Christmas Moments
Atlanta, GA
December 25, 2022
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.
Our God, heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain,
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty —
Jesus Christ.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am? —
If I were a Shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man
I would do my part, —
Yet what I can I give Him, —
Give my heart.
– Christina Rossetti: In the Bleak Mid-Winter
At long last, Christ is in the crib. From the womb of a Virgin, the Creator of the cosmos is born in a cave.
Earthly eyes that for centuries searched outward through darkness look inward to the Light. As Chesterton put it, “the God who’d been a circumference has become a center.”
The birth of Christ is the new creation…the fulcrum in time and the chef d’œuvre of the world. It’s the most important event in history.
But it’s not the only historic one to occur on this date.
In fact, it’s almost certainly one of the ones that didn’t occur on this date. We don’t know precisely when Christ was born. It wasn’t till Constantine converted to Christianity and co-opted pagan practices that December 25 was decreed to be Christmas.
It’s traditionally a festive occasion, but a quiet day. Stores are closed, performances are paused, and mail doesn’t move. ‘Tis the season for bulls and bears to let bygones by bygones, as we relax and rejoice with family and friends.
But not everyone enjoys a Yuletide lull. Some holiday happenings don’t hide at home, or on the bottom corner of the back page. Occasionally, they hop into the history books.
Some shenanigans that occurred at Christmas…like the Federal Reserve Act or bombing of North Vietnam…have been fraudulent or heinous. Others, as when the Soviet Union collapsed, were welcome and warranted.
Like a pile of random presents under a community tree, it’s a mixed bag. Let’s open a few, and get a glimpse at some grand moments on Christmas Day.
At the turn of the ninth century, the King of the Franks crossed the Alps. The year before, the Bishop of Rome had gone the other way. In each instance, Cross and Crown were trying to preserve the realm and protect the Faith.
For the Feast of the Nativity, a large crowd gathered at St. Peter’s in Rome, where the Vicar of Christ was to consecrate the king’s son. But as the king rose from prayer, Pope Leo III placed a crown on his head, and acclaimed him the “new Augustus.”
From that moment, Charlemagne was Holy Roman Emperor, and the Church affirmed its authority to recognize rulers. On Christmas Day in the year 800, Christendom was consolidated.
The Carolingian Renaissance (such as it was) united Europe in an interlude of cultural, educational, and religious revival. But as so often happens when a father plants promising seeds, what actually sprouted were wayward weeds.
Charlemagne’s successors made a mess of things. The next couple centuries, the Franks fell on hard times. The Norseman descended, and gave their name to the north of France.
But they wanted more. In 1066, their duke took a fleet across the channel to attack the Angles and take their throne. After winning the Battle of Hastings, William the Conqueror was crowned King of England on Christmas Day.
The French language embellished the tongue of the native tribes. But before long, the conquered locals had captured their conquerors, and the Franks in Britain became English.
Over the centuries, their descendants grew restless. Some of them crossed the ocean, and created colonies.
Within a couple hundred years, the Mother Country persisted in pushing them around. So they decided to push back…by walking away.
But the British decided to stop their secession and teach them a lesson, and they hired some Hessians to help them do it. On Christmas Day in 1776, several of those German mercenaries were huddled at quarters in the town of Trenton.
From the other side of the Delaware, George Washington decided to attack. Under cover of darkness and thru chunks of ice, his ragtag army crossed the river. The Americans took Trenton.
They were unable to hold it. But their Christmas surprise turned the tide, while reinforcing the depleted troops with captured supplies.
The war raged five more years before the British reluctantly relinquished their erstwhile colonies. But over the next four decades, they’d continue to get on each others’ nerves.
In 1812, they fought again, this time in a perfectly pointless war. That skirmish ended two years later, with a treaty signed on (when else?) Christmas Eve in the town of Ghent.
But it was on another Christmas, a century to the day after the Treaty of Ghent, that an impromptu truce redeemed the world.
Few activities are more incongruous with Christmas than armed conflict. The best battles are ones that aren’t fought, especially in the middle of a worthless war. And none were more useless than World War I.
“The Great War” was supposed to be easy. When they shipped out in August, most enlistees thought they’d be home for the holidays. The bulk of those who were came back in a box.
Along the western front, soldiers who survived those first few months were packed in pestilential trenches, slaughtering similar men who’d done them no harm.
On the eve of their first Christmas in that God-forsaken inferno, the guns were silent as a chill settled in. Thru the darkness, Allied soldiers heard an inspiring sound from the German line. Recognizing a sacred hymn honoring that holy night, the English and French reciprocated with carols of their own.
From either side of “no man’s land”, wary servicemen invited their “enemy” to cross. With tentative trust and an abundance of caution, they met in the middle. Hands were shaken, greetings were exchanged, and cigarettes were shared.
Before long, corks were popped, soccer was played, and humanity paid homage to the Prince of Peace.
Similar scenes graced the barbed-wire front that scarred France from the Belgian border to the Swiss frontier. Of their own volition, these wretched warriors decided for a day to defy their orders.
On a hallowed night in a theater of Hell, they reminded the world we’re all still human. Perhaps that inferno wasn’t forsaken after all.
Many big moments have occurred on Christmas, including the biggest of all. But often it’s the little moments that matter most.
For three days in the Deep South, the temperature’s barely crested double digits. The external air is almost out of degrees. Yesterday morning, according to our thermometric ledger, it had only six left. In many places around the country, the account’s overdrawn.
Unfortunately, while the weather outside is frightful, inside our son has been under it. Alexander arrived home from Auburn with a sore throat, and has remained sick since. He mostly rested in bed and stayed in his room, where we’d slip him sustenance as if he were Edmond Dantés at Château d’If. Yesterday he greatly improved, so we think today he’ll manage to escape.
But even in “bleak mid-winter”, conditions could be worse. We could be crossing an icy river on a rickety raft, or stuck in some forlorn trench for no reason at all. Or, like too many Americans this weekend, we could be without power and shoveling snow.
Instead, we’re huddled with hot coffee, a warm fire, plenty of presents, our two sons and three pets. Bottles of wine fill the cellar, and cuts of steak adorn the grill. And we put the weather to work: with our freezer full, we were able for two days to preserve our Christmas Eve hens on our outdoor deck.
I love Christmas. It’s always been my favorite holiday. Not because of the gifts, but for the presence.
Growing up, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends would gather each year around a tree pregnant with packages. After delivery, we’d adjourn to a table that could barely contain the crowd, and resume the revelry deep into the night. And Rita and I would precede the festivities by joining my grandparents at Mass.
This year, our crowd is small. But the crib is full, and we’re blessed beside our happy hearth.
After all, it’s not the circumference that matters, but the center.
Merry Christmas.
JD
