Canadians are very familiar with scenes of loftiness and adoration, with symbols of faith and devotion.
Yes, there is growing consumerism, and cynicism. Yes, we have separation of church and state, more or less. Yes, secularism is valued for the sake of equality and justice. But still religious symbols remain ubiquitous. And they still pack a punch.
Not everyone may know what the word nativity refers to, but most know it when they see it. There’s a seated woman coddling a newborn, with a man kneeling or standing next to her, assuming a protective role. A guardian angel hovers nearby like an intermediary between the great ephemeral unknown and the hard-edged phenomenal world. Three figures look on, dressed in robes and crowns, and there are usually a few animals to signify the humble pastoral setting—a camel, a cow, some sheep, and a donkey.
This scene, though somewhat diluted in modern times from appearing on one too many lawns, mass produced in cheap plastic and sold at variety stores and garden centres, nevertheless depicts one of the great moments in religious history. And its symbolism bears century after century of adulation, aspiration and hope. It is much more than an ornament, and anyone that sees it as such risks looking very foolish.
This visual image of the nativity scene has been implanted in the collective consciousness of humanity for about 2,000 years, first described in the Books of Luke and Matthew, first depicted in iconography as early as the 4th century, and apparently first created in three dimensions by Saint Francis of Assisi in the early 13th century.
As weighty and captivating as the commercialization of Christmas has become in recent years, these contemporary forces and fashions are little more than a drop in the bucket compared to the great ocean of significance contained in the history of religion.
While usually well meaning, decision-makers run the risk of looking a bit crass when they try to negate or gloss over the religious significance of the celebration of Christmas. It is really not possible to deny that this time of year has for centuries been rooted in the birth of a miracle child, whose teachings and exemplary life changed the course of human society.
You could shop yourself into a state of exhaustion and hysteria over the next couple of weeks, but that is not going drive Jesus out of Christmas.
I’ve grown tremendously weary and cynical toward the materialistic side of Christmas. It’s gone too far, has become too excessive. But this gift-buying impulse is rooted in the events depicted in the nativity, and this time of year is traditionally infused with an overwhelming sense of hope because of the symbolism of redemption, of miracle, and of divine guidance that the birth of Jesus Christ represents.
We’ve been exposed to this scene so much, both consciously and subconsciously, that maybe we’ve come to take it for granted, perhaps grown insensitive toward and even dismissive of it. In some cases, no doubt, people resent having this image thrust upon them, want to get it out of their head and heart, want to have a choice in the matter. Fair enough. Not everyone believes in these sorts of ethereal things, and the history of religion is not all milk and honey. And not all nativity scenes are high art.
Yes, we live in a cynical time, and justifiably in many cases. But those who fight back the cynicism feel the power imbedded in these religious symbols and are moved by them. And when someone decides these symbols don’t mean anything anymore and deserve to be in dusty storage, those who are not cynical are justifiably hurt, saddened and angered.
These symbols of faith still stir a sense of euphoria, and still uplift the hearts of countless numbers of people. And for that reason they deserve respect, even from those who are in the business of counting cash register receipts, even from those who busy themselves with the very serious work of exposing religion’s dark side.
Rob O’Flanagan is a Mercury staff writer. His Free Form column appears Saturdays. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org