Someone called President Ronald Reagan’s 1981 Christmas message to my attention. That was a president for whom I could have respect, and I love what he had to say that year:
“On Christmas, we celebrate the birth of Christ with prayer, feasting, and great merriment. But, most of all, we experience it in our hearts. For, more than just a day, Christmas is a state of mind. It is found throughout the year whenever faith overcomes doubt, hope conquers despair, and love triumphs over hate.”
“It is present when men of any creed bring love and understanding to the hearts of their fellow man. The feeling is seen in the wondrous faces of children and in the hopeful eyes of the aged. It overflows the hearts of cheerful givers and the souls of the caring. And it is reflected in the brilliant colors, joyful sounds, and beauty of the winter season.”
“Let us resolve to honor this spirit of Christmas and strive to keep it throughout the year. Nancy and I ask you to join us in a prayer that prudence, wisdom, and understanding might descend on the people of all nations — so that during the year ahead we may realize an ancient and wondrous dream: peace on earth, goodwill toward men.”
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Please. If you haven’t yet watched The Christ Child: A Nativity Story, don’t let this Christmas Day go by without having done so. It’s just eighteen minutes long. Watch it with family. Share it with friends. Share it online. It’s what today is all about. It’s what is behind all the gifts and wrapping and visiting and overeating and decorating and singing. None of that matters very much. This matters. Enormously.
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Finally, one of the oldest extant Christmas carols in the English language, “I syng of a mayden,” dating probably to around AD 1400. The modern English translation is by the American poet Michael R. Burch, but altered just slightly by meddling me:
I syng of a mayden I sing of a maiden
þat is makeles, that is matchless:
kyng of alle kynges the king of all kings
to here sone che ches for her son she chose.
He came also stylle He came as still
þer his moder was where his mother was
as dew in aprylle, as the April dew
þat fallyt on þe gras. that falleth on the grass.
He cam also stylle He came as still
to his moderes bowr to his mother’s bower
as dew in aprille, as the April dew
þat fallyt on þe flour. that falleth on the flower.
He cam also stylle He came as still
þer his moder lay where his mother lay
as dew in Aprille, as the April dew
þat fallyt on þe spray. that falleth on the spray.
Moder & mayden Mother and maiden
was neuer non but che— there was none but she—
wel may swych a lady well may such a lady
Godes moder be. God’s mother be!
Posted from Richmond, Virginia
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