Dear Countdown Companions:
This being the Monday after the first Sunday of Advent means that time, like that ever-flowing stream, will bear us all to the inevitable December 25 when we will proclaim Christ’s birth (and wonder why we put out so many decorations when it was warmer, since now it's way too cold to put them away).
In anticipation, our world organizes itself to tick off the moments until that particular day—Christmas.
It's very tough for us as North Americans to imagine Mary and Joseph trudging to Bethlehem in anything but, as Christina Rossetti memorably described, "the bleak midwinter," surrounded by "snow on snow on snow." To us, Christmas and December are inseparable. But for the first three centuries of Christianity, Christmas wasn't in December—or on the calendar at all.
When observed, the celebration of Christ's birth was usually lumped in with Epiphany (January 6), one of the church's earliest established feasts. Some church leaders even opposed the idea of a birth celebration. Origen (c.185-c.254) preached that it would be wrong to honor Christ in the same way Pharaoh and Herod were honored; birthdays were for pagan gods.
Not all of Origen's contemporaries agreed; some speculated on the date, as actual records were long lost. Clement of Alexandria (c.150-c.215) favored May 20, but others argued for April 18, April 19 or May 28. Hippolytus (c.170-c.236) championed January 2. November 17, November 20 and March 25 all had backers as well. A Latin treatise written around 243 pegged March 21, because that was believed to be the date on which God created the sun. Polycarp (c.69-c.155) had followed the same line of reasoning to conclude that Christ's birth and baptism most likely occurred on Wednesday, because the sun was created on the fourth day (Genesis 1.14-19).
The eventual choice of December 25, perhaps as early as 273, reflects a convergence of Origen's concern about pagan gods and the church's identification of God's son with the celestial sun. December 25 already hosted two pagan festivals: Natalis Solis Invicti (the Roman "birth of the unconquered sun") and the birthday of Mithras, the Iranian "sun of righteousness" whose worship was popular with Roman soldiers. The winter solstice, another celebration of the sun, fell just a few days earlier. Seeing that pagans were already exalting deities with some parallels to the true Deity, church leaders decided to commandeer the date and introduce a new festival.
Western Christians first celebrated Christmas on December 25 in 336, after Emperor Constantine had declared Christianity the empire's favored religion. Eastern churches, however, held on to January 6 as the date for Christ's birth and his baptism. Most Easterners eventually adopted December 25, celebrating Christ's birth on the earlier date and his baptism on the latter, but the Armenian church celebrates his birth on January 6. Incidentally, the Western church does celebrate Epiphany on January 6, but as the arrival date of the Magi rather than as the date of Christ's baptism at the age of 30.
Another wrinkle was added in the sixteenth century when Pope Gregory devised a new calendar that was unevenly adopted. The Eastern Orthodox and some Protestants retained the Julian calendar, which meant they celebrated Christmas 13 days later than their Gregorian counterparts. Most—but not all—of the Christian world now agrees on the Gregorian calendar and the December 25 date.
The pagan origins of the Christmas date, as well as pagan origins for many Christmas customs (gift-giving and merrymaking from Roman Saturnalia; greenery, lights and charity from the Roman New Year; Yule logs and various foods from Teutonic feasts) have always fueled arguments against the holiday. "It’s just paganism wrapped with a Christian bow," complains one anti-Christmas website.
Indeed, for centuries in Scotland, December 25 was just another workday. In 1580 John Knox banned the celebration of Christmas following the Apostle Paul’s admonition to hold no days special or holy. Besides, any celebration with the word Mass in it was clearly too Catholic and could not be trusted. Christmas was not officially or legally celebrated in Scotland for nearly 400 years. It wasn’t until the 1950’s that Christmas was an official holiday.
But, as a fourth century theologian asserted, "We hold this day holy, not like the pagans because of the birth of the sun, but because of him who made it."
And so, it clearly, confidently, unavoidably, most defiantly arrives just on the date we anticipate—December 25—with or without the vote of Session. Like a birthday, it is and will come.
Unfortunately, the season has ceased to be about the certainty of anticipation and instead has been twisted into the unpredictability of hope. While we know that the date of Christmas will come, we are cautiously unsure if we will get what we want, and therein lies the danger of this season, and perhaps our darkest compromise with a pagan world.
Pagan gods need to be seduced. They need to be convinced. If you want the sun to come back from winter, you’ve got to convince him it’s worth the journey. If you want your harvest to be plentiful, sacrifices will improve your odds. If you want your wife to love you, there are incantations, bling to buy, lotions and potions that might make it happen. If your children are sick, here's a list of prayers, and maybe your hopes will be fulfilled—that is, if the gods are convinced!
Of course, we don’t think that way, do we? What about just the right gift for Christmas? Or the decorations that will give off a perfect holiday feel, or invitations that will finally convince that son-in-law to not be a jerk to your daughter? There‘s a short line between pagan worship and how we are tempted to behave!
It is this simple principle from the Gospel of Christ: a pagan hopes; a Christian believes.
And so, at the beginning of this season, the beginning of the liturgical year, we start with things certain—not wistful or dreamy, but things we proclaimed true. Without a doubt, Christ was born, and with equal confidence we anticipate his return. While we cannot mark with certainty the specific day of ether event, it is fact as sure as a birth: God arrives.
Wandering through the reason for the season, I remain,
With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor
Dear Gathering People:
If you have endured my long-form tour of our worship space, you’ve heard me ramble about the architectural work of Charles Edward Stade, who designed our Sanctuary. Fresh off his commission for the Chapel of the Resurrection at Valparaiso University in 1961, Stade’s Park Ridge firm was engaged by FPCLG to bring modern interpretation to classical Christian forms. To my taste, we caught Stade at just the right moment in the development of his style. Stade’s later designs were stamped by an obsession for A-frame structure. Literally hundreds of churches built in the 1960s and ‘70s reflect his direct and indirect influence. Long sloping roofs covering little checkerboards of windows became his hallmark. You can see local examples, including Winnetka Presbyterian Church, Trinity Lutheran Church of Lombard and Bethel United Church of Christ in Elmhurst. Our windows in both the cloisters and clerestory reflect his early fascination with tiny boxes of color, but unlike later works, ours are muted blues, grays