From whence did our Christmas peace come?
One of the marks of a modern Christmas is that the birth of Jesus is largely taken as a metaphor. Greeting cards briefly offer: “peace”; or maybe: “hope”. Just like Santa is a metaphor for generosity and good will, Jesus is widely seen as perhaps a metaphor for a vague sense of goodness and kindness. If a nativity scene can be found today, it symbolises something like: care for the poor, offering thoughts and prayers, love for my neighbour (and maybe the animals too). But any remembrance of Jesus the figure of history is largely seen as an eccentric thought.
However, the values we associate with Christ—love, care, service—don’t arise from the ancient world itself, nor the modern one (as we can see easily enough on the news).
Originally a secular historian, Tom Holland—from The Rest is History podcast, and the author of Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World—suggests that Christianity has shaped the modern western world more than anything else. In our hearts, he says, we are not Roman—with its brutal treatment of the weak and vulnerable (not that this doesn’t happen, but that we don’t agree with it when it does). Instead westerners value “Christian” ideals—at least in our aspiration. We aspire to care about the poor, the marginalised, the needy, the spiritually unlearned—values given to us not by Caesar but by Christ.
Through his research on Rome, Holland began to distance himself from the Empire’s value system: “I began to realise that actually, in almost every way I am ‘Christian’.”
Like for Holland, the kind of Christianity that exists en masse today is the residual kind that takes its morals from Jesus without footnoting him. Examples are the #Metoo movement with its care for victims, or the concept of human rights, or the prioritisation of the wellbeing of children (none of which could have gained traction in the Roman Empire with its ‘might is right’ mantra, but came from Christ).
Holland’s is a compelling thesis. And whether he intends this in a big way or not, it raises the question: why if so many don’t believe that Jesus is God’s Son—and that at best he’s a figurative inspiration for goodness—should we stick with the values he has given the world?
One answer may be: because they work—a pragmatic reason. But we could still ask: ‘why’?
Why stick with the value of service (for example we have a Prime Minister and Public Servants, rather than Overlords). Why stand by the care for the vulnerable (the homeless, refugees, and those without work)? Why defend Christian values against rising tides of populism and protectionism found around the globe (and in on our homes thanks to YouTube and TikTok)?
These questions may seem obvious. But that only shows how much we’ve been shaped by the baby in the feeding trough at Bethlehem. For example, he taught the world to value humility, rather than brute force.
Many of the values that both Christians and secular people hold dear at Christmas (and at other times) come to us via Jesus. They are by no means assumed around the world or in history. So why hold on to them? Why not go for strength, extremism, and personal wealth acquisition above all else? Many are.
Most of the new atheists of the early 2000s were Christian in their values. They largely assumed human rights were needed, the value of victims, and so forth. And yet they had dropped God. Many of us in Australia are the same today.
The problem is that the original potency of Christianity came because of its truth claims, not in spite of them. Christians who followed their Lord and the life he lived, did not believe themselves to be living for a metaphor, but for a man who has been raised to eternal life. It was the path they believed they too were taking. Many died for their convictions, in the hope of eternal life through Christ.
Try this experiment. Imagine you were living in a future fascist state, and someone put a gun to your head and asked: “pledge your allegiance to our great leader, and renounce all your gods and values, or I will kill you and your family.” What would you say?
Many of the original Christians were asked such questions. They said: come what may, we have to follow God, not people.
The man in the four gospels recorded for us in the Bible, invites us to draw near to him, to examine his life and teaching, and to make our verdict on him. History tells us he was a real figure. The question is: who is he? And what claim might he make on me?
CS Lewis once wrote in an often quoted section of his master-work, Mere Christianity:
A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic—on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg—or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronising nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.
Metaphors are cathartic. Most of Jesus’ teaching could be turned into metaphors for nice values we share. But that is not how they’re intended to be read. So we can have the Christmas service mindset—the good of others, above ourselves. But from whence does it come, without the humble baby who became the sacrificial man on the cross?
Merry Christmas. But why are we merry?
