Ye modern throng, whose tinsel joys reveal
The strain’d and labour’d ecstasies you feel;
Whose empty pastimes hold a spurious bliss,
And feebly copy brighter days than this:
Your clumsy games suspend, and pause to hear
Of genuine mirth, and ancient Christmas cheer!
Would that some Druid, wise in mystic lore,
Might waft me backward to the scenes of yore;
Midst happier years my wand’ring soul detain,
And let me dwell in ANNA’S virtuous reign;
Warm in the honest glow of pure content,
And share the boons of rustic merriment.
—H.P. Lovecraft, “Old Christmas”
IT MIGHT be a bit strange to open an Advent-tide article with a quote from horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, but although a master of the macabre and an atheist, the Sage of Providence loved Christmas. This introduction opens a long poem wherein HPL recounts the happy and hearty celebration of Christmas in the early 19th century under Queen Anne, last of the Stuarts to actually reign over the three kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland. HPL did not believe in the Divinity of Christ, but he valued as part of a sane society the various observances surrounding His birth.
Indeed, it may well be said that Christmas, if anything, offers refuge from the ever-increasing insanity with which we find ourselves surrounded. For many in the United States, the defeat of Kamala Harris is a blessing; for a great many in Europe, the way in which the establishment political parties bend the rules to keep their “right-wing” opponents out of power — all the while ignoring growing crime and attempting to suppressing their farming sectors — continues to appall. The Ukrainian War grinds on, making ever more widows and orphans on both sides, while the Near East clings to its habitual insanity. Chinese Catholics, still persecuted by their relentless Communist government, may no longer count on the Holy See as an ally. So it goes, the whole world over.
But Advent is come, and with it, our whole crazed planet from time to time has to draw its collective attention — willy-nilly — to the Birth of Christ. Whether for retail or other reasons — albeit during the preparatory season of Advent, rather than the proper period including and after December 25 — everyone is bombarded with “Christmas” songs and decorations — even while Nativity Scenes are banned in many places. As usual, the attempt shall be made to smother Christmas under a pile of “Holiday” trappings. Just as usual, we are expected to push back as we can.
It is interesting to note that Christmas was seen by the Puritans as the epitome of the Medieval religions and culture they sought to banish. Here, they were definitely on to something. From the time the Faith became legal, Christmas grew in elaborate celebration, both liturgical and popular, and never looked back. To the tired canard that Christ was not born on December 25, we may point out that the Annunciation is the oldest feast, and from the 2nd century was primarily celebrated on March 25 (do the math!).
As the Faith spread and the various Liturgical families grew and developed, the celebration of Christmas absorbed all sorts of customs, varying from people to people, and even province to province. By the High Middle Ages, the period from Christmas to Candlemas — and especially the Twelve Days at the beginning of the season — were incredibly joyous. From Imperial and Royal Courts to fisherman’s, farmer’s, and forester’s cottages, the birth of Christ was celebrated by each according to his ability. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight reminds us of the lavish way in which the high-born kept the feast and its aftermath; innumerable folk tales and customs show us the manners of the humbler people. The holly, ivy, and mistletoe; the Boar’s Head carol and feast; mummers’ plays — on and on the celebrations went — at least until John Knox in Scotland and Oliver Cromwell in England made war upon the holy tide.
When Cromwell murdered King Charles I — who had loved Christmas — he not only banned the feast, he outlawed mince pie, for fear someone should celebrate it on the sly. Puritan New England happily imitated Old ‘Noll; but the Cavaliers of Maryland and Virginia followed their colleagues in the mother country by more or less secretly observing the festival. From the pens of several Cavalier propagandists emerged Father Christmas, the personification of all it had been and meant. In their pages he gallantly defended old England; and when at last the tyrant died and Charles II was restored, he was considered vindicated. Nevertheless, Christmas had suffered quite the blow, and as the 18th century wore on in England and the Stuarts were repeatedly defeated, the feast’s hold on the popular imagination slowly faded. This is perhaps why Lovecraft places his ideal Christmas celebration in Queen Anne’s reign.
Meanwhile, in the 1660s England under her restored King gained a new territory — what is now New York. There, the Dutch settlers, although Calvinists themselves, had kept St. Nicholas’ day — and the Eastern bishop remained the gift giver. Generations would go by, until in the early 19th century, American writer Washington Irving would discover the Dutch customs, and fall in love with them. He travelled to England and met Sir Walter Scott, who was in turn rehabilitating the Catholic past — Christmas alongside it. Scott in turn introduced his new friend to Abraham Bracebridge, squire of Aston Hall, near Birmingham, England. Irving was enchanted by the “Olde Englisshe” Christmas kept there and wrote of it in his famous Sketch Book. A young fan of Irving’s, one Charles Dickens, was inspired by it to write A Christmas Carol, first of a number Christmas stories he would write. Together, with Queen Victoria’s new husband, the German Prince Albert — who introduced such Yuletide customs as the Christmas Tree to the British Court — Dickens’ work revived the celebration in Britain, and spread it in the United States and the British Empire.
But in America, in a certain sense New York has retained Christmas supremacy. St. Nicholas was definitively transformed into St. Nicholas by Gotham poet Clement Clarke Moore, and began to gain his modern image through the work of New York cartoonist Thomas Nast (although Coca-Cola ads would later codify the colours of his uniform). Eventually, the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center, the Macy’s and other department stores’ Christmas displays, and certainly Miracle on 34th Street (original and remake) sealed New York’s place in the secular Christmas world. Santa Claus would cross the Atlantic, and merge with Father Christmas.
For the Catholic, of course, all of this is secondary to the religious observance of the season. Indeed, throughout the Catholic world, from the Rorate Masses of Central Europe to the Simbang Gabi of the Philippines to Los Pastores and Las Posadas of Mexico and our own Southwest, all of the various customs — liturgical, para-liturgical, and strictly household — that characterise the Advent to Mardi Gras period relate back to the mysteries commemorated by the various feasts. To the degree that we can and that it makes sense (our ethnic backgrounds, and the like) we should adapt what we can of these things to our own circumstances.
The truth is that most of the year — to a greater or lesser degree — we must accept the fact that our God and our religion mean little to those who rule us and who dominate our media, and educational systems. Every day we are forced to tolerate the poison spewed out in blasphemy. But this is a time of year when we need not do so. Every act of celebration, as it was when the Cavaliers fought Cromwell in the name of Old England, is in fact a stroke wield in combat, defending all that is good and true. To the degree that joy in the greatness of Christmastide fills our hearts, we have displaced the enemy from therein. Like the Puritans, the devil rejoices in hatred and misery. But this time of year, everything encourages us to love and joy — if we allow it to.
In such a conflict, roasted chestnuts, fruitcake, eggnog, Tom and Jerries, Danish cherry brandy, and Gluehwein may be as much weapons (if not so elevated) as Christmas prayers. Cromwell saw this quite well — hence the outlawing of mince pie. The devil makes an especial assault upon us this time of year, hence the suicide attempts, and the whole “Blue Christmas” thing.
Let us then fight back, with “Merry Christmas” on our lips, and Nativity sets in our homes. Let us decorate on Christmas Eve, and serve whatever fish dishes our fathers ate. Let us revel in Midnight Mass, and sing all the carols we can think of through the Twelve Days and beyond — keeping up as much of the Christmas decorations as don’t pose a fire hazard until Candlemas Eve. Let our homes be as so many fortresses of Christmas cheer, and let us unite in spirit with all the many celebrations across the globe. If we see any of our fellow men down or depressed, let us do our best to lift their spirits too, as we can — Christ is born, and we can truly rejoice — until the stroke of Midnight on Ash Wednesday ushers in Lent, and the next chapter of our pilgrimage through the year begins — a different conflict, with different weapons.
