life as we know it; John Evelyn's experience, is a reminder, of how impenetrable, and dangerous, is the mind of the zealot. The square brackets are mine:
"I went with my Wife &c: to Lond[on]: to celebrate Christmas day. Mr Gunning preaching in Exesceter Chapell on 7. Micha 2. Sermon Ended, as he was giving us the holy Sacrament, The Chapell was surrounded with Soldiers: All the Communicants and Assembly supriz'd & and kept Prisoners by them, some in the house, where yet were permitted to Dine with the master of it, the Countesse of Dorset, Lady Hatton &c: some others of quality who invited me: In the afternoon came Colonel Whalley, Goffe & others from Whitehall to examine us one by one, & some they committed to the Martial, some to Prison, some Committed: When I came before them they tooke my name and aboad, examined me, why contrarie to an Ordinance made that none should any longer observe the superstitious time of the Nativity (so esteem'd by them) I darest offend, & particularly be at Common prayers, which they told me was but the Masse in English, & particularly pray for Charles stuard, [the king] for which we had no scripture: I told them we did not pray for Charles Steward but for all Christian Kings, Princes and Governors: They replied, in so doing we praied for the K[ing]. of Spaine too, who was their enemie, & a Papist, with other frivolous & insnaring questions, with much threatning, & finding no colour to detaine me longer, with much pity of my Ignorance, they dismiss'd me. These men were of high flight, and above Ordinances [above the law] & spoke spiteful things of our B[lessed]. Lord nativity."
Now while Caesar Augustus, in issuing his decree, was unwittingly bringing about the fulfillment of prophecy, in respect of the extraordinary event that would happen in the obscure town of Bethlehem, someone, who spent a lot of time on the road, by choice, was the Welsh poet, writer and tramp, William Henry Davies. He wrote a book about it: "The Autobiography of a Super Tramp", and a sequel, "Latter Days". And despite what I am going to tell you about him, he ended up respectable: with a young wife and a dog. We are told that he did much of his tramping in America, and that his experiences were richly coloured by "bullies, tricksters, and fellow-adventurers", and "that he was thrown in to prison in Michigan, beaten up in New Orleans, witnessed a lynching in Tennessee, and got drunk pretty well everywhere." Well, among his poems, is one that many, in this part of the world, would have learned at school, and that the shepherds in Bethlehem, would have readily understood, for it has a lot to do with the true spirit of Christmas, though Christmas doesn't get a mention:
Leisure
What is this life if, full of care
We have no time to stop and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich the smile her eyes began.
A poor life this, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
__________
And he too, mindful of the dichotomy that is Christmas, wrote this:
The holly on the wall
Play, little children, one and all,
For holly, holly on the wall.
You do not know that millions are
This moment in a deadly war;
Millions of men whose Christmas bells
Are guns' reports and bursting shells;
Whose holly berries, made of lead,
Take human blood to stain them red;
Whose leaves are swords, and bayonets too,
To pierce their fellow-mortals through.
For now the war is here, and men -
Like cats that stretch their bodies when
The light has gone and darkness comes -
Have armed and left their peaceful homes:
But men will be, when there's no war,
As gentle as you children are.
Play, little children, one and all,
For holly, holly on the wall.
__________
Now this dichotomy between the ideal and the real, was often a part of my own childhood Christmas, but there was always that undercurrent of excitement, which was sufficient of itself, to keep me believing in the wonder of it all. But that said, there was no escaping the uncertainty: Would my father be drunk or sober? and if drunk, how drunk? : reduced to silence, or roused to a destructive rage? And would my mother's, lesser anxiety, be eased: would Grandma remember to send a goose or a turkey. But when it came to Mass at midnight, the world was transformed. The church was packed, as though the parish had doubled in size, and the broad window-ledges were strewn with holly. And among the faithful, were those few, who, obviously "the worse for wear", had managed, somehow, to make it, to be there along with the rest of us: to be reminded of Mary and Joseph's arduous journey to Bethlehem, and to be reassured, and strengthened in their belief, that, that "good news of great joy!" was for them.
__________
© Cormac McCloskey
The story of the Nativity. Gospel of Luke. 2
The fulfillment of prophecy in respect of Bethlehem as the birthplace of the Messiah:
The Bible: Old Testament:, Micah 5:1-2 Recalled in the Gospel of Matthew 2:1-6
The Diary of John Evelyn, and The Holly on the Wall, by William. H. Davies:
from The English Christmas
Published by The Folio Society 2002
The square brackets were inserted into the text by me
"Charles stuard" / "Charles Stewart" : [Stuart] One and the same, King Charles I, who, in 1649, was beheaded by the puritans during the second English Civil War.
Leisure, by William H. Davies
from Common Joys and other poems
"the worse for wear" : intoxicated, or obviously adversely affected by too much alcohol.
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