Introduction to The Meaning of Christmas
We are in a battle, a fight, a struggle against hidden forces. St. Paul tells us as much in his letter to the Ephesians when he tells us to arm ourselves with the armour of God, “for our wrestling is not against flesh and blood” (6:12). Indeed not.
But, of course, I am not talking about our daily fight against the world, the flesh, and the devil. I am referring to a battle for the meaning of Christmas. There is certainly a fight to “keep Christ in Christmas,” or to keep Advent in Advent and Christmas in Christmas, or to reject the commercialism of jolly St. Nick enjoying a cool bottle of Coke. But I am not talking about those battles either.
What I am talking about is the fight against sentimentalism. Even if we remember that “Jesus is the reason for the season” and attend Midnight Mass, even if we refuse to put up and dress our tree until Christmas morning, even if we refuse to let our children believe in Santa Claus or shift our gift giving to St. Nicholas’ Day, there remains a certain sentimentalism.
What do I mean by this? I mean that even the most pious, intentional Catholic gets stuck in a sentimental rut at Christmas. We keep Christ front and centre at Christmas but we see only the baby in the manger, the chubby cherub cheeks, the curly-haired lambs, the donkey quietly munching hay in the stall, the dumbfounded shepherds coming in to see the great sight of a sweet little baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, romantic kings from the East bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and a choir of angels singing Handel’s “Hallelujah” chorus. We shove Santa Claus out into the cold because we are celebrating Jesus, it’s his birthday. We’re celebrating the cute baby in a romanticised manger bed not the fat guy in a red snow suit!
But how often do we stop and consider the suffering of that infant from the moment he stepped out of his mother’s womb? Do we realise how dirty, smelly, and uncomfortable the stable would have been? Do we reflect on the fact that Jesus was laid in a wooden food trough when he was born and then laid on a wooden cross when he went to die? Or that from the first moment he reveals that he came as bread from heaven so that we may have life? Do we stop to consider the significance of the gift of myrrh, an ointment used for embalming the dead?
It is good to enjoy the feast of Christmas and celebrate the birth of Christ, but my point here is that it must not stop there. From his first moments, it is clear that Christ came to suffer and die so that we might have life. The meaning of Christmas is so much more than the sentimental images we conjure up year after year. Jesus was not born of Mary in Bethlehem for no reason. He was born of Mary in Bethlehem so that he might be born in each and every one of us. The Fathers are clear and consistent that Mary conceived the Word in her mind and her heart before she ever conceived him in her flesh; likewise is her virginity more a matter of fidelity to the Word than purity of the flesh.
The various pieces brought together in this last installment of the Christmas issue seek to bring out the true meaning of Christmas. They call us to more than a sentimental recollection of the child in a manger. They call us to give birth to Christ daily in our minds—the contemplation of the things that are of God—in our hearts—detachment from the things of the world—in our actions—generosity, patience, charity toward all.
Perhaps it is fitting at Christmas to consider not “what would Jesus do”—he is God after all and could do many things on an authority I do not have—but “what would Mary do.” Mary is the one who merited to become the mother of our Saviour, the first and greatest disciple. Whereas Jesus has the authority to rebuke the authorities, Mary was obedient to Joseph. Whereas Jesus proclaimed all truth, Mary pondered these things in her heart.
The world—and also the Church—would probably be a better place if we all behaved a little less as though we were God incarnate and a little more like Mary.
Aaron P. Debusschere
Editor