Well, here we go again. This is already the third year in a row when, every December, this blog turns into a festive, critical–nostalgic hybrid. Tradition is tradition, even if it’s a secular one. So here’s a small reminder of this great saga.
Two years ago, I wrote about how I went from a devout Christmas-loving kid, through a rebellious teenager reading about aliens, to an atheist who stubbornly recreates the magic of Christmas for his own children. I argued that you can draw from Christian heritage without believing in its dogmas. A kind of Christmas manifesto.
Last year, I was irritated by Mariah Carey, commercialism, and political correctness, so I wrote a nostalgic post in praise of domestic chaos, the smell of cookies, and the right of believers to say “Merry Christmas” without guilt. Grumpy, but warm — about cultural confusion.
And this year? This year, my friends, we’re stepping onto the slippery ground of Christmas archaeology and church marketing. We’ll dig through history, joke around, and smile indulgently at how reality gets colored in. We’re heading to Palestine from 2025 years ago! Although, to be politically correct, I should say we’re traveling to Judea under the reign of Herod the Great — a Roman province in the Middle East that later historians, for convenience, would call Palestine. A land inhabited by the people of Israel, but controlled by the Roman Empire. And it was there, in that small and volatile corner of the world, that a story unfolded which forever changed our calendar.
Picture a scene straight out of the Gospel of Luke. Nighttime. Shepherds are watching over their flocks on the surrounding hills. Peaceful, idyllic. Except, my friends, there’s a small climate problem. In Herod’s time, winters were real winters, especially in the highlands around Bethlehem. December nights could be freezing, with rainfall to match. No self-respecting shepherd would leave his flock out overnight in the middle of winter. Theoretically possible — practically stupid.
Shepherds with sheep in open fields make sense in spring or autumn, when the grass is green and the nights are relatively mild. So the Bible itself gives us the first and best clue that the historical Jesus was most likely born sometime between March and October. No December! Although, if climate change had existed back then on today’s scale, and Bethlehem had modern 12-degree December nights, maybe Mary and Joseph would have been a bit cozier in that stable. But that’s just my little aside.
While we’re talking about dates — Jesus was born before Christ. Sounds absurd, but it’s true. The monk Dionysius Exiguus, who calculated the beginning of the new era in the 6th century, made a mistake. Today, historians are almost certain that Jesus was born between 8 and 4 BC — before his own birth, nicely done, right? Herod the Great died in 4 BC, and Jesus had to be born during his lifetime. It took two thousand years to figure that out!
Alright, so if not December, where did this holiday come from? This is where the Church showed some brilliant marketing instincts. Imagine a massive egocentric. Someone looking at the powerful, joyful pagan Roman festivals — Saturnalia. Feasts, gifts, and the cult of the Unconquered Sun, celebrated precisely on December 25th, the winter solstice. Everyone’s busy celebrating, rejoicing in the light, and our egocentric thinks: “This is all great, but shame it’s not about Me!” So what does he do? He takes over the game. Declares December 25th the day of the true Light — Jesus Christ. From now on, you celebrate His birth! A brilliant move. Pagan solstice becomes Christmas. Out of a selfish need to be at the center, a universal tradition lasting centuries is born.
And where did it all happen? The Gospels of Matthew and Luke say Bethlehem. Common sense suggests that Jesus was widely known as “Jesus of Nazareth.” That’s where he grew up and where his family lived. It seems more likely he was born there, and the Bethlehem story is a beautiful theological fairy tale. My guess? The truth lies somewhere in between. Jesus, if he truly existed, was probably born somewhere in Galilee.
Does this ruin the magic of Christmas? For me — absolutely not.
I do something similar myself. I appropriate Christmas symbols, cut them off from theology, and fill them with my own secular meaning: family, warmth, a pause from the rush. Whoever doesn’t do this, let them cast the first stone! So this year, when we once again sit down to borscht with dumplings while it’s 12 degrees outside, let’s remember — we’re celebrating the light that people have worshipped since the dawn of time during the darkest part of the year, and the warmth we give each other. The rest is a beautiful, old story that helped this idea survive. And we’re lucky to be part of it.
Merry, historically inaccurate Christmas!
And to mark the beginning of longer days and brighter thoughts, I’ll leave you with a song about the return of light after a long, dark winter. About that first warm breath of spring. About stepping out of the shadows and simple, pure happiness.