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The martyr St Euphemia played a vital role in preventing the message of Christmas from being watered down.
In 314, the Roman Empiror Costantine lifted all restrictions on Christianity, but intellectuals still held the philosophy of Plato in awe. Sometimes the Greek view of the Divine – remote, impersonal, unsullied by contact with Creation – tempted Christian clergy to back-peddle on the much more characterful God of Israel, who will dare all for love.
The Tilers and Thatchers of fourteenth-century York tell how Joseph and Mary fared after they were turned away by the innkeepers of Bethlehem.
From at least the 1370s, a series of pageants was put on in the city of York for Corpus Christi, a summertime Church festival dedicated to the Eucharist. Dramatising the life of Jesus Christ, the plays were performed by members of the Guilds of skilled trades or ‘mysteries’ (hence ‘mystery plays’). The Nativity fell to the Tilers and Thatchers, who began with Joseph and Mary trying to settle into a tumbledown Bethlehem stable.
The chill of the night is relieved by the warmth of the beasts in their stalls, prompting Mary and Joseph to reflect on the promises of Scripture.
The Tilers and Thatchers of fourteenth-century York bring their Nativity play to a close, back in the Bethlehem stable where Mary and her guardian Joseph have been forced to find shelter. Mary has given birth to a son and laid him in a manger, while her guardian Joseph was out looking for candles. Now he has returned, to find that his candles are superfluous for another Light is shining in the darkness.
One Christmas Eve back in the twelfth century, a monk keeping midnight vigil in Lindisfarne priory watched spellbound as two great doors opened all by themselves.
During Viking raids in 793, the monastic community on Lindisfarne hastily exhumed the body of St Cuthbert (?635-687) and fled. After two hundred years of wandering they found a home for him at Durham, and in 1093 the Bishop of Durham re-established the priory on Lindisfarne. In the early days it was staffed by just a couple of Durham monks, but one Christmas, we are told, they received some visitors.
The birth of Jesus Christ fundamentally changed the relationship between mankind and the angels.
Elfric of Eynsham reminds us that when God’s Son took flesh and was born from the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem, he conferred an honour on all human bodies and indeed all creation. After the Nativity, even the angels changed their dealings with us, out of respect for what happened on that night in the inn.
Anglo-Saxon abbot Elfric tentatively likened the new-born Jesus to an egg.
In a Sermon for Christmas Day, Anglo-Saxon abbot Elfric of Eynsham likened the new-born baby in the manger to an egg. His purpose was serious: he wanted his congregation to understand that Jesus Christ was the incarnate Son, Word and Wisdom of God, not merely a prophet or good man that God loved like a son.
The sounds of an English country Christmas helped Tennyson in his deep mourning for an old friend.
The material trappings of Christmas – the tree, the lights, the presents, the dinner and its customs – are sometimes the only things left to cling to when faith wavers, as Tennyson found, mourning his close friend Arthur Henry Hallam.