Did Herod lose any sleep over the innocent children?

The Slaughter of the Innocents by Domenico Ghirlandaio: the fresco is part of a series of panels in the Cappella Tornabuoni in the Church of Santa Maria Novella, dating from 1486-1490

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 28 December 2008: The Holy Innocents: Jeremiah 31: 15-17; Psalm 124; I Corinthians 1: 26-29; Matthew 2: 13-18

May I speak to you in the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

I wonder: did Herod lose any sleep at night over the innocent children at Christmas-time?

So many of us know what it’s like to be kept awake at night by innocent little children, especially at Christmas time.

You stay up late into the night, waiting until you’re sure they’re fast asleep before you even start wondering where they’ve hung their stockings, or thinking about where Santa is going to find space beneath the Christmas tree.

Eventually, you’ve sorted everything out, and tired and bleary-eyed you creep up to bed. Then, just as you think you’re about to fall asleep, you hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet on the stairs. The excitement, the shrieks and the joy mean that’s the last snatch of sleep you’ll get until the afternoon when you drowse in front of the television.

It’s cyclical. When they’re born, you lose sleep over them, waking regularly for constant night-time feeds. A little latter, you lose sleep as you’re called each night to change nappies or to change sheets. When they’re teenagers, you lose sleep worrying whether they’re out too late.

Then, in your naivety, you imagine that when they are adults you’ll get a decent night’s sleep. Don’t be deceived – they’ll be in Australia or Canada … and they’ll call, forgetting it’s the middle of the night. Or, they’ll ask you to mind the grandchildren.

Now I can remember those sleepless nights as nights filled with love … those big beaming eyes looking up after feeding or changing a lovely, loving child were enough thanks, and gave me a real feeling of the love of God.

I wonder: did Mary and Joseph get a decent night’s sleep in the stable in Bethlehem? Did Mary look into her child’s eyes, and as he looked up from his crib after being fed or changed, did she see the love of God shining through those eyes?

I wonder: did the Wise Men lose sleep on their way to Bethlehem? Or were they too anxious to make sure they didn’t lose sight of the start guiding their way?

I wonder: did the Wise Men lose sleep as they made their way back from Bethlehem? Or were they too anxious to make sure Herod’s men weren’t tracking them in order to drag them back for a cruel grilling in Jerusalem?

I wonder: how many nights’ sleep did Herod lose over the little child he heard had been born? Did he think of combing through the back streets and the side alleys of Bethlehem to find him himself?

I wonder: did Mary and Joseph sleep at all at night during their perilous journey down through the Sinai Desert and across the Nile into Egypt, worried about their safety and saving the Saviour-Child?

I wonder: how many nights’ sleep did Herod lose over all the Innocent Children who had been slaughtered at his command?

The Byzantine liturgy says 14,000 Holy Innocents were slaughtered on Herod’s orders, an early Syrian list says these first martyrs for Christ were 64,000 in number. But given the size of Bethlehem at the time, the number of slain children may have been only between six and 20. But even if it was one or two children – did Herod lose even one night’s sleep if he heard a voice in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping, if he heard Rachel weeping for her children?

There is no such thing as an innocent child unless we say that all children are innocent. And no child’s suffering is ever tolerable or acceptable. Whether the number was 64,000, 14,000, 20, six, or even one, the thought of even one innocent child suffering at the hands of someone who has power over his or her life should move us to tears.

It is a sad judgment on the whole Church that the suffering of any child, even one child, should be seen as an agenda item for discussing the efficiency or inefficiency of different layers of church administration: should the recommendations of a report be implemented? Who is responsible for its implementation? Should we make its findings public?

Shifting the blame is always a sure indication that responsibility is being abandoned.

Oscar Schindler famously said: “Whoever saves the life of one saves the entire world.” He was referring to a well-known teaching in the Talmud: “Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world” (Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 4: 8, 37a). It is a teaching that has inspired the inscription on medals awarded to the Righteous Gentiles, those brave people who risked their own lives to save the lives of Jews during the Holocaust: “Whoever saves a single soul, it is as if he had saved the whole world.”

The obvious deduction from that, of course, is: Whoever destroys the innocence of one child, it is as if he has destroyed the innocence of all children, as if he has destroyed the childhood of everyone. It is for this reason that Jesus reserves his most severe and most frightening warning and rebuke for those sort of people (see Mark 9: 42; Luke 17: 2).

The appalling cases of child abuse and the mishandling of those cases is not just a matter of shame for one bishop, or for one diocese, whether it is Cloyne, Ferns or Dublin. Nor is it a matter of shame for one branch of the Church, in isolation from other branches of the Church. This is a matter of shame for the whole Church.

Quite frankly, I think the Bishop of Cloyne, and anyone else involved in the mishandling and hiding of child abuse cases, in any part of the Church, should resign immediately. But this is not a matter of triumphalism for the Church of Ireland – we too have had some very sad cases, and have been saved humiliation and embarrassment by a very fair handling of court cases in the media.

But this is not about embarrassment and humiliation. It is about how the Church should defend and protect the innocence of children and deal swiftly and immediately with those who threaten and destroy the lives of children.

When one part of the Church errs, the whole Church should cry out in lamentation and with bitter weeping, for if one child suffers we should weep for all children. Or else, the whole Church errs.

When I say the Bishop of Cloyne should resign, and resign immediately, do not mistake my intentions. I would say the same about anyone who mishandles reports of child abuse, in any part of the Church, including the Church of Ireland, or, for that matter, in any part of society. And while cases like this continue, then we should lose not just one night’s sleep, but many nights’ sleep.

When God came to us in the Christ child, God came to us as a little, small vulnerable child. As Mary looked into this innocent babe’s eyes, she saw the love of God shining out to her.

But how many mothers have seen this love, night after night, and have realised that they too are receiving the love of God as they answer the call from a cot for a feed or a nappy change?

Love and innocence; the gift of God in every birth, and especially in the birth of Christ at Christmas; the innocence of one child and every child – we should always guard it, protect it, cherish it, and cry out whenever it is violated.

And now may all praise, honour and glory be to God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Director of Spiritual Formation, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute. This sermon was preached at the Eucharist in the Church of Saint John the Evangelist, Sandymount, Dublin, on Sunday 28 December 2008.

Who cares about Boxing Day?

Patrick Comerford

Who cares about Boxing Day? Today, 26 December, is Saint Stephen’s Day – although it is popularly known to many as the “feast of Stephen” because of the popular Christmas carol, Good King Wenceslas.

Today is a public holiday here in Ireland and in many other European countries. But in the Eastern Orthodox Church and the Byzantine-rite Eastern Catholic Churches, Saint Stephen will be remembered tomorrow on 27 December, which is also known as the Third Day of the Nativity.

Saint Stephen (Στέφανος, Stephanos) is known as the Protomartyr (Πρωτομάρτυς, Protomartis, or first martyr) of Christianity. Saint Stephen is mentioned for the first time in the New Testament at the appointment of the first deacons (Acts 6: 5). Because of dissatisfaction in the Church over the distribution of alms from the community funds, seven men were selected as deacons to take care of the temporal relief of the poorer members.

The Greek-speaking Christians complained that their widows and orphans were being over-looked in the daily distribution of food. The 12 Apostles called a meeting and decided to appoint seven good men from the Body of the Church to deal with these worries.

Stephen, is the first named and the best known of these seven. Although we know nothing about his life before this, as a deacon Stephen was full of grace and power. He worked great miracles and signs. Many came and argued with him but they could not hold their own against his wisdom. Because of this he made enemies.

The Acts of the Apostles tells how Stephen was hen tried by the Sanhedrin for blasphemy against God and for speaking against the Temple and the Law of Moses (Acts 6: 11-14). He and was then stoned to death by a mob encouraged by Saul of Tarsus, the future Saint Paul (Acts 8: 1).

Stephen’s final speech recalls the persecution of the prophets who spoke out in the past: “Which one of the Prophets did your fathers not persecute, and they killed the ones who prophesied the coming of the Just One, of whom now, too, you have become betrayers and murderers” (Acts 7: 52).

Stephen's name is derived from the Greek Stephanos, meaning “crown.” Saint Stephen is traditionally invested with a crown of martyrdom and is often depicted in icons and art with three stones and the martyrs’ palm. In Orthodox iconography he is shown as a young beardless man with a tonsure, robed in a deacon’s vestments, and often holding a church building and a censer.

As he was on trial and being prosecuted, Saint Stephen experienced a theophany, in which he saw both the Father and the Son: “Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God” (Acts 7: 56.

The Lions’ Gate In the old city of Jerusalem is also called Saint Stephanus Gate, because tradition says that Stephen was stoned to death there, although it probably occurred at the Damascus Gate.

When Stephen’s relics were discovered in 415, they were solemnly transferred to a church built in his honour in Jerusalem. When Christian pilgrims were travelling in large numbers to Jerusalem, a priest named Lucian said he had learned in a vision that the tomb of Saint Stephen was in Caphar Gamala, north of Jerusalem.

His relics were exhumed and were carried to the Church of Mount Sion. In the year 460 they were placed in the Basilica erected by the Empress Eudocia outside the Damascus Gate on the spot where it was believed the stoning had taken place. Later, during the reign of Emperor Theodosius the Younger (408-450) they were moved to Constantinople.

In Dublin, we have Saint Stephen’s Church in Mount Street, and, of course, Saint Stephen’s Green. Saint Stephen’s Chapel in Westminster was first built in the reign of Henry III and eventually became the first location of the chamber of the House of Commons. During visits to Vienna, I have always made a point of visiting the Stephansdom, the Cathedral of Saint Stephen, founded in 1147. And I like to remember this day because Stephen was the baptismal name of my grandfather, my father and my eldest brother.

In the Anglican tradition, we ordain men and women as deacons, and traditionally, they wait a year before ordination to the priesthood. Although many forget this, all priests who are ordained in this traditional form remain deacons, and today’s saint, Stephen the first Deacon and Martyr, is a good reminder that the Ministry of a Deacon, the Ministry of service that involves waiting on others and looking after the needs of the marginalised and the forgotten, is the foundation of all ordained ministry.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Director of Spiritual Formation, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin.

In the Bleak Midwinter

Patrick Comerford

25 December 2008, Christmas Day

Isaiah 62: 6-12; Titus 3: 4-7; Luke 2: 8 - 20.

May I speak to you in the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen

I have to confess to being a life-long fan of Leonard Cohen. His concert in Dublin in June was the cultural highlight of the year for me. And I don’t care who wins the X Factor or tops the charts with the Christmas No 1 – Leonard Cohen’s version of Hallelujah is still my favourite.

But when it comes to Christmas carols, then one of my favourite carols is also a chart topper because it was recently voted the best carol ever. It is Christina Rossetti’s poem, In the Bleak Midwinter. In a BBC poll of some of the world’s leading choirmasters and choral experts, it was chosen as the best-ever Christmas carol.

It came out top in the BBC Music Magazine poll last month, above well-known songs and carols such as Silent Night, Ding Dong Merrily on High and Once in Royal David’s City.

The poet Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) was part of the Victorian arts-and-crafts movement and the pre-Raphaelite movement; she was a leading advocate of women’s rights, a campaigner against slavery and war, and a prominent member of the Anglo-Catholic movement. She wrote In the Bleak Midwinter in 1872 in answer to a request from a magazine. But, like a lot of writers, she must have been frustrated that it took so long to have her poem published.

Although she wrote it in 1872, In the Bleak Midwinter was not published until 1904, ten years after she died. Gustav Holst (1874-1934) then set it to music, and it was first published as a Christmas carol just over a century ago, in The English Hymnal (1906), edited by Percy Dearmer and Holst’s friend, Ralph Vaughan Williams.

So it took over 30 years, more than a generation, before this poem was first sung as a Christmas carol. But ever since then, it has been a firm Christmas favourite. Another setting for the carol, by Harold Darke (1888-1976), with his beautiful and delicate organ accompaniment, has been popular since the choir of King’s College, Cambridge, began using it in the radio broadcasts of the Service of Nine Lessons and Carols.

It has been recorded by the King’s Singers, Julie Andrews, the Moody Blues, the Pet Shop Boys, James Taylor, Alison Crowe, Moya Brennan, Celtic Woman, Sarah McLachlan, Sarah Brightman and Loreena McKennitt. And yet, I find this popularity surprising. Because this is no popular, cosy, comfortable Christmas carol. The images are harsh, and bleak, and demanding.

So often I hear it said that people only come to church at Christmas to be comforted and consoled, not to be challenged, that what they want is the carols and the crib, the tinsel and the tree, Santa and the snowman, but that we don’t want the challenge of Christmas.

Yet Christmas is a truly challenging story: it is the story of a single mother, of a homeless family that finds no welcome, of farm labourers left to the mercy of the wolves and the thieves of the night, of a capricious ruler who stoops to using any violence that secures his throne, and of the exile and search for asylum of an unwanted family in a foreign country.

But then, Christmas was never meant to be a comfortable story. Christmas is irrelevant unless we bear in mind the whole purpose of Christmas: it is God’s identification with us in the flesh, in the here-and-now; with our sufferings and hardships as we live them out; his identification with us that becomes complete on the Cross on Good Friday; his identification with us that triumphs over all that is bleak and miserable with the Resurrection on Easter morning.

And this poem and carol by Christina Rossetti, which gets to the heart of the Christmas message, seems more relevant to me in this bleak mid-winter than it has seemed for many years.

For many of us know that this Christmas is in the middle of a very bleak mid-winter. It is a bleak Christmas for too many this year. It’s not just that there have been fewer office parties, that in business there have been fewer Christmas presents to and from clients, that there have been fewer cards and complimentaries.

It is much more worrying than that. How many are now worried that they may have no job, no income, perhaps even no home when we move on into the New Year?

And quite clearly, nobody is taking responsibility for this predicament. We can blame who we want to: the government, the builders, the banks, the speculators. But when we move on from the blame game, who is going to take responsibility?

It seems that these days, when something wrong is uncovered, a contributory factor in our present economic crisis is unfolded or is revealed, those who should bear responsibility simply walk away. They resign, and at their resignation they take a nice comfortable package. But accepting true responsibility never means walking away from a problem … accepting responsibility means admitting that something is wrong, and then trying to do something about it.

How often do we hear people say that they did nothing wrong, that what they did may have been “inappropriate” but it was legal and they didn’t break any rules?

“I accepted a large, anonymous donation and used it for my personal gain. But it wasn’t against the rules at the time, and I didn’t break any law. I’m resigning and I’ll leave it to other politicians to sort things out.”

Or:

“I borrowed large sums from my own bank as I watched the value of my shareholders’ stock spiral in decline, as depositors saw their savings put at unacceptable risk, as taxpayers were called on to prop up the system while their pensions, their healthcare and their children’s education were put at risk. I’m resigning, and the taxpayers and the voters, Sean and Sile Citizen, can bear the cost of my folly.”

We’ve blurred the lines that distinguish between right and wrong, between what’s permitted and what should never happen. We no longer ask whether something is ethical. We simply want to know whether it was illegal or not, whether any rules that applied at the time were broken.

And we no longer link responsibility to the moral imperative to own up and to act responsibly, to act without self-interest for the general and common good, even when it puts my own potential for selfish gains at risk.

At a time when the world as we once knew it – socially, politically, economically, ethically and morally – appears to be collapsing all around us, the Christmas story appears to be the one comfort that many people are falling back on.

Perhaps this is because this is precisely what is at the heart of the Christmas story. God sees that the world is in a truly bleak midwinter. According to Christina Rossetti, it was a bleak midwinter, when

Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone:
Snow had fallen,
Snow on snow, / Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,”

when God took responsibility for this cold-hearted world.

God didn’t walk away from this cold-hearted, stone-hearted world.

God didn’t say there’s nothing in the rulebook that requires me to do something about it.

God didn’t decide to wipe his hands of the dust and dirt of this world.

God didn’t say there is nothing ethically compelling that demands that I should take action.

At Christmas, God does the very opposite of walking away.

At Christmas, God does the very opposite of putting the blame on others.

At Christmas, God does the very opposite of refusing to identify with the suffering, the marginalised, the victims and the losers.

At Christmas, God throws all the rules aside, defies all expectations, behaves in a way that is totally selfless and unselfish.

He seeks no rewards, no benefits, no pay-offs, no dividends.

He just comes in search of humanity, in all dejection and rejection.

He just seeks you and me.

He doesn’t come as a wealth-seeking banker, a power-driven politician, a get-rich-quick merchant.

He just identifies with us in our human flesh, in our nakedness, as we are, without any wealth or fashion to hide our weak, frail and naked but beautiful humanity.

He offers us his love. God loves you.

And all he asks in return is our love, your love and my love:

What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him —
Give my heart.

Poor or wise, strong or weak, powerful or powerless, all he asks of us in return, all he asks of you and me, is your heart, my heart.

To an apparently heart-less world, that may be an awesome price. But that’s what the world and our society, Irish society, every society, needs most at this bleak, mid-winter time: our love, and the love of God, which is offered freely at Christmas-time.

Have a Happy Christmas. Now and tomorrow, every tomorrow, may you enjoy and reflect the love of the incarnate Christ. Hallelujah!

And so, may all praise honour and glory be to God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen

Canon Patrick Comerford is Director of Spiritual Formation, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute. This sermon was preached at the Family Service in Whitechurch Parish, Rathfarnham, Dublin, on Christmas Day 2008.

In the Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen,
Snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him,
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When he comes to reign;
In the bleak midwinter
A stable place sufficed
The Lord God incarnate,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for him, whom Cherubim
Worship night and day
A breast full of milk
And a manger full of hay.
Enough for him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But his mother only,
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him —
Give my heart.

Listen to a free recording of Darke’s In the bleak midwinter from Coro Nostro, a mixed chamber choir based in Leicester.

Leonard Cohen’s Halleluljah is at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rf36v0epfmI

The Spirit of Hope

This morning’s front-page photograph by Daragh McSweeney/Provision in The Irish Times shows a stained-glass window in the Church of the Immaculate Conception, Carrigavar, Co Cork

The following editoral is carried in The Irish Times this morning (Christmas Eve 2008):

The Spirit of Hope

A POPULAR story this Christmas season tells of a shopper picking up a charity packet of Christmas cards, each with a nativity scene, and being overheard saying: “They’re trying to bring religion into everything these days!” In sharp contrast, pulpits throughout the land will be filled tomorrow with priests and preachers reminding us of the need to recover “the real meaning of Christmas”.

The reality of course, lies somewhere in between. For, in a time of economic foreboding, the Nativity story poses real challenges both to those who would like to relegate religion to the realm of private opinion and those who think any secular celebrations debase the meaning of Christmas.

The Nativity is as brutal in its imagery as it is compelling in its contemporary relevance. It is a story about poverty, homelessness, marginalisation and the capricious abuse of political power. And yet it is also a story about the value of giving generously, giving freely and taking responsibility. The image in Saint Matthew’s Gospel of visiting wise men or kings who bring all their wealth and lay it before a lowly-born child is in sharp contrast to the brutal abuse of absolute power by a despotic Herod, who uses every unethical but legal means available to him to shore up his power and control. On the other hand, the wise men in their generosity, like the shepherds in their simplicity, joyfully accept responsibility for the news they hear and for the events around them. Unlike the self-interested Herod, they are ethical, realistic and responsible in their actions and response.

In religious terms, the Christmas story is good news because it is the story of God taking responsibility for the here-and-now and identifying with every one of us. Instead of walking away from the human condition, God in Christ identifies with the full panoply of human crises, not merely by intervening but by becoming human.

Christmas, therefore, is a story that is in sharp contrast to those politicians, financiers and captains of industry who refuse to accept responsibility for present-day problems. Christmas is the story of how God takes responsibility for the world and steps into it at the birth of Christ. Christmas is a story about God refusing to walk away and God showing the difference between legal decision-making and ethical action. It is a story that is relevant to all of us, whether we sent Christmas cards with a religious theme or simply sent ones that sought to bring cheer in this bleak midwinter.

A real Christmas Card for a real Christmas

Patrick Comerford

How many Christmas cards have you received this Christmas? And how many of them depicted the Christmas story, keeping Christ at the heart of Christmas?

The five main characters or sets of characters in the Christmas story – Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and the Angels, and the Wise Men – are seen in the icon of the Nativity, which gives us a very different take on the Christmas story than the ones we find on popular Christmas cards.

In the Orthodox tradition, the icon of the Nativity of Christ shows the Creator of the Universe entering history as a new-born babe, and the impact of his birth on the natural life of the world.

The background of the icon traditionally displays an inhospitable world, the world since our expulsion from Paradise. In the centre of the icon are Mary, the central and disproportionately large figure, who is see resting in a cave, and the Christ Child as a baby in a manger wrapped in swaddling clothes. Around the icon, we can see details from the Christmas story.

The icon is rich with theological symbolism.

The Christ Child

The little helpless figure in swaddling clothes represents the complete submission of Christ to the physical conditions governing the human race.

The earth provides him with a cave. The animals watch over him in silent wonder and we humans offer him one of us, the Virgin Mother. His manger is like a coffin and his swaddling clothes are very much like the grave clothes, for this child is born to die.

Far from the Christmas-card image of being born in a sweet, cosy stable, surrounded by cuddly animals and adoring fans, Jesus is born in a dark cave. The craggy rocks above the cave form the shadow of the cross on which he dies.

One very old version of the Christmas story has it that Jesus was born in a cave outside Bethlehem, which is why the icon shows him that way, in the midst of jagged rocks and pitch dark. Christ has come into the world to save it, but that means he has come into a place of darkness and danger. He is in the depths. His birth anticipates his death, just as the gift of myrrh (a spice used in burials) points us to Christ’s death and burial.

So, while the nativity is a joyful event, it carries a serious message. Jesus is God with us, God come to live the life of a human being on earth. But he has also come to die, to set us free from our slavery to evil, poverty and injustice. As one writer puts it: “God became a human child so that we might become children of God.”

The Virgin Mary

The Virgin Mary is known in Orthodoxy as the Theotokos, the God-bearer or Mother of God. Although Mary is the most dominant figure in the icon, she is not the most important. Sometimes she is shown kneeling, still concerned.

Mary is right at the centre of the Christmas story, which is why she is at the centre of this icon. It was her “yes” spoken to the angel who told her she would give birth to Jesus which set the whole story in motion. It was her belief that God could do what he promised that made it all possible. And it was she who gave birth and laid her son in a feeding trough for cattle, due to overcrowding in Bethlehem.

In this icon, we see Mary lying on a sort of long, red cushion – it almost looks like a bean bag – with Jesus in his makeshift cot by her side. She is pulling her cloak around her for warmth, and perhaps she is trying to catch some sleep after the exhaustion of giving birth. The icon-writer presents Mary like this to remind us that the birth of Jesus – like any birth – was hard work and that it was a human event. Jesus was fully human. The way Mary wraps herself in her cloak and turns to get some sleep tells us that.

But Jesus was more than just a human being, as we are told in the words of the nativity narratives in the Gospels, and through the images in this icon.

The Star

The sky salutes the Christ Child with a star, the light of wisdom. This is a sign that Christ came for everyone. Some icons have three rays from the star, representing the Holy Trinity.

The Shepherds

The shepherds and the Wise Men or Magi bring their gifts as signs that Christ has come for everyone.

Saint Luke’s Gospel has a special emphasis on the poor and disadvantaged, on people living on the margins of society. While Saint Matthew’s Gospel focuses on the wise men who travelled from the East, Saint Luke’s spotlight falls on these working men, who hear the news about the birth of Jesus from heaven itself.

There shepherds are on the right-hand side of the icon, and one young shepherd is wearing a wreath as he plays his flute, showing the joy of the Good News.

Below the shepherds, their sheep drink in a river. One of the shepherds looks up and is blessed by an angel looking down on him. Luke is the only evangelist to mention the shepherds in his Gospel.

Jesus later said, “I have come to bring good news to the poor.” The shepherds in the story remind us of God’s love for those who are forgotten and left behind in our world.

The Wise Men

The Wise Men are on horseback on the left-hand side of the icon, galloping uphill, their faces turned up looking for the star which has led them there. The wise men are also part of the Christmas story, and they bring not just their strange and exotic gifts but they also bring the world of politics and military power into the story.

King Herod, a violent and cunning ruler who was paranoid about holding on to his power, is alarmed by his unexpected visitors. Eventually, he orders the horrific massacre of all new-born baby boys in Bethlehem in an attempt to liquidate any rival to his throne, no matter how young he may be.

In this icon, the uphill angle of the horses tells of the long, hard journey of the wise men, and how important the event was to them. Perhaps they alone in this story have realised something of what was truly happening. And the speed of their horses tells us of the urgency and danger in their part of the story.

They show how the story of the incarnation of Christ was rooted in the real world of political corruption and intrigue, with a ruler who was prepared to kill anyone who stood in his way. It is this real world of oppression, death and danger that Christ has come to save.

The midwives

The women on the bottom right of the icon are midwives. They tell us that Jesus was born in the normal way and would have needed washing, as a regular human baby does.

The tree

Below the centre of the icon is a tree, representing the Jesse Tree in Old Testament prophecy, which says that a shoot will sprout from the stump of Jesse, the father of King David: “A shoot shall sprout from the stump (tree) of Jesse and from his roots a bud shall blossom. The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Him” (Isaiah 11: 1-2).

The ox and ass

Christ comes into the world that does not recognise him for who he is. The ox and the ass below the centre of the icon are also referred to in an Old Testament prophecy: “The ox knows his owner, and the donkey his master’s crib, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand” (Isaiah 1: 3). In some icons, the ox and ass are shown near the Christ child, providing warmth from their breath.

Joseph

The Righteous Joseph is shown away from Jesus and the Virgin Mary, to the bottom left. This is to show that he was not involved in the miracle of the Incarnation of the Son of God, but that he was the protector of Mary and Jesus.

Joseph reminds us of a very human dilemma in the Nativity stories: how could Mary be pregnant? It was a scandalous thing (see Matthew 1: 18-24).

From Saint Matthew’s Gospel, it is clear that Joseph did not believe Mary’s explanation of how she had conceived. It was only after a dream that he accepted Mary as his wife.

In the icon, Joseph has his back to Mary, listening to his doubts and fears. He cuts an isolated figure, right at the bottom of the picture, and he looks thoroughly fed up with everything. And yet, despite any lingering doubts he may have harboured, Joseph has an important place in the whole icon. Doubt can help us get honest with God and with ourselves.

The tempting old man

The old man speaking to Joseph represents the devil bringing new doubts to Joseph. The devil suggests that if the infant were truly divine he would not have been born in the human way. This argument, presented in different forms, keeps on reappearing throughout the history of the Church, and is the foundation of many heresies.

In the person of Joseph, the icon discloses not only his personal drama, but the drama of all humanity, the difficulty of accepting that which is beyond reason, the Incarnation of God. But Mary in the centre, from her reclining position at the centre of the icon, looks at Joseph as if trying to overcome his doubts and temptations.

The Angels

The Angels in the icon are glorifying God, tending to the action, and ministering. They are announcing the Good news to the shepherds, or singing. The angels in the middle group are kneeling or bowing in worship before Jesus, lying in his cave, while the angels on the left of the icon are standing like a choir, singing.

Prayer and reflection

Spend a few moments in thought and prayer while you are at your computer or laptop. If it is now night-time, dim or turn off the lights in your room. If it is possible, light a candle or night-light and think of Mary and her “yes” to God. Remember her open-hearted faith.

If you have some of those Christmas cards you have received close to hand, take three or four of them and pray for the people who have sent them to you. If you haven’t, pray for those you are thinking of most at the moment.

Here is a prayer to pray for yourself and others:

May God shield us
May God fill us
May God keep us
May God watch over us.
May God bring us
To the land of peace
To the country of the king
To the peace of eternity.

Have a Happy and a Holy Christmas.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Director of Spiritual Formation, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute

Christmas in Christ Church Cathedral

Patrick Comerford

With just ten days to go to Christmas Eve, this is a busy time in Christ Church Cathedral. On Tuesday, 16 December, at 1.10pm, there is a Charity Carol Service with the Cathedral Girls’ Choir and Lay Vicars Choral.

On Wednesday, 17 December, at 4 p.m., the Cathedral Choir will sing a live broadcast service on BBC Radio 3’s Choral Evensong programme. Music will include Boles, Adam lay y-bounden, Walsh responses, Howells, Gloucester service, and Maw, There is no rose, with a concluding organ voluntary by Duruflé, Fugue sur le nom d’Alain, Op 7.

On Sunday next (21 December 2008), the settings for the Sung Eucharist at 11 a.m. include Ceasar’s Missa Brevis and Guerrero’s Ave Virgo sanctissima, and at 3.30 p.m. there is a Cathedral Carol Service with the combined Cathedral Choirs.

On Monday 22 December 2008, at 8 p.m., the service of Nine Lessons and Carols will include the combined Cathedral Choirs. Free tickets are available from the Cathedral Office (01-677 8099).

On Christmas Eve, Wednesday 24 December, the first Eucharist of the Nativity will be celebrated at 11 p.m. On Christmas Day, 25 December, the Festal Eucharist will be celebrated at 11 a.m.

And after Christmas, at 7.30 p.m. on Tuesday, 30 December, there is a recital of Handel’s Messiah by the International Handel Festival Chorus.

This month’s edition of the Dublin and Glendalough diocesan magazine, the Church Review, also carries two photographs by Garret Casey from recent events in the Chapter Room of the cathedral: a meeting of the Church of Ireland Historical Society, and a visit by French pilgrims from Eu on the feast day of Saint Laurence O’Toole.

Both Professor William McCormack (above) and I delivered papers at the autumn conference of the Church of Ireland Historical Society in Christ Church Cathedral.

The conference was chaired by the Dean of the Cathedral, the Very Revd Dermot Dunne, and the former principal of the Church of Ireland Theological College, the Revd Canon Dr Adrian Empey. My paper is availabe here: Irish Anglicans and the Greek War of Independence


The French pilgrims from Eu in France were visiting Christ Church Cathedral on the occasion of the feast day of St Laurence O’Toole. The patron saint of the Diocese of Dublin and Glendalough is buried in Eu, but his heart is preserved in Christ Church.

The pilgtims were led by the Archbishop of Rouen, the Most Revd Dr Jean-Charles Descubes, and Madame Le Maire, Marie-Francoise Gaouyer. They are pictured with the Archbishop of Dublin, the Most Revd Dr John Neill, the Dean of Christ Church, the Very Revd Dermot Dunne, and chapter members.

This month’s Church Review also carries a report by Carol Casey on a recent paper I delivered at a meeting of the Diocesan Guild of Lay Ministries: Orthodox Spirituality: insights for today

Canon Patrick Comerford is Director of Spiritual Formation, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin.

Saint Nicholas: role model for Santa Claus

Patrick Comerford

Today, 6 December, the Church commemorates Saint Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, one of the fathers of the Council of Nicaea, and the role model for Santa Claus.

Saint Nicholas (Άγιος Νικόλαος, Aghios Nikolaos, “Victory of the People”) was Nicholas of Myra in Lycia, now known as Demre, near Antalya in present-day Turkey. Because of the many miracles associated with Saint Nicholas, he is also known as Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker. He had a reputation as a secret giver of gifts, such as putting coins in the shoes of those who left them out for him, and because of this, perhaps, was transformed into our present-day Santa Claus.

Saint Nicholas is also the patron saint of sailors, seafarers, merchants, archers, pawn brokers, children and students, and the patron saint of Amsterdam, Liverpool and Russia.

According to legend, as a young man Nicholas was sent as a student to Alexandria. On the voyage by sea between Myra and Alexandria, he is said to have saved the life of a sailor who fell from the ship’s rigging in a storm. In one version of this story, on their arrival back in Myra Nicholas took the sailor to church. The previous Bishop of Myra had just died, and the freshly-returned, heroic Nicholas was elected his successor.

Another story tells how in the middle of a famine, a butcher lured three little children into his house, slaughtered and butchered them, and put their bodies in a pork barrel to sell them off as meat pies. Saint Nicholas, who heard of the butcher’s horrific plans, raised the three boys back to life from the barrel through his prayers.

The best-known story about the bishop tells how a poor man had three daughters but could not afford a proper dowry for them. This meant that they would remain unmarried and probably end up as prostitutes. Hearing of their plight, Nicholas secretly went to their house under the cover of dark and threw three purses filled with gold, one for each daughter, through the window or down the chimney.

Saint Nicholas, Defender of the Church

Personally, I prefer the stories that link Saint Nicholas with the defence of true Christian doctrine. In the year 325, the Emperor Constantine convened the Council of Nicaea, attended by more than 300 bishops from all over the Christian world to debate the nature of the Holy Trinity. It was one of the early Church’s most intense theological questions. Arius from Alexandria was teaching that Jesus Christ was the Son of God but was not equal to God the Father.

As Arius argued his position at length, it is said that Nicholas became agitated to the point that he could no longer bear the attacks on what he believed was essential to the faith. The outraged Nicholas got up, crossed the room, and slapped Arius across the face!

The shocked bishops brought Nicholas to Constantine, who decreed that the bishops themselves should determine the punishment. The bishops stripped Nicholas of his episcopal robes, chained him, and threw him into jail, barring him away from attending the meeting. In the morning, they found his chains loose on the floor and Nicholas dressed in his episcopal robes, quietly reading the Scriptures.

Constantine ordered his release, and Nicholas was promptly reinstated as the Bishop of Myra. As the debate went on, the Council of Nicaea agreed with his views, deciding against the position held by Arius, and agreeing on the Nicene Creed, which remains the symbol of our faith.

Saint Nicholas and his churches

Three of my favourite places associated with Saint Nicholas are Aghios Nikolaos in Crete, the Church of Aghios Nikolaos Rangava in Athens, and the Island of Gemile, off the Aegean coast of Turkey.

Aghios Nikolaos in Crete: the perfect summer hideaway for any Santa Claus

In eastern Crete, the harbour town of Aghios Nikolaos (Άγιος Νικόλαος) is in an attractive location on the Gulf of Mirabello. The town is built around an inner lagoon, Voulismeni, which is surrounded by palm trees and cafés. Modern hotels and apartments may dwarf surviving older buildings, but it is still a charming place, and local people love trying to convince visiting tourists that the lake is fathomless.

The town takes its name from the tiny 11th century church of Aghios Nikólaos. Many years ago, a visit to this Church of Aghios Nikólaos with icons of the saint was enough to end the doubts about Santa Claus that were beginning to emerge in hearts of two small children.

Saint Nicholas Rangava: a Byzantine gem in the Plaka

In Athens, Saint Nicholas Rangava (Ághios Nikólaos Rangavá) is an 11th century Byzantine church on the corner of Prytaneíou and Epichármou streets, between the churches of Aghios Ioánnis o Teológos (Saint John the Divine) and Ayios Geórgios tou Vráchou (Saint George of the Clifs) in the heart of the Anafiotika area of the Plaka, on the south-eastern slopes of the Acropolis.

The church was once attached to the palace of the Rangava family, whose members included several Byzantine Emperors and Oecumenical Patriarchs. Recent restoration work at Saint Nicholas Rangava uncovered several parts of the original church, including the dome, the roof and the northern walls of the church.

The church is only a few steps away from the former home of Sir Richard Church, the Cork-born Irish Philhellene who commanded the Greek army during the Greek War of Independence. And so it is appropriate that the church bell was the first installed in Athens after the liberation from the Turks and the first to ring in 1833 announcing the freedom of Athens from the Turkish rule. It is still rung every year on the Greek National Day, 25 March, and is hung inside the church.

Saint Nicholas Island off the coast of Fethiye: the church ruins are all that remains of a once vibrant Christian community (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Saint Nicholas also gave his name to the monastic island of Saint Nicholas, now known as Gemile Island, close to the Ölüdeniz Lagoon and about 9 km south of Fethiye on the Anatolian coast of Turkey.

The island is just beneath the town of Levessi or Kayaköy. It was a prominent religious centre and place of pilgrimage until it was captured by the Turks, and had been a port of call for commercial and cruising vessels from Europe and the Eastern Mediterranean.

Saint Nicholas Island had numerous churches and chapels, and a number of ecclesiastical schools, and island remained home to a significant Greek-speaking population until the last century. Then, like their neighbours in the nearby mainland town of Levessi, above the Ölüdeniz Lagoon, they were forced to leave their homes in the horrific wave of “ethnic cleansing” that swept Anatolia in the 1920s.

Since 1990, a surface survey has been carried out by a Japanese team, which has unearthed 11 churches on and around the island. Although the island is a protected area, tourists pile onto it every day during the holiday season as part of their sailing tour of the Twelve Islands off the coast of Fethiye. As they trek through the former villages, streets and island homes carved into the rocks, making their way up the rocky terrain to the ruined Church of Saint Nicholas at the top of the mountain, few notice the ruins that were once family homes and sacred places of worship. Fewer still ask about the original inhabitants, why they were forced to leave the island, or why their churches and chapels no longer echo with the sound and singing of the Liturgy.

The people of Levessi and their distressing story inspired the novel Birds Without Wings (2004), written by Louis de Bernières as his prequel to Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (1993). But the fate of the people of Saint Nicholas Island has been forgotten and their memory wiped away.

From Europe to America

As the patron saint of sailors, Saint Nicholas was a popular saint among mediaeval seafarers and gave his name to churches in many port cities, including Saint Nicholas Within-the-Walls in Dublin’s Liberties, dating from 1166, Saint Nicholas Without-the-Walls, a parish church that was contained within Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin, from 1192, and the Collegiate Church of Saint Nicholas in Galway. Columbus named a port in Haiti after Saint Nicholas on 6 December 1492 – perhaps recalling his stop-off in Galway on his way to the New World, and prayers in Saint Nicholas Collegiate Church.

But how did the kindly Bishop Nicholas end up as a roly-poly red-suited American symbol for a secular holiday festivity and commercial busyness?

The first European seafarers to arrive in North America brought their devotion to Saint Nicholas with them: the Vikings dedicated a cathedral to him in Greenland; and centuries later in Florida, the Spaniards named an early settlement Saint Nicholas Ferry – although it’s now known as Jacksonville.

Although it is widely claimed that the Dutch brought Saint Nicholas to their colonies, there is scant evidence to support traditions that he was popular in Dutch New Netherlands, although the colonial Germans in Pennsylvania kept this feast-day and the people of New Amsterdam (New York) later celebrated visits by Saint Nicholas on New Year’s Eve.

An unhistorical history

However, after the American Revolution, New Yorkers remembered with pride the colony’s nearly-forgotten Dutch roots. John Pintard, who formed the New York Historical Society in 1804, promoted Saint Nicholas as the patron of his society and of his city. In January 1809, Washington Irving joined the society and in that year he published the satirical fiction, Knickerbocker’s History of New York, with numerous references to a jolly Saint Nicholas character – not a saintly bishop, but an elfin Dutch burgher with a clay pipe.

And so began the legends about Saint Nicholas and New Amsterdam: that the first Dutch emigrant ship had a figurehead of Saint Nicholas; that Saint Nicholas Day was observed in the colony; that the first church was dedicated to him; and that Saint Nicholas comes down chimneys to bring gifts.

The New York Historical Society held its first Saint Nicholas anniversary dinner on 6 December 1810, and in an image by Alexander Anderson for the occasion, Nicholas was shown in a gift-giving role with children’s treats in stockings hanging at a fireplace.

The jolly elf image was reinforced in 1823, with the publication of the poem, A Visit from Saint Nicholas, now better known as The Night Before Christmas, drawing on Washington Irving’s images of Saint Nicholas. The poem is usually attributed to Clement Clark Moore (1779-1863), Professor of Biblical Languages at the Episcopal General Theological Seminary in New York.

Other artists and writers continued the transformation of Nicholas from a saintly bishop to an elf-like jolly, rotund gift-giver. In 1863, the political cartoonist Thomas Nast began a series of black-and-white drawings in Harper’s Weekly, based on the descriptions in Moore’s poem and Washington Irving’s fiction. These drawings established a rotund Santa with flowing beard, fur garments, and a clay pipe. Along with his changed appearance changes, the saint’s name shifted to Santa Claus – a natural phonetic alteration from the German Sankt Niklaus and the Dutch Sinterklaas.

By the end of the 1920s, a standard American Santa – life-sized, dressed in a red, fur-trimmed suit – was being portrayed in illustrations by N.C. Wyeth, Norman Rockwell and other popular illustrators. In 1931, Coca Cola began 35 years of Santa advertisements that popularised and firmly established this Santa as an icon of contemporary commercial culture.

This Santa appeared in magazines, on billboards, and shop counters, encouraging Americans to see Coke as the solution to “a thirst for all seasons.” Soon he was being used in commercial promotions right across America. Santa’s commercial appeal and success led to the North American Santa Claus being exported around the world, displacing the European Saint. Nicholas, who until then, had managed to hold on to his identity as a Christian bishop and saint.

Saint, Santa and refugees

The metamorphosis of Saint Nicolas into the commercially lucrative Santa Claus has recently come back to his home town of Demre, the modern Turkish town built near the ruins of ancient Myra.

Because Saint Nicholas is a very popular Orthodox saint, the city attracts many Russian tourists. A bronze statue of the saint was donated to the city by the Russian government in 2000, and was given a prominent place on the square in front of the mediaeval church of Saint Nicholas. But the mayor later replaced the statue with by a red-suited plastic Santa Claus. After Russian protests, the statue was returned, but without its original high pedestal, to a corner near the church.

The restoration of the church is now under way, and the Turkish Ministry of Culture gave permission last year for the Divine Liturgy to be celebrated at the site, as well as donating 40,000 Turkish Lira to the project.

But as Christmas approaches, I cannot forget the children of Levessi and Saint Nicholas Island, whose descendants have a very different idea of a stay-at-home Christmas.

And I think of Saint Nicholas as the bishop who cared for the poor, was the patron saint of children and seafarers, the generous and benevolent dispenser of gifts, the defender and rescuer of children in distress and poverty and who were in danger of exploitation and abuse, and the defender of Orthodox Christian doctrine. He remains a model for how all Christians, especially priests and bishops, are meant to live, with Christ not just at the centre of our Christmas festivities this year, but at the centre of our lives every year.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Director of Spiritual Formation, the Church of Ireland Theological College