How to ruin Christmas

Actor turned vicar Natalie Garrett, recounts the perils of being a Christmas Pro.

Natalie Garrett

Natalie produces and narrates The Seen & Unseen Aloud podcast. She's an Anglican minister and a trained actor.

A nativity seen with wooden figures and hay, amidst which a cat sits in the manger.

Nativity cat, Warsaw, 2012.

Kacper Pempel.

So, during the years of my acting career, I always avoided Panto (oh yes I did). Not because I don’t like Panto, I love a good Panto. But because I didn’t want to work over Christmas. How God will have chortled at that great irony, knowing as he did that as of 2005 (the year I got ordained), I would be working every Christmas for the rest of time.

Christmas is different now. Not only am I ordained, I’m married to a vicar. I’m completely immersed in professional Christmas. And Christmas is a bit different when you’ve turned pro. I won’t go so far as to say that being ordained has ruined Christmas, but it’s certainly changed it. But so has (supposedly) being a grown up.

My “Proper Christmas” will always be the Christmas that I grew up with (is that just me?). I had traditional preparing-for-Christmas jobs that I did every year on Christmas Eve eve: polishing the special cutlery we only used once a year, making the brandy butter (which is a bit odd now I think about it, being that heavily involved with brandy from the age of six) and decorating The Tree. And having the annual argument with my sister about whose turn it was to take the present to our neighbours across the road. And eating a lot of satsumas. And chocolate. And seeing my cousins and playing Trivial Pursuit. All of which looks very rosy seen through the eyes of a child. Christmas is different when you’re ordained and you have to work, but it’s also very different when you’re the grown up.

I used to think my mother made a ridiculous amount of fuss about Christmas. I am now that same mother. I think it’s Michael McIntyre who does a whole routine about women starting to write their Christmas To Do lists in October and endlessly shrieking, “there’s so much to do!” That’s me folks. Christmas as a grown up – or at least for this grown up – feels like there’s so much to do!

I always imagine (unhelpfully fantasize) that Other People’s families are living the Christmas dream – the relaxed, cosy evenings drinking hot chocolate or eggnog in front of a roaring fire; laughing and playing wholesome games happily and peacefully with their angelic children, wearing matching Christmas jumpers. In the cold light of day, I realise that, actually, most people find Christmas stressful for a million different reasons. It’s not all twinkly and bright.

For many people, Christmas means seeing all the family that they avoid during the rest of the year. It means spending money they can ill-afford on presents that may not be wanted. Christmas means missing the people who aren’t with us anymore. It means endless advertising campaigns suggesting that you aren’t living the perfect life – but that if you buy a new sofa, you’ll salvage the ruins of your life just in time for a perfect, twinkly Christmas.

And so the life of the mythical twinkly, “magical” Christmas lives on. With little or no reference to its origin story.

I was the chaplain at a Church of England secondary comprehensive school for seven years. In my first term, putting together the carol service, I asked a class chapel rep if she would do one of the Bible readings. “Oh, is Christmas in the Bible?” Huh. Another conversation I had went along the lines of, “Miss, I don’t believe in Jesus and all that religious stuff. But I believe in the spirit of Christmas.” Huh.

There’s a song in the staged musical version of the film Nativity, which is to all intents and purposes a Christmas prayer. But instead of the prayer being directed at God, it is directed at Father Christmas;

Dear Father Christmas, make our wish come true

Dear Father Christmas send your spirit through

There are Children in the world who need you way more than we do

But Father Christmas, we still believe in you

Dear Father Christmas make our wish come true

Which brings me to a difficult moment in my Christmassy life. I have a parenting policy that demands that I tell my children the truth. Whatever the question, if I know the answer, I will give it to them honestly. So, when my children were around the ages of four and six, in the middle of Sainsbury’s, with both children piled into the trolley, in mid-November, surrounded by early Christmas-abilia, one of my children asked me, “Mummy, does Father Christmas really exist?”. (SPOILER ALERT!!). I had to give an honest answer. If the question had been less straight, if there had been any wriggle room at all, I would have fudged it. But a straight question deserved a straight answer. Which, wide-eyed, they went and shared with their friends. A crowd of angry parents from their Primary school came to church to complain that the Vicar’s children had ruined Christmas.

But my point was that if I were to tell my children that I believe Father Christmas exists and that he grants Christmas wishes, were they ever to find out that I had lied (ahem), how would they trust me when I say that I believe Jesus does exist and that he does answer prayers? The challenge has lived with me ever since: how to keep Christmas rooted in Christ without ruining the Christmas magic.

Well, my saving grace is that I’m still a sucker for a bit of Christmas schmaltz. The theologically sensitive part of me absolutely abhors Away in a Manger (“no crying he makes”? Really? He was a new-born baby, of course he cried!!) and Little Donkey (in the Bible accounts there is absolutely no mention of donkeys at all. Not a single one – not on the road, not in the stable. No cows, no donkeys.) But light some candles, get the children singing and I have tears pouring down my face with the best of them, loving every moment.

But that still doesn’t mean that the essence of Christmas is the twinkly magic. Because, of course, the first Christmas was neither twinkly nor magic. Nor did it involve a perfectly curated tablescape (which I also love at Christmas). It didn’t involve any the stereotypical Christmassy things that we all get stressed about and love in equal measure. The first Christmas was messy and difficult. But it was also the most real, most genuinely joyous event in human history. Apart from Easter. Don’t get me started on chocolate bunnies….

Conviction politics is changing morality

Political dialogue gives way to animal-like culture war.

Barnabas Aspray

Barnabas Aspray is Assistant Professor of Systematic Theology at St Mary’s Seminary and University.

A severed doll head, resembling Donald Trump, lies on dirty ground.

Max Letek on Unsplash.

“We're gathering 100 MILLION signatures to OVERTURN Trump's wrongful conviction!”

I received this SMS message, along with a link, on Monday 10th June. It was the fourth message of its kind I’d received since the verdict convicting former US President Donald Trump of felony. This time, out of curiosity I followed the link. I found a lot of words in capital letters conveying a sense of extreme urgency, but I did not find any evidence or argument for the injustice of the verdict.

Trump’s conviction has been met with a torrent of reactions from people across the political spectrum. Everyone sees the event as an episode in the upcoming US election in which Trump plans to run for president. For those on the left, it’s final and conclusive proof that he is unfit for office; the evidence is clear, the courts have decided, end of story. For those on the right, it’s a further sign of the depraved depths to which the Democrats will go to discredit him; the jury was rigged, and the whole thing was a political stunt to win the election. The legitimacy of the court ruling is something nobody on the left questions and nobody on the right admits.

To me, these responses are another sign of the ever-widening gap between left and right that eats up all common ground, even the rule of law. Political victory now takes priority over truth or justice – or perhaps more accurately: victory for my side is identical with truth and justice. To concede anything to the opposing side is seen, not as praiseworthy, but as betrayal.

My comments in what follows are nonpartisan: I want to point to what is true of both sides equally: the failure of dialogue and its replacement by a warfare mentality. This change affects even what we consider moral and admirable behaviour. It is not only a problem in the US. Ever since Brexit, things have become increasingly polarised in the UK as well.

That is what “culture war” means. War and dialogue are opposites; war is what happens when dialogue has failed.

Formerly in Western nations, rival political parties offered different means to achieve the same end: a flourishing society of justice, peace, prosperity, and freedom. Politicians disagreed but they respected each other. They had faith in the political process in which they all participated. Consider as an example the letter George Bush Senior left Bill Clinton after losing the 1992 US election.

“Your success now is our country’s success,” he wrote. “I am rooting hard for you. Good luck.”

The fact that he was now president was more important than which political party he belonged to.

In such a cohesive society, the legal system was a trusted arbitrator whose decisions would be accepted by victor and loser alike. This does not mean the system was perfect. Everyone knew that justice could sometimes miscarry. But the public did not see themselves as qualified to judge that either way. How could they expect to know more than the jury?

What we are witnessing now is a return to a more animal-like state in which the goal is that my team wins no matter what. If the arbitrator rules in favour of my tribe, they are seen as executing justice. If they rule against my tribe, their ruling must by definition be unjust.

That is what “culture war” means. War and dialogue are opposites; war is what happens when dialogue has failed because both sides have been unable even to “agree to disagree.”

Reasoned debate is seen as no longer effective in light of the vile underhanded tactics of the other side (but not, of course, of my side).

In dialogue, both sides aim to uncover the truth even if the truth turns out not to be what I wanted or thought. Prioritizing the truth means that I might realise I was wrong and concede the point, even at some material cost. For example, in a property dispute, I might become persuaded of the truth of my opponent’s case and give up my claim. That may be painful, but winning was less important than justice being done. In dialogue, both ‘sides’ are really on the same side because they both ultimately want the same thing.

In war, on the other hand, the goal is to defeat the enemy and it makes no difference whether they are right or wrong – or rather, it is assumed without question that they are wrong. If words are used in war, they are weapons in disguise, not meaningful communications.

This transformation from dialogue to war changes morality itself. You are now judged, not by the sincerity of your pursuit of truth, but by how loyal you are to your tribe. Even to take seriously the opposing position is viewed like reading a propaganda flyer dropped from a Nazi airplane: don’t even read it, it will only twist your mind!

Even seven years ago, fans of Jordan Peterson were fond of the phrase “all I want is to have a reasoned debate.” Regardless of your opinion of Peterson or of whether he exemplified this, those who used this phrase revealed a desire for dialogue rather than war. But today, many of those same followers no longer say that. Now they say, “the left is out to get us and must be stopped” and their counterparts say, “the right is out to get us and must be stopped.” Reasoned debate is seen as no longer effective in light of the vile underhanded tactics of the other side (but not, of course, of my side).

What do we want from our political opponents? We want them to listen to us and to take our arguments seriously.

What role can Christianity have in this polarised society? Sadly Christians are often seen as part of the problem rather than the solution: sold out to one political party. But we should be clear that Christianity does not sit neatly on either side of the divide. That does not mean Christians should be moderate or “centrist,” as if none of the issues matter much. Christianity comes down strongly on many things, but those are spread across the political spectrum. The way Christians vote depends on which issues they judge to be the most important or pressing in the current circumstances.

Second, Christians are called to make peace in time of war. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” Jesus said, “for they will be called children of God.” Christians are called build bridges rather than burn them, to seek common ground rather than trying to obliterate their opponents. This can start with showing love and respect for the person behind the argument; by celebrating our common humanity before trying to argue a point.

Third, it means exemplifying the kind of attitude we want to see in our opponents. “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you,” Jesus told his disciples. What do we want from our political opponents? We want them to listen to us and to take our arguments seriously. We want them to stop making cheap caricatures of us and represent us at our best. We want them to break out of their echo chambers and read news from a variety of political leanings. We want them to open themselves to persuasion and be prepared to change their minds. Jesus suggests leading by example and doing those things first.

Fourth and finally, the Christian’s allegiance is to truth and justice above any tribe, any agenda. The real political situation is almost certainly complex, with much to be said for and against both sides. There are awkward facts that don’t fit our own political position; let’s admit them. The Christian commitment to truth means being ready to acknowledge the weaknesses, failings, and faults on our own side before we point the finger. It’s hard, I know. I am not perfect at it myself. But it’s a more Christlike moral standard to aim for than that of the culture warrior who excels at demolishing the enemy.

Restoring dialogue won’t be easy and may come at a high personal cost. But the cost is greater if we don’t try. My own desire is to see Christians taking the lead in the restoration process and showing the world what Christlike peacemaking can accomplish.