Now that the office Christmas party season I in full swing, I am reminded that Christmas is said to fall at this time of year because it was intended to replace the pagan winter festival, the Saturnalia. The notable features of Saturnalia were a great deal to drink and a reversal of roles; for a short time, the slaves were masters and practical jokes and riotous behaviour were the order of the day. When I think of the pranks that the boys in post room play on the crustier partners, and what the accounts girls are up to their dishier juniors in the muniments room , it can’t be said that Church’s attempt to sanitise the festival has been an unequivocal success. But contemporary Christmas jollity, like the ancient festival, is a temporary affair; a brief exception to the rule leaving the status quo in place for the rest of the year.
This riotous behaviour is only one feature of the mixture that makes up our Christmas celebration; another reason for putting it at the end of December must surely be to mark our relief that the days are getting longer, only just, but perceptibly, and in due time Spring will come round again. We are past the dark moment and can look forward again to brighter future.
In our religious life we feel the comfort of being reminded that our God has come into our world. The dark waiting of Advent has ended with the heart warming presence of a new born baby. True, the immediate circumstances of his birth are rather unorthodox, and decidedly uncomfortable, but they are turned on their head in picture and song as the baby is warmed by the breath of an ox and gentle gaze of an ass. The baby is strangely isolated in his manger, and as vulnerable as any newborn animal, but he is surrounded by a warm glow from adoring parents, shepherds and wise men.
There is, however, something temporary about this relief and these cosy and familiar scenes. Like the Saturnalian riot, they do not last, but are respite from a real world which will continue in the New Year as it was before.
These reflections rather suggest that Christmas is an introspective affair and of course that is not entirely true; it also involves sending out cards, exchanging presents and, most significantly, an awareness of the less fortunate and generous giving to charity. We gather as families and frequently invite outsiders into our homes. There is, however, a certain unintended and no doubt subconscious, complacency in this generosity; it is a gathering in, rather than a reaching out. We confirm our own comfortable position by sharing it with others. We do not think of Christmas as the time to ask ourselves difficult questions about our position, about why it is that the world outside is cold and dangerous.
But it is just these questions which are raised in Mary’s song. The words of the Magnificat are so familiar that we are likely to miss their subversive message, although it is very similar to the message that so many prophets announced to earlier generations.
We do not need to take a view on the historical accuracy of Luke’s stories about the miraculous births of John and Jesus; the importance of the stories is to set John and Jesus firmly in the prophetic tradition. John’s mother, Elizabeth, follows a line of usually elderly and childless women who conceive heroic boys who dedicate themselves to God’s work. I am thinking of Sarah, mother of Isaac, the unnamed mother of Samson and, especially, of Samuel’s mother, Hannah.
You will all remember the story of Samuel and Eli; “Speak Lord, thy servant heareth” and so on, but some may be less clear about how Samuel got to Shiloh in the first place. His mother Hannah had been weeping about her childless state when Eli, the priest at Shiloh, found her and told her that her prayer would be answered. She promised that if it was, she would dedicate the boy to serve God. Her prayer was answered; and she fulfilled her promise.
Mary’s conception of Jesus is equally miraculous, and she places herself firmly in the prophetic tradition with her song of praise which echoes and even seems to quote Hannah’s song which she sang as she handed over the poor little infant Samuel to serve God at Eli at Shiloh. Mary, however, was a young girl, not a wife expected to have had children; her youth, and perhaps her virginity, add an interesting twist to the tradition. Her child will be a new sort of prophet.
Hannah’s song is about the strength of the Lord, his indomitable and almost capricious power to raise up and cast down, but most especially his power over the enemies of Israel. This belligerence must be seen in the context of the promises made to God’s people. The “enemies” are those who would frustrate that purpose and they experience God’s wrath just as the Israelites themselves are castigated for their pride and greed. God’s purpose for his people is as much endangered by external enemies as the corrupting behaviour of his own people, and especially their leaders.
The gentler, and more sympathetic Luke has softened some of the more abrasive aspects of the song, but it remains disturbing.; in some ways more disturbing, as the emphasis has shifted from the external enemies of Israel to be conquered in battle, to the people of God themselves and their faults which corrode a proper relationship with God. The rich and powerful are proud and conceited and without fear of the Lord- “fear “ here meaning awe or respect rather than timidity or terror. The implication is that that wealth and position are barriers to a proper relationship with God. “He has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent empty away.” The message is indeed alarming for those like me, who seem to spend a good deal of money at Christmas and a good deal of energy making mince pies.
Happily, however, there is plenty in the Bible to suggest that despite our shortcomings God encourages us to celebrate and will forgive our excesses if we will acknowledge them. I have mentioned the element of criticism of contemporary society which we find in the Old Testament prophets, but there is also prophecy in the sense of foretelling, sometimes prediction of disaster, but more enduringly, visions of the Kingdom. I am thinking especially of the Old Testament readings which we have heard in last few weeks, telling of the reign of righteousness and justice, of reconciliation and joy. The coming of the Messiah makes this happy state possible and we aright to celebrate it. Indeed, in the Gospels Jesus frequently uses feasting to symbolise the Kingdom, and the evangelists have Jesus spending a lot of his time with his feet under a table.
There need be no inconsistency in this celebration and the more austere message of the Magnificat. Rather, the disturbance of Mary’s song and the teaching of Jesus which it foretells, should go together. There can be no lasting reign of peace while injustice exists; there can be no meaningful righteousness while we are proud and without a genuine “fear of the Lord”. I have said that it sometimes seems that Christmas is a sort of truce; a period of generosity, a break in the hostility, a moment of warmth and good cheer in the middle of winter, real and metaphorical. The Magnificat is promoting something more radical and more lasting; we need to examine the imagination of our hearts; what is the right relationship with God, his creation and our fellow creatures?
We can be justifiably pleased with the happiness we have sent into the world (I am thinking of the Christmas shoe boxes) and no doubt the collection at the Carol Service tonight will again be impressively generous. But we would have so much more to celebrate if the world order was changed; if the poor did not need to rely on the rich for charity; if power and strength were always informed by humility and compassion. Such changes are happening, but it needs a radical change in each of our hearts to bring them to fruition and to usher in for all time the reign of the Prince of Peace.