Yesterday I vented some of my bile (don’t worry, I have plenty left) on the subversive slogan of modernity one sees on every public building in France.
But that’s not all one sees everywhere one goes, not during this season. For laid out in front of the church in every village is a beautiful Nativity scene.
Some of the crêches are simple, some quite elaborate. For example, the Nativity scene in one village near us occupies an area the size of a tennis court, with all the people and animals live-size or even bigger.
Christmas lights are everywhere, for all the government warnings about the need to save electricity. Such warnings are largely ignored. The people of a country constitutionally committed to secularism since 1905 won’t let the state prevent them from celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ with all the proper pomp and circumstance.
Churches all around us were bursting with worshippers last night – this though not every church had an ordained priest in attendance. All over Europe professions devoted to selfless, poorly paid service are losing staff, not just the clergy but also nurses, carers, charity workers.
In rural France, one priest often has to cover several churches, sometimes as many as 40 of them. Anyone sticking to the old-fashioned notion that Mass ought to be celebrated by an ordained clergyman has to make sure in advance that the service he plans to attend will be so blessed.
Ours was, and it was deeply moving. The regular curé was present but, at 95 or so, he was too frail to celebrate the Mass by himself. Most of the work was done by another priest, but the old man served the host and later said a few words, bidding a cheerful good-bye to the congregation.
The moving solemnity of the occasion was in contrast to this morning’s Sky News broadcast, featuring an interview with a seaman serving overseas. The seaman was actually a seawoman, which these days is par for the course.
Her interview served a useful reminder that Yuletide is conducive not only to joyous revelries and solemn contemplations but also to bone-crushing banality.
“Do you miss your family at Christmas?” “Yes.” “Tell us how your family celebrates Christmas.” At that point my ears perked up. Obviously, I thought, the interviewer knows that the reply will be whacky and imaginative.
It wasn’t: “We put on funny jumpers and paper hats, Mum makes a big meal, and we play a lot of Christmas music.” Well, I never. Some people will go out of their way to be original.
Yet this is the day when one doesn’t really crave originality. One longs for tradition instead, unifying not separating, same for all. So even that pointless interview didn’t jar this morning as it would have done on any other day.
Happy Christmas to all of you, my readers! May the simple joy of this day stay with you all year, unsullied by sadness and tragedy. If you can spare a thought for Him whose birthday we celebrate today, so much the better. But rest assured that, even if you can’t, He will be thinking of you, and His thoughts will be full of love.
P.S. If you plan to operate a car today, please take special care. Because men often drink a lot on Christmas Day, they ask their wives to drive.
Thank you for this! From Steve in La Grange, Illinois
From the darkest Cumbria, merry Christmas to you, Mr Boot.
And to you too. May all your doubts be resolved, all your prayers answered.
Like the seaperson and her family, I listened to a lot of Christmas music today. Almost all of it was composed by Bach, but Saint-Saëns, Mendelssohn and Gounod also contributed. I hope the clan of the seapersons enjoyed their Christmas music as much as I enjoyed mine.
Merry Christmas from unseasonably (but not dangerously) warm Lincolnshire to Mr Boot and all my fellow readers!
And a very merry Christmas to you too! ‘Almost all Bach’ shows that God has led you to the right destination, and I pray — nay, know — you’ll never deviate.
Steal the baby Jesus from the crèche and you are surely bound for hell.
We have our own village of nativity sets – five in all. On the front lawn we have the largest, the figures half of life-size. I put up the stable with the Holy Family early in the season, to counteract all of the frivolous (and some fun) decorations. I add the angel, shepherd, sheep, steer, and ass on Christmas eve. I add the wise men and camel on the Epiphany. The whole set stays up until Candlemas. On the walkway towards the front door we have a smaller set carved in Bethlehem out of native olive wood. Inside the house are three more sets. The first is visible as one enters the house, at the end of the hallway. In the living room is a small set on the mantle. Finally, in the bedroom is the set my mother and father bought for their first Christmas together. A quick glance fills my head with wonderful memories. All are lit from the first Sunday in Advent through Candlemas.
A late very merry Christmas to you, sir!