OUR people at large are becoming more and more unfit, to keep the joyous feast of Bethlehem. Two1 free holidays are still on every hand a matter of desire. To be free from work has something about it, that charms the child as well as the man of years. To bring somewhat more light into the darkness of these somber, mid-winter days, cheers home and heart.
And when, agreeable with foreign custom, a Christmas tree appears in the midst of merrymakers, and all sorts of presents are to be picked from its branches, even in entirely unbelieving families Christmas joy will reach such heights, that unconsciously one drinks in poetry and even at times sees remembrances of the world of angels, which long since were outworn, loom up on the background of the depopulated field of his imagination.
Christmas trees, Christmas cakes, Christmas presents, Christmas parties, Christmas songs, Christmas books, truly, all these abound in overwhelming multiplicities. Even far more than ever before. Only the Christmas babe, the holy Child of God has disappeared from such Christmas keeping.
Sometimes a Madonna with the Christchild on her arm is still tolerated, not because of what this Babe was and is to us, but because of the beautiful appearance, in which the artist enchantingly produces his image before our eyes.
And amid all this noisy Christmas keeping, and this less chaste and less elegant Christmas amusement, christian society at large begins more and more to carry the impression of a mother at the cradle, but a cradle from which her child has been stolen.
The degree of this unbelief differs. Here a false preacher, who still abuses God’s holy house, by assailing from the pulpit the beautiful story of Christmas. There a “pious” modernist, who for his own benefit revives the Christmas story in all its details, but only as poetry, as facinating human ideality. Yonder a cynical mocker, who celebrates Christmas by distributing among his table companions shameful glosses on the mystery of Bethlehem. Or else a righteous misanthrope of our age, who lets you celebrate what you will, but in whose recollection or perception, so far as he is concerned, Christmas or the Christmas-myth has no more count.
But though not all unbelief, that robs the Babe from the manger of Bethlehem, is of one origin and of the selfsame tendency, yet this criticism, this poetry, this mockery, and this indifference are all alike in this, that for our troubled and impoverished world, they have extinguished the beautiful light of Bethlehem.
Over against this, indeed, stands the Christian world in a narrower sense. And in these narrower circles there is even bolder confession, more open-hearted rejoicing, and the Christmas note resounds more warmly, than when the former century came to its close.
Especially the Sunday school did wonders.
The parochial schools followed suit.
Our treasury of Song increased itself. Engravings multiplied themselves. Festivity after festivity is announced in these circles at Christmas-time.
One lives, one enjoys, one loses himself in it, and freely it may be said, that since the Reformation there was never so much made of Christmas as now.
Also because the poor are more generously remembered, compassion is more abundant, and seeks to prepare gladness for the child of the poor for the sake of the Babe of Bethlehem.
But what are these small circles of confessors in the face of that broad, masslike circle of those who have renounced the Savior of the world, or have allowed Him to die away from their heart. Moreover, what little depth frequently, what little seriousness, little spiritual sense there is in this Christian keeping of Christmas. And likewise, what striking similarity there is at times between Christmas keeping in a Christian family and in an unbelieving household, when a Christmas-tree is carried into the banquet hall of either as a Christmas gift.
Truly, here also it is not all gold that glitters.
And when you take the two figures of Bethlehem, on one side Mary, absorbed in quiet, blessed worship, with the expression on her face of overwhelming spiritual wealth; and on the other side the three heathen princes, who with great pomp, with servants and with camels, come to present their gold and myrrh, is it too much to say, that in the olden days our churches exhibited more the image of Mary, and now perhaps more the image of these busy, active, rich princes at the manger?
Of course, these wise men from the East had a place there; and by no manner of means would we silence this more noisy cheer on our Christmas days. Children must be made happy in other ways than people of years and of richer experience. According to one’s position in life, his exhibition of joy assumes a more restful or noisier form. And friendly laughter and the expression of exuberant joy, which at Christmas-time plays on the face of thousands and thousands of children, betray a wealth of enjoyment for the human heart, of which it must not be robbed, and which, even if it were merely by way of propaganda, always stands related to the little Child of Bethlehem.