Although I was raised in a strong Methodist family, I remain (borrowing a term from a John Grisham novel set in Mississippi) “unchurched,” as I have been for 50+ years. The reasons for resisting formal church affiliation while believing in the core of the New Testament (as well as similar tenets found in many other world religions) are too complicated, irrational, and inconsistent to explain in a few sentences, or many pages. Besides, that’s not the point.
For a large part of the Christmas season, which retailers have now pushed into November and earlier, I am unmoved by “the Christmas spirit,” as it is seen in the deals of Black Friday, the early decorations, and the incessant, often bad, Christmas music in stores and on the radio. But as the holiday approaches, my mind is drawn to the symbolism and magic of the Bible’s story as seen in multiple children’s and adult pageants. Christmas hymns, from “Silent Night,” to “O Come All Ye Faithful,” especially those heard live, can move me nearly to tears.
I realize that there is ample research to show that the “Christmas story” is merely a story, with at least some of the events either embellished or impossible to document: the exact date, season, appearance of the Star, and Herod’s rule are all historically questionable. But that’s not the point, either. Instead, I see it is an inspiring, symbolic, and comforting story. As a child, I remember a few Christmas Eves when I tried to imagine exactly what Mary and Joseph were doing at a particular time, say 9 p.m., rather than following Santa’s sleigh around the world with one of the multiple Santa apps available today.
Everyone can sympathize with the journey of Mary and Joseph. They are poor, unexpectedly chosen to welcome God’s child, but still must deal with the realities around them. They must obey an order to travel through an arid landscape for days so they can register to pay taxes to an alien, occupying government. They finally arrive just as Mary is about to give birth, but there is no room at the inn and are turned away, offered only shelter in a stable and the companionship of sheep and goats.
We all feel aggrieved at some point, regardless of our wealth or economic status. Like Joseph and Mary, we feel as if we are on the outside looking in. (Too often, it is an American fact: many can manage only a symbolic stable or an actual cardboard box to sleep in while others recline in luxury.) For the people in the Northern Hemisphere, it is the darkest time of year, and nearing the coldest. Mary and Joseph are the picture of a young couple who needs help. In the end, they are forced to rely on the kindness of strangers.
And then — the miracle happens! A healthy birth overwhelms the surroundings and circumstances, as it does for many families today. For children lucky enough to have hopeful and loving parents, the sky is the limit. At the moment of birth, no one can predict the arc of that child’s life. He or she becomes the center of a new universe, one that might include shepherds paying homage, angels hovering to sing anthems, kings traveling many days to offer gifts. A child is born, and hope is renewed. The Christmas story unites us in hope for the future.
Older people have proven that we’re incapable of achieving most of our dreams for an equitable world, a safe and secure home for many (certainly not all), and a healthy planet and people. We must place our hope in the children, those born recently and in the near future. The Christmas story encourages us to believe in miracles: one child born in a stable who grew into a man whose teachings affected billions of people over thousands of years.
Other religions encourage the same belief in the future, one in which love and compassion overcome greed, in which the Golden Rule defeats the rule of gold, and we see beyond the false physical, religious, racial, and political divisions to our shared humanity. Everyone can share an understanding of Mary and Joseph’s plight and a belief in miracles (especially those followed up by hard work) that can sustain us through the dark times and lead us toward the warmth and new growth of the next year. We must believe in our children who, with our hopes and prayers, will work towards a better world.
Allen Woods is a freelance writer, author of the Revolutionary-era crime novel “The Sword and Scabbard,” and Greenfield resident. His column appears regularly on a Saturday. Comments are welcome here or at awoods2846@gmail.com.