Today reminds me of almost every Christmas when I was a child in Manchester. It is overcast with a hint of cold drizzle in the air. The grass remains green. At 10:30 am it is still not really light, and I do not expect it will get light today. For the last three years we have had a “not white” Christmas.
Some time ago I had a conversation that went something like this (in the middle):
“Of course, Jesus was not actually born on Christmas Day,” I said with a smile.
“So, when was he born? my friend replied, clearly puzzled.
“I think most scholars think sometime March or April.”
“Really? Then why do we celebrate it on December 25?”
“The early Christians picked it because I was already a festival: the winter solstice. Christians have done that with just about every major feast. They took over a pre-Christian festival and Christianized it.”
“What a waste of time, then. We celebrate Jesus’ birthday on the wrong day, and it’s really pagan, not Christian!
My friend, I think was a little disappointed, but it set me thinking.
During the Christmas season we make much use of the canticle we call “the Song of the Messiah” from Isaiah 9. It is very familiar to us through Handel’s Messiah and there are allusions to it in many Christmas carols.
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;
Those who dwell in a land of great darkness, upon them the light has dawned . . .
For to us a child is born and to us a child is given . . .”
The great season of Advent-Christmas-Epiphany is about the light of God coming to a darkened world. Jesus the light of life, Jesus the light of the world. A light for our path. The one who makes sense for us. It is a story that tells us there is a way through the darkness. There will be light.
I think it is no coincidence, then, that the Church chose the darkest part of the year (for us in the Northern hemisphere) to celebrate the coming of Christ our light. It is, of course, much the same reason that the winter solstice is celebrated in other than Christian ways. At the very darkest time, when the sun rarely visits for more than a few hours, there is the promise of lighter days. The very darkest day gives way to a lighter day. And that day, in its turn, gives way to a lighter day still.
It is fitting to make this the time of great feasting, of food and drink, and families gathered. A great festival in the deepest darkness with a promise of the coming light.
My prayer for all of us in the Lindisfarne Community is to know again the rebirth of the sun, the rebirth of the light of Christ. Whatever has been dark to us, may God bring again the light of love.
A blessed Christmas to all.