I must admit that I am somewhat of a fall tragic. Note I said fall, not autumn. That’s right I mean the northern hemisphere idea of autumn leaves falling as the days get shorter and shorter, and as gaudy Christmas lights get hoisted up street lamps, and in America at least pumpkin spice seems to be everywhere. Living in Australia each year we end up with a strange sort of dissonance, as so many of the cultural practices—and most of the cultural kitsch—that we have are derived from the Northern Hemisphere environment.

Perhaps it’s some sort of a tragic sentimentalism for something that I didn’t grow up with and yet somehow culturally is such a part of what we do at Christmas. Because a lot of the time it can be hard to differentiate the things that we do at Christmas which I found in the gospel in the Bible in our Christmas narratives from those which happen in and around Christmas. Indeed there are a whole bunch of secular Memes that come out at this time of year claiming regularly that all of the Christmas traditions are just adaptations of Saturnalia or some other form of Roman or pagan festival. So I thought perhaps as we consider that first Noel maybe it’s time for us to do a bit of myth busting.

In and amongst our Christmas celebrations it isn’t hard to find elements of the Advent narrative which have been adopted into our broader societal celebrations. Our practice of decorating houses with gaudy Christmas lights—and increasingly audio-visual extravaganzas—can remind us of the light coming into our world (John 1:9), and also the heavenly choir announcing this good news to shepherds outside Bethlehem (Luke 2:8-15). Similarly, each year we pop bon-bons to extract paper hats—of only the finest (read: thinnest) tissue paper—and wear them while telling terrible jokes and sharing in cheap toys or puzzles. Recently I was reminded that this tradition is apparently uniquely English, as an American friend struggled to understand its relationship to Christmas. However, even here we can see some vague resemblances to the biblical narrative: especially with intertextual engagement with kings bringing gifts, shepherds sharing in joy, and Mary treasuring these things in her heart (Luke 2:19).

Some things are a bit more head scratching, such as the oddities in our hymnody around this time. As the father of children I can guarantee that the idea of having a small child “Pah-rum-pah-rum-pum!”-ing to a newborn is not high on my list of ways to settle a baby. In a similar vein Away in a Manger pictures Jesus as a peaceful baby, without any crying at all. Indeed, a picture which would seem to remove much of Jesus’ humanity from the picture. If our picture of a baby Jesus never cries then one must wonder how much humanity that Jesus really shares (c.f. Heb2:14).

However, while some of these Christmas elements are more of head scratchers, some of them—as with Away in a Manger—can cause us to stop and ponder the reality of the Christmas story; and similarly some in a pernicious vein. If Away in a Manger questions the full humanity of Jesus, then we should consider other carols such as Mary Did You Know? Which—infamously—asks if Mary knew that “your baby boy is Lord of all creation” who would “one day rule the nations” as “heaven’s perfect Lamb”? Of course the answer to each of which is “Yes. Mary did know” for she was told by Gabriel and subsequently sang her own song about it (Luke 1). Although, even more subtly pernicious here is the perpetuation of ignoring the testimony of women.

Or perhaps the swathe of nativity scenes and children’s bibles which depict the holy family alone in a barn alongside a menagerie of farmyard animals, often including pigs. Apart from the implausibility of porcine presence within a Jewish community—fostering a continued separation of Jesus from his Jewishness—the notion of the holy family being ostracised to a barn is highly improbable. As Kenneth Bailey and Stephen Carlson have demonstrated, the birth most likely took place in the main room of a family house, as Luke records the guest room (kataluma; 2:7) did not have enough space for the birth to take place. While there is an understandable desire to harmonise Luke’s birth narrative account with the theology of the Johannine prologue (John 1:11), the reality of Jesus’ birth actually serves to underscore the sheer degree to which he was brought into our human existence and reality.

What then do we do with these Christmas cultural artefacts? Should they be simply ignored, left to pile up by the wayside, or rejected as further proof of cultural depravity—as some seem to view the presence of red cups at Starbucks constituting a “War on Christmas.” Certainly for some of these interpretations I think an argument could, and perhaps should, be made for their discarding. However, at a broader level our cultural environment gives us a plethora of opportunities to return to the gospel narrative, of which I want to briefly highlight three—in good sermonic tradition.

First, these sort of engagements often display our cultural misunderstanding of the Christmas story. As we have seen, through the dissonance we feel when we see the odd co-option of Jesus’ birth, or elements of our culture which oddly parallel the biblical narrative, we can see the ways that our faith stands at odds with society. In addition, by highlighting aspects of the Christmas story separate to Jesus it actually gives us a great opportunity to reintroduce the biblical narrative to our cultural appropriations. As with my friend struggling to see the relevance of Christmas bon-bons and tissue paper hats, we are given the chance to demonstrate how these seemingly common items reflect the great gift given to us in the kingly Christ. True, some of these misappropriations or misunderstandings—such as the farmyard birth narrative—should probably be consigned to the dustbin. But even there these give us an opportunity to elaborate on the hope we have in Christ, and His coming as a full embodiment of our humanity. In short the dissonance between the biblical narrative and our cultural appropriations can be an opportunity to engage our broader world with the gospel.

Second, this engagement should drive us back to the actual Christmas narrative. One of the great blessings at this time of year is to be able to read the advent and nativity narratives within a context of our culture celebrating the themes—if not the content—of that narrative. In response to Mary Did You Know, we can read the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55) and hear Mary’s own words about the extended mercies of God and the fulfilling of his promises. When we see an inflatable nativity scene at the local hardware store we can read of the announcement to the shepherds on that hillside outside Bethlehem, and the great company of angels praising God and singing “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favour rests.” (Luke 2:14). The Christmas narratives found in our gospels should be our resonant sounding board throughout this season. Where instead of fearing the Whammageddon! of Last Christmas, we should gleefully remember the inauguration of the First Nowell.

Finally, however, reading and declaring the biblical narratives in counterpoint to our cultural narratives should also leave us with a sense of unease, for what is inaugurated has not yet been completed. As we read of God’s mercies to his servant Israel (Luke 1:54), and the guiding of feet in the way of peace (1:79), or the declaration of the Year of the Lord in Isaiah 61, we should have a constant reminder that all is not yet completed. While the inauguration of the end has begun, the final fulfilment often still feels a way off. Indeed, this is even more stark given the glitz and glam of this time of year. Even as our culture ratchets up the “joy” factor, deep down we often know that something is not quite right. Just as the wise men were warned of impending doom that first Epiphany, so too our own senses should indicate that all is not complete yet. This should lift our eyes and hearts towards the day when all will finally be put to rights, where the songs of Elizabeth, Mary, and Zechariah all come to their full fruition.

Christopher Porter is the Post-Doctoral Research Fellow at Trinity College Theological School (UD) and a priest in the Anglican Diocese of Melbourne. Apart from being a sentimental Advent tragic, he has been involved in church planting, passionate about training people for ministry and is interested in the intersection of culture, fictional worlds, and theology.