On The Eve Of Christ’s Nativity

Aotearoa's first temple — Christmas at the Hamilton New Zealand Temple (Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

Here are a few of the columns that I’ve published during previous Christmas seasons. Maybe you’ll find something of value in one of them:

“What is the appeal of Christmas beyond Christian believers? The birth of a baby — any baby — is a moment of hope and the inauguration of virtually boundless possibilities, and Christmas powerfully reminds us of these things once more each year”. (19 December 2019)

“Christmas after the Protestant Reformation” (22 December 2017, with William J. Hamblin)

“Christmas and Christ’s ‘mortal tabernacle'” (21 December 2017)

“For first time in nearly 40 years, Hanukkah and Christmas Eve are on the same day” (23 December 2016)

“Christmas and the ultimate restoration of all things” (22 December 2016)

“The Book of Mormon at Christmas” (16 December 2016)

“Jesus the shepherd, and the shepherds” (10 December 2016, with William J. Hamblin)

“We needed Christ to become one of us” (24 December 2015)

“The Nativity according to Luke” (11 December 2015, with William J. Hamblin)

“He was the son of God, and ‘one of us'” (25 December 2014)

“A modern witness to the baby born in Bethlehem” (18 December 2014)

“Who were the ‘wise men’?” (13 December 2014, with William J. Hamblin))

“Looking again at one of the greatest of all stories” (19 December 2013)

“Charles Dickens and the invention of Christmas” (15 December 2013, with William J. Hamblin)

“‘Pleased as man with men to dwell'” (5 December 2013)

“The Savior can change dark to light” (20 December 2012)

“Advent refers to Christ’s 2nd Coming” (15 December 2012, with William J. Hamblin)

“Pure love led Christ to descend the courts of glory” (22 December 2011)

“Temple attendance is a Christlike gift” (8 December 2011)

“Christmas in the Holy Land — somber, yet triumphant” (16 December 2010)

“Christmas celebrates part of divine plan” (9 December 2010)

Friberg's cyclopean wall — Samuel the Lamanite upon a Nephite wall, as depicted by Arnold Friberg (LDS.org)

The Lamanite prophet Samuel had prophesied that, in five years, there would be a day, a night, and a day without any darkness, and now the time had come for the fulfillment of that prophecy. But those who hated the Church and the faithful were eager to punish the believers, planning to execute them on the day that the prophecy would come due — if, as the haters hoped, it proved false.

Sadly, too, many of the people who believed began to doubt. They began to be “sorrowful, lest by any means those things which had been spoken might not come to pass” (3 Nephi 1:7). The difficult principle seems to have held in this case, too:

And now, I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things; I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith. (Ether 12:6)

Sometimes, it seems, we must wait until the bitter end, almost until desperation, before the blessing arrives and the promise is fulfilled.

As the time drew imminent, the prophet Nephi “cried mightily to his God in behalf of his people” (3 Nephi 1:11). And then came these glorious words:

Lift up your head and be of good cheer; for behold, the time is at hand, and on this night shall the sign be given, and on the morrow come I into the world, to show unto the world that I will fulfil all that which I have caused to be spoken by the mouth of my holy prophets. (3 Nephi 1:13).

It was Christmas Eve.

wide, snowy trail — An ungroomed road in the winter (Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

And, speaking of Christmas Eve, one of my immediate descendants called this old song (“Christmas Eve Can Kill You”), originally by the Everly Brothers, to my attention. I had never heard it before. There’s a powerful message in the lyrics, to which the video that accompanies my link could easily have been made more directly relevant:

The winter’s flaking snow is brushing through the pinewood treesI stuck my hands down deep inside my coatI think of years ago and half remembered Christmas treesAnd faces that still warm me with their glow

The cold and empty evening hangs around me like a ghostI listen to my footsteps in the snowThe sound of one man walkin’ through the snow can break your heartBut stopping doesn’t help, so on I’ll go

And Christmas Eve can kill youWhen you’re trying to hitch a ride to anywhere

The icy air I’m breathin’ is all that keeps me on my feetI feel like I’ve been walking all my lifeA car goes running by, the man don’t even turn his headGuess he’s busy being Santa Claus tonight

The saddest part of all is knowing if I switched with himI’d leave him stumblin’ ragged by the roadI’d ride that highway to the arms of my sweet familyAnd forget about the stranger in the cold

And Christmas Eve can kill youWhen you’re trying to hitch a ride to anywhere

And as I walk I’m singin’ to myself, Oh Silent NightHoping I can save those other soulsOh, God forgive the man who drives right by the other manHave pity on the stranger in the cold

‘Cause Christmas Eve can kill youWhen you’re trying to hitch a ride to anywhere

The first Xmas — Christ’s Nativity (Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

Much as I appreciate its implicit message, I’m not counting “Christmas Eve Can Kill You” as today’s selection of Christmas music. For that, instead, I’ve turned to “Away in a Manger,” to which I invite you to append my 5 December 2013 column, “‘Pleased as man with men to dwell,'” as a commentary.

Sunrise, with a Celtic cross — In Ireland, a Celtic cross at dawn (Wikimedia Commons public domain image)

I was saddened, yesterday, to learn of the death of one of my most important and influential undergraduate teachers, Thomas W. Mackay, who passed away on Monday, 22 December. I’ll have more to say about him after the Christmas holiday. His obituary is relatively sparse and, oddly, I’ve been unable to locate a photograph of him.

Very few of those are still around who, prior to my marriage, proved pivotal to the course of my subsequent life. Maybe, now, none. (I’ll have to give that some thought.) I think that there may be a message for me in that.

Temple in Zollikofen — I love the cover art for the third volume of “Saints,” the official history published by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I served in Switzerland, half of the time in the Canton of Bern, and so the Bern Switzerland Temple loomed large in my experience there. For seven months, I was stationed in Interlaken, at the foot of the mountains that are shown here in the background. The center three are, from left to right, the Eiger, the Mönch, and the Jungfrau. (I hope this constitutes “fair use” of the image.)

Last night, on the eve of Christmas Eve, we enjoyed one of our seasonal traditions, courtesy of my beloved Switzerland: We had a dinner of cheese fondue. And then, with a third-generation unit, we watched A Christmas Story — which doesn’t represent any particular holiday tradition for us, but which is really funny. (Probably more so for adults, to be honest, than for really young children — to whom Ralphie’s thinking and actions may well seem entirely reasonable.)

In company with a third-generation unit and a direct descendant, we also visited one of the Giving Machines in Orem’s University Mall. I won’t share with you what we did there except to say that, yes, we did indeed (and to my very great satisfaction) purchase a goat.

I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas!