Article
Christmas survival
Comment
4 min read

Challenging OCD on Christmas Eve

A night without usual fears allows faith to be reclaimed.

Paula Duncan is a PhD candidate at the University of Aberdeen, researching OCD and faith.

A nocturnal snow-covered scene of a tree, chapel and Christmas tree casting shadows.
A chapel in Krün Germany.
Andreas Kretschmer on Unsplash.

The display on my car tells me that it’s just gone 11pm on Christmas Eve, and the temperature is below freezing. It’s the sort of cold that catches your breath the minute you step outside. The trees are glittering with frost. The stars are sharp and clear in the sky. Everything feels still and clean. In the carpark, I can hear the muffled notes of the organ playing familiar Christmas carols. People in Christmas jumpers are trickling in through the main church door. I can see Santa hats, some reindeer antler headbands; some kids have woolly hats tugged down over their ears. I haven’t been to a Christmas Eve service since I was a child.  

I take a deep breath and try to let go of some of the anxiety about being here. My Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder doesn’t take a break for the festive season. I have previously written about my experience with OCD: the way that it impacts my experience of faith and how it makes going to church feel difficult. I find it a challenge to sit with the doubt and uncertainty of not being 100 per cent sure that I believe in God but badly wanting to. I struggle with not knowing what verses of the Bible will be read and how I will feel. I worry about something sparking my OCD and then being held hostage by my own intrusive thoughts. This always feels worse when I’m tired, too. I am far more likely to engage with the intrusive thoughts my OCD offers up when I’m not well rested. But I’m here. Despite feeling nervous, I am happy to be here. The warm glow of the light inside the church is welcoming and the low hum of happy voices feels reassuring as everyone discusses their Christmas plans.  

There is a flurry of chatter as we are all invited to wish one another a ‘merry Christmas!’ and then we fall into a restless and expectant silence as Christmas day begins.

I don’t have the usual fear of the unknown today. We are here for the carols and the watchnight service – eagerly awaiting midnight and the dawn of Christmas Day. I might not know exactly what the structure of the service will be, but I can almost guarantee that the reading will begin with words from the Gospel of Luke. We’ll be told of the census of the Roman world, and we’ll hear that Mary and Joseph would have to travel to Bethlehem. There will be no room in the inn. The baby Jesus will be born, and laid in a manger.  

This story is one that I heard at childhood Christingle services. It’s the one that we were told every year in primary school with abundant colourful crafts to help us to remember the key points. I’m reminded of nativity plays – watching them and being part of them, and the slightly off-key renditions of ‘Away in a Manger’. I remember doing the reading as a Girl Guide – nervously practicing beforehand to make sure that I could pronounce all the words correctly. I remember being proud of myself for standing up and reading at all.  

Armed with those memories as I cross the carpark, I know there is going to be nothing unexpected in the Christmas Eve service. My OCD still finds ways to make its presence known – I insist that I get to sit at the end of a row because that’s where I feel most comfortable. I read the order of service a few times to check that everything there is as I expect. I make some concessions to anxiety for the sake of being able to turn up at all. But I am here, and I feel safe.  

The readings are exactly as I expected. I know all of the Christmas carols that we sing. At midnight, there is a flurry of chatter as we are all invited to wish one another a ‘merry Christmas!’ and then we fall into a restless and expectant silence as Christmas day begins and we wait for the minister to say a few words about what this means. I am with my family and there are familiar faces in the congregation – people I know from various places. It’s nice knowing that we are all here for the same reason and with the same intention.  

There are many cheerful Christmas wishes as we leave the church and I’m proud of myself for being here. Maybe my faith is something I can reclaim from my OCD eventually, however slowly. For now, I look up to the sky as we head back out into the carpark and smile at the stars twinkling down at us. I feel perfectly fine.  

Since that year, lockdown excluded, my family have been to the watchnight or the Christingle services most years. As a theology student, I sometimes feel a little self-conscious about how infrequently I go to church. I sometimes joke about being a Christmas Christian in terms of my church attendance and certainly in how I engage with the Bible. I like to read a little on Christmas day and I love watching the televised service on the BBC on Christmas morning. It’s the time of year where I am perhaps most active in my engagement with my faith. I look forward to going to the Christmas Eve church services now. It’s the one time where I don’t have to battle with anxiety about going to church and know that plenty of other people are here as infrequently as I am. My OCD comes along with me, certainly, but I feel safe to be here just as I am. 

Article
Comment
Freedom of Belief
Politics
5 min read

No George, Christians aren’t free to worship in Iran

Apologists make a mockery of the real costs of freedom of belief.

Steve is news director of Article 18, a human rights organisation documenting Christian persecution in Iran.

A couple stand on the steps of a cathedral in Iran.
On location with George Galloway.

I guess it’s a good job he’s no longer a member of parliament, or George Galloway may be facing the same scrutiny Nigel Farage came under for his trips to the United States. 

It probably won’t surprise you to hear that the former MP for Rochdale didn’t head to the Land of the Free on his own extracurricular jaunt the other week, but instead to Tehran and Moscow.  

And no, George wasn’t there to remind Iran of its obligations to provide human rights for its citizens - as some might expect of a British MP - nor did he go to Russia to put pressure on Putin to end the war in Ukraine. 

No, George was simply visiting his comrades - distinct as they may be - and doing his bit for their distinct causes. 

Mr Galloway published two videos during his visit to Iran - both published on his X account - and both showing him standing outside the buildings of a recognised religious minority (meaning, in Iran, Jews, Zoroastrians and Assyrian or Armenian Christians. Not converts or Baha’is). 

In the first video, the man in the black hat is standing outside a synagogue in Tehran, which he tells his audience doesn’t even have a guard outside “because they don’t need one”, as the “millions” of Jews who live in Iran (actually there are less than 10,000) are so “honoured” and “cherished”. 

They even have their own members in the parliament, he tells us (actually it’s just the one), and “you didn’t know any of this, did you? Because they don’t want you to know.” 

Well, now you do.  

And, thanks again to the former Member for Rochdale, two days later you were also able to discover, much to your surprise, that Iran is also home to “so many Christian churches.” (For the record there are around 300, but none of them open to converts.) 

This time, Mr Galloway is speaking to you from outside an Armenian cathedral, still wearing the same outfit and therefore presumably recorded on the same day but published two days later - perhaps to give you enough time to digest your first lesson. 

Inside the cathedral, George assures us, there are “many worshippers quietly going about their religious obligations,” which is “quite different from the picture that is painted of Iran in Western countries,” don’t you think? 

And what would that picture be, eh, George? 

That Christians are routinely arrested and imprisoned for meeting together to worship, and in years past the leaders of their churches - including Armenians - were even murdered on those same Tehran streets on which you are now standing? 

But no matter, here at least is clear proof that one church in Iran is still functioning - as well as that synagogue; don’t forget the synagogue! - and as Mr Galloway proudly informed us 24 hours after his first video, nearly one million people (according to X it was closer to 50,000) had watched it. 

So, job done. Let’s not worry about the details. They take too much time to research, and can also trip one up when trying to make a point - especially regarding Iran’s treatment of religious minorities or, well, anyone really. 

But no matter, one can guarantee that most viewers won’t have bothered to look into it, nor scroll down far enough to reach the dissent. 

Now, I don’t know whether it was because George hadn’t quite lived up to his billing, but a few days later some “real journalists” arrived from the Grayzone website to add their own insights. 

The Brits had been told; now it was the turn of the Americans.  

“Americans may be surprised to know Christians exist in Iran and are allowed to practice their religion freely.” 

So wrote Grayzone News’ Anya Parimpil on X, alongside a post showing a short video from inside - wow, they actually let the Americans inside! - another Armenian cathedral, this time in Isfahan. 

And alongside a few more pictures of the church, Ms Parimpil posted some photographs of “ancient bibles” - no capital ‘B’ needed, it would seem, nor explanation that today in Iran Bibles are often used as evidence of a “crime” in court cases against Christians. 

Meanwhile, Ms Parimpil’s husband, Max Blumenthal, posted a long video interview with the Islamic Republic of Iran’s favourite interviewee, Mohammad Marandi, as they walked around a Tehran cemetery. 

You can watch it on YouTube if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend it; not only is it over an hour long, but in the wake of the axing of Stephen Sackur’s BBC news show HARDtalk, this one is more like an episode of SOFTtalk, in which the presenter asks only two questions of real interest - regarding the nuclear programme and popular support for the regime - to which there is never any danger of a follow-up probe. 

To paraphrase, Marandi’s answers were that the regime is wildly popular and well able to make a nuclear weapon if it wanted to but that it doesn’t because such things are “inhumane” and the Islamic Republic of Iran is, of course, renowned for its decency. 

Mr Blumenthal also posted videos of an Iranian man singing while embracing him underneath one of Isfahan’s famous bridges - with the message, “Iran is not your enemy” - and of the return of water to the local river, failing to mention, as one responder noted, that “due to the corruption and mismanagement of the horrific mullah regime, the river is basically dry all the time”. 

But no matter, one can guarantee that most viewers won’t have bothered to look into it, nor scroll down far enough to reach the dissent. 

Certainly, the overwhelming reaction to all the videos and photographs posted over the past week has been positive: essentially, a “thanks for showing us what Iran is really like and not only what the biased mainstream media (MSM!) says about it!” 

These are the days of SOFTtalk, it would appear, so I suppose we’d better get used to it. 

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