America used to not celebrate Christmas at all. And now we do.
What changed? And at what point did it change?
The great Christian historian Philip Jenkins finds one turning point in the pages of a novel. He writes about it in a post for my fellow Patheos blog Anxious Bench entitled Discovering Christmas in a Classic Episcopal Novel.
Just imagine a world that has no idea whatever of Christmas, has really never heard of the idea, and then think of the impact of witnessing all the celebrations and ceremonial on a child’s mind. What could that have been like? It would be life-changing, and indeed might drive a full religious conversion.
Indeed, Harriet Beecher Stowe did convert to Anglican Christianity, likely in her imagination as a little girl and then formally as an adult, though–with great consideration for the father she loved–she waited until after his death.
The book begins like this, with Nabby, their servant (Anglicanism being somewhat declassé in Connecticut at that time), telling about their church’s Christmas decorations:
“Well, you see,” said Nabby, “to-morrow’s Christmas; and they’ve been dressin’ the church with ground pine and spruce boughs, and made it just as beautiful as can be, and they’re goin’ to have a great gold star over the chancel. General Lewis sent clear to Boston to get the things to make it of, and Miss Ida Lewis she made it; and to-night they’re going to ‘luminate. They put a candle in every single pane of glass in that ‘air church, and it’ll be all just as light as day. When they get ’em all lighted up you can see that ‘air church clear down to North Poganuc.”
Now this sentence was a perfect labyrinth of mystery to Dolly; for she did not know what Christmas was, she did not know what the chancel was, she never saw anything dressed with pine, and she was wholly in the dark what it was all about; and yet her bosom heaved, her breath grew short, her color came and went, and she trembled with excitement. Something bright, beautiful, glorious, must be coming into her life, and oh, if she could only see it!
Dolly’s father does not approve. Jenkins summarizes his objections: “For him, a Christmas celebration is not actively Satanic, but it is utterly foolish, and the vestige of silly pagan revelries. As he explains at length to his daughter, we do not even know the date of Christ’s birth, and an extensive study of Patristic literature confirms his theory of the pagan origins of that festivity.” He preaches a learned sermon against Christmas, which had its effect:
Old ladies in their tea-drinkings talked about the danger of making a righteousness of forms and rites and ceremonies, and seemed of opinion that the proceedings at the Episcopal church, however attractive, were only an insidious putting forth of one paw of the Scarlet Beast of Rome, and that if not vigorously opposed the whole quadruped, tooth and claw, would yet be upon their backs.
Stowe emphasizes how learned, well-educated, and rationalistic the father is. But Dolly is still intrigued by this different kind of spiritual expression. Comments Jenkins,
It is no longer the religious life that she sees in the Calvinist church, with its exclusive emphasis on the cerebral and intellectual to the denial of the material and sacramental. What she sees in the Christmas celebrations in the small Episcopal church is nothing less than the beauty of holiness, and it supplies memories that will last throughout her life.
On Christmas Eve, she looks out her window and sees the nearby Episcopal church filled with light. She goes outside for a closer look, then goes inside. What she finds compelling is not just the decorations but the chanting, the kneeling, the bowing. That is to say, the liturgy:
There it was, to be sure–the little church with its sharp-pointed windows every pane of which was sending streams of light across the glittering snow. There was a crowd around the door, and men and boys looking in at the windows. Dolly’s soul was fired. But the elm-boughs a little obstructed her vision; she thought she would go down and look at it from the yard. So down stairs she ran, but as she opened the door the sound of the chant rolled out into the darkness with a sweet and solemn sound:
“_Glory be to God on high; and on earth peace, good will towards men._”
Dolly’s soul was all aglow–her nerves tingled and vibrated; she thought of the bells ringing in the celestial city; she could no longer contain herself, but faster and faster the little hooded form scudded across the snowy plain and pushed in among the dark cluster of spectators at the door. All made way for the child, and in a moment, whether in the body or out she could not tell, Dolly was sitting in a little nook under a bower of spruce, gazing at the star and listening to the voices:
“_We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee, we give thanks to thee for thy great glory, O Lord God, Heavenly King, God, the Father Almighty._”
Her heart throbbed and beat; she trembled with a strange happiness and sat as one entranced till the music was over. Then came reading, the rustle and murmur of people kneeling, and then they all rose and there was the solemn buzz of voices repeating the Creed with a curious lulling sound to her ear. There was old Mr. Danforth with his spectacles on, reading with a pompous tone, as if to witness a good confession for the church; and there was Squire Lewis and old Ma’am Lewis; and there was one place where they all bowed their heads and all the ladies made courtesies–all of which entertained her mightily. When the sermon began Dolly got fast asleep and slept as quietly as a pet lamb in a meadow, lying in a little warm roll back under the shadows of the spruces.
Later in the novel, when Dolly is an adult, she goes to the big city to stay with an aunt, who is also an Episcopalian. This brings back her childhood memories, and Dolly (and Stowe) reflect on what the liturgy did for her:
Is it not beautiful to think we are singing words that Christians have been singing for more than a thousand years! It gives you the feeling of being in a great army–one of a great host; and for a poor little insignificant thing like me it is a joyful feeling.
And, at the end, even her father comes around, mostly. He writes her a letter saying that since she staying with this set of relatives, she needs to go to church with them:
Of course, while with them you will attend the services of the Episcopal Church; for that you have my cordial consent and willingness. The liturgy of the church is full of devout feelings, and the Thirty-nine Articles (with some few slight exceptions) are a very excellent statement of truth. In adopting the spirit and language of the prayers in the service you cannot go amiss; very excellent Christians have been nourished and brought up upon them.
I can’t help but add that another liturgical Protestant tradition also proved influential in America’s growing appreciation for Christmas and all its trimmings: namely, the Lutherans, who always celebrated the holiday full bore.
In fact, Anglicans borrowed many of their Christmas customs from the Lutherans: the Christmas tree, gift-giving, singing Christmas carols. (See this and this.) This happened especially when Queen Victoria married the German Prince Albert, a Lutheran, in 1840.
But in America, when Rev. Heinrich Schwan, who would become the third president of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, put up a Christmas tree in church, it caused a scandal.
This deserves a post of its own. That controversy raises some important theological issues. We’ll get into all of that next week, the week of Christmas.
Illustration: Portrait of Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811–1896) via RawPixel, Public Domain
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