The Light Shines in the Darkness...

In my more puritanical days, I was at best ambivalent about the observation of Christmas on December 25, and at worst cynical. This was because, in all likelihood, Jesus was not born on December 25. In addition, many of the traditions now associated with the observation of Christmas have pagan origins, and those whom I looked to as theological forebears were opposed to Catholic holy days. Charles Spurgeon expresses this view well in the first half of this paragraph from a sermon preached December 23, 1855:

This is the season of the year when, whether we wish it or not, we are compelled to think of the birth of Christ. I hold it to be one of the greatest absurdities under heaven to think that there is any religion in keeping Christmas-day. There are no probabilities whatever that our Saviour Jesus Christ was born on that day, and the observance of it is purely of Popish origin; doubtless those who are 
Catholics have a right to hallow it, but I do not see how consistent Protestants can account it in the least sacred. However, I wish there were ten or a dozen Christmas-days in the year; for there is work enough in the world, and a little more rest would not hurt labouring people. Christmas-day is really a boon to us; particularly as it enables us to assemble round the family hearth and meet our friends once more. Still, although we do not fall exactly in the track of other people, I see no harm in thinking of the incarnation and birth of the Lord Jesus. (emphasis mine. HT: Tim Challies)

This view is not without biblical warrant either, depending on how we interpret texts such as these:

Therefore let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink, or with regard to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath. These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ. (Colossians 2:16-17)

But now that you have come to know God, or rather to be known by God, how can you turn back again to the weak and worthless elementary principles of the world, whose slaves you want to be once more? You observe days and months and seasons and years! I am afraid I may have labored over you in vain. (Galatians 4:9-11)

presenting the treasures of Kidger's book, Christmas 2004

For a few years in the early 2000s, though I didn't spread tidings of "Bah! Humbug!", I was rather stoic about the remembrance of Jesus' birth on December 25. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of this, I was intrigued to study the origins of Christmas. My interest in astronomy already made me an observer of equinoxes and solstices, first in choosing those dates to cut my hair or shave my beard, and later with solstice parties, especially the winter solstice. For several years at Christmas I had a fascination with astronomical theories about the star of Bethlehem. I was glad to find that several professional astronomers had researched the matter and proposed plausible theories. As I remember now, the best book I read on the matter concluded that it was a conjunction of several planets in a constellation that was somehow associated with the Jewish nation. It was Mark Kidger's The Star of Bethlehem: An Astronomer's View; I also read some of Michael Molnar's The Star of Bethlehem. I don't recall if I finished either of the books, as is my custom, but they were both great reads. Recently I came across a more thorough explanation of the "signs in the heavens" surrounding both the birth and death of Jesus. Rick Larson, who is a doctor by profession and an amateur astronomer, makes a compelling case:



My former practice at solstice parties was to show It's A Wonderful Life. When my first attempt to show the film at a solstice party in Rock Hill was overruled in favor of a Jim Carrey slapstick, I decided maybe I'm the only one who cares to celebrate the solstice, or watch sappy Jimmy Stewart movies, or maybe both. So after 2005, I observed the solstice and watched my favorite movie alone, which probably saved me from a good deal of embarrassment since I tend to tear up a few dozen times every time I watch it. In spite of this, it's not a good movie to watch alone, because it concludes with a message that "no man is a failure who has friends." What a letdown. After identifying so much with George Bailey, the frustrated idealist who never gets to pursue his dreams, I looked around at the end of the movie and felt like I had no friends. But in the darkness of self-pity I started to ask questions, and that's when light dawned on a much deeper significance to George Bailey's character. Not only that, but pursuing that line of thought has led me to a new understanding of the significance of this time of year that persuades me that we should celebrate the birth of Christ on December 25. That will have to wait for another post; for now I'll let you laugh at my hokey tastes in film.