The nuns taught my mother as a child that Jesus felt every act of naughtiness as another thorn in his crown. Why wear the symbol of a barbaric torture? Martyrdom is a repugnant virtue, so too the imposition of perpetual guilt. My atheist great-grandfather, Gilbert Murray, a classical scholar and also president of the humanists, called Christmas “Mithras’ birthday”, because Jesus usurped this winter festival from him.īut the rest of it, I find loathsome. But they arouse ancient emotions more primitive than Christianity. The dense theology of carols inculcating bizarre concepts skates past most singers – “veiled in flesh the godhead see, hail the incarnate deity” and the sheer impudence of “lo he abhors not the virgin’s womb”. In that spirit I relish singing the old carols when I get the chance: I was invited to wonderful John Rutter’s Christmas Celebration with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at the Albert Hall this year. Much as I dislike most Christian belief, the iconography of star, stable, manger, kings and shepherds to greet a new baby is a universal emblem of humanity. ![]() Sentimental gathering at the crib doesn’t extend to enough outrage at so many children going to school hungry.Įvery culture needs a mid-winter festival of light in the darkness, a rebirth in the shortest days. This yuletide’s proposal to send asylum seekers to Rwanda is popular. In all Christmas messages, the poor inherit the earth, the stable stands for the homeless and refugees, yet the mystery is why so little of this goodwill gets beyond the tinsel into politics. I will watch It’s a Wonderful Life for its belief in collective good at Christmas overcoming the ogres of Pottersville capitalism – never mind Clarence the angel. I will watch A Christmas Carol every year and, whatever production, Muppets or Alastair Sim, I will always shed a tear for the prospect of human redemption. It touches most rationalists as much as believers, reaching deep into the recesses of heart, childhood, memory and family bonds.
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