at christmas we tell the truth

babies, mary and god

My daughter was four months old when the UK experienced an unprecedented heatwave. Temperature records were broken and wildfires raged around the country. In London, sixteen houses burned to the ground as fire services found themselves overwhelmed by calls for help. I went mad around this time. Some nights I would lie awake panicking that my daughter was overheating. ‘Can’t you feel how hot she is?’ I would ask my husband, convinced her temperature was spiking. ‘She seems fine’ he would reply, a little bewildered.

Some nights I would walk downstairs to the landing and open a window to get some cool air on us both. As I sat at the top of our stairs cradling this inexplicably fragile human, I wondered what on earth I had done. Why hadn’t I thought about the state of the planet when I was trying to get pregnant? Where was the parenting book on having children in a world that’s on fire? And how come people around me were acting as though everything was fine?

Since the beginning of October this very specific feeling of madness, of utter incomprehension, has reared its head again. Like you, I’ve witnessed a genocide unfold, gain legitimacy and receive continued financial and political support from my own government.

In his 1996 book Representations of the Intellectual, the Palestinian-American academic Edward Said, wrote that ‘Nothing in my view is more reprehensible that those habits of mind in the intellectual that induce avoidance, that characteristic turning away from a difficult and principled position, which you know to be the right one, but you decide not to take.’

As a consequence of our collective avoidance: over 18,000 people have now been killed by Israel, more than 50,000 are wounded. The World Health Organisation estimates that a child is being killed every ten minutes. Those of us who call for a permanent ceasefire are patronised and gaslit by our leaders. Be reasonable, they say, trying to find new words that make inaction sound vaguely humanitarian.

Into a world like this, mothers are giving birth, only to witness their newborns be murdered because they are Palestinian.

Into a world like this, fathers weep over the shrouded bodies of their children.

I have never known a darkness like it.

Christmas is two weeks away. But it feels wrong to be buying gifts, it feels wrong to be planning parties, it all feels wrong.

And yet, when I turn to the story of Christ’s birth, when I strip away all of the modern excess and greed and materialism, I’m left with the story of a Jewish child, carried by a young refugee woman who was fleeing military powers, born amongst the shit and silage of a stable in Bethlehem.

We have been conditioned to imagine Mary in this postpartum moment, kneeling (ha!) at the foot of the manger, looking serenely at her boy. But here is a woman who would grow up to see her own child murdered in the most horrific way possible. Here is a woman who would know grief, and suffering and persecution. Anyone reading the second half of her Magnificat ‘He has brought down rulers from their thrones / but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things / but has sent the rich away empty’ might consider the meek and mild representations of Mary somewhat lacking in historical accuracy.

So perhaps it’s time we looked afresh on the traditional, sanitised nativity. When we do this, we witness instead the birth of a fragile, radical human who changed the course of history; who sided with the oppressed and preached peace in the land of Israel and Palestine. Knowing the pain and suffering of the world, God chose to come and live among us, not as a King or politician, but as a child born into poverty.

When I feel despair, when I fear for the future of our children and the children of Gaza, I think about Mary. About her willingness to trust God, not because the world is perfect, but because it is broken. She points us towards a world that is saved, again and again, through the inexplicable love that parents have for their children. A love that raises children not despite the horrors that surround us, but because of them.

In Bethlehem, part of the occupied West-Bank, one Lutheren Church has created a nativity scene which shows a baby amidst the rubble of a destroyed building, wrapped in a keffiyeh. ‘If Jesus were born again today’ Rev. Munther Isaac explained, ‘he would be born again under the rubble in Gaza’. ‘For us, God is under the rubble. God is in the operating rooms. God is in solidarity with those who suffer injustice. So the idea of this manger arose, especially when the world continues to justify the murder and dehumanization of these children.’

I need to leave soon, to pick my daughter up from nursery. This morning she had a Christmas party at her toddler group, where we had party food and sang a few carols, including Away in a Manger. It’s a saccharine song, which describes a baby Jesus with a ‘sweet head’ who wakes up but doesn’t cry. I’m sure it’s done a good job of cementing in most people’s minds an idealised version of Christmas which is a long way off the mark.

So I sat there, ready to feel jaded and cynical, ready to feel guilty about the lovely time we were having together with our children. That was until we reached the final verse, when I realised that I was now the one who was crying.

Bless all the dear children
In Thy tender care
And take us to heaven
To live with Thee there

Amen

TAKING NOTE:

1. VOICES FROM GAZA EVENT - TOMORROW NIGHT

   Friend of The Murmuration *Harry Baker* will be joined by the likes of Brian Eno, Saied Silbak and Iyad Sughayer at an evening of testimonies, readings and live music in aid of the Amos Trust Emergency Appeal for Gaza. Tickets available here. I’m sure this will be amazing, don’t miss out if you’re in London.

2. THE 2023 BOOK PHARMACY IS OPEN: This Sunday’s Golden Hour will be the first annual book pharmacy, where I recommend books based on ailments, dispositions and tricky customers. Are you struggling to buy a book for your Aunt whose beloved cat died this year? Let me know in the comments or by email and I will share my literary prescriptions with you.

3. LET’S WORK TOGETHER: I’m a freelance writer and book editor. Are you working on a book (as a publisher/agent or writer) that would benefit from some editorial feedback? I may be able to help and have some availability in the new year. Contact me here for more information.