The politics of Christmas

It's the season to be jolly, but let's not forget the reality of injustice.

People do not instinctively associate Christmas with politics or economics. Indeed, if there is any association it is an inverse one: Christmas is the one time of the year when we can legitimately close our door to these grim, worldly pursuits.

According to a recent poll from Theos/ ComRes, five in six people (83 per cent) agreed that "Christmas is about spending time with family and friends," and three in five felt that it was "a time when we should be generous to people less fortunate than ourselves." Over two in five thought "Christmas is about celebrating that God loves humanity," and about the same number said they thought that it was "a good excuse for taking time off but doesn't really have any meaning today."

By contrast, only a third thought "Christmas is a time when we should challenge poverty and economic injustice," and less than one in five agreed that "Christmas is a time when we should challenge political oppression around the world." The message was clear: domesticity and charity yes, religion and leisure maybe, politics and economics no.

This is perfectly understandable and, in some ways, admirable. Generosity is better than parsimony, and many families are in desperate need of the time and space that Christmas (sometimes) affords. But it is also somewhat ironic, given that the narratives on which the Christmas story is based comprise some of the most pushily political passages in the New Testament.

Matthew's retelling is the subtler of the two. His opening genealogy emphasises Jesus's political descent, but also mentions four foreign women, with vaguely scandalous histories - a triply unusual feature for genealogies of the time. His story of the Magi and the escape to Egypt, taking place around the murderous paranoia of Herod, the supposed king of the Jews, continues the theme. God is not on the side of the powerful in palaces, Matthew is saying, but rather to be found among foreigners and refugees.

Luke's gospel is more direct, repeatedly juxtaposing the might of the powerful empire and plight of its powerless subjects. The holy family is pushed around so that the Roman Empire can put its taxation records into order. (The fact that Luke appears to have confused Quirinius's local census of Syria and Judea in 6AD with Augustus' general censuses, held in 8BC and 14AD, doesn't change his point: taxation and debt were bitterly controversial subjects at the time).

Caesar Augustus's decree immediately gives way to story in which shepherds, the lowest of the social low, are the first to hear about the birth of a "Saviour" who will bring "peace". The fact that Caesar was widely known the "Saviour" who brought peace through his brutally efficient armies is instructive.

Luke makes a similar point a little later when he scrolls forward to the start of John the Baptist's ministry. Luke carefully - and unnecessarily - dates this from reign of Tiberius Caesar and Pontius Pilate, King Herod, Philip the tetrarch, Lysanias the tetrarch, and the high priests Annas and Caiaphas, before going on to say "the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness". God moves not among the rulers, Luke implies, but out there in the wasteland.

Mary's famous song, the Magnificat is, of course, the most visibly political moment of the story. "[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty": a message that even the beauty of evensong has not been able to dull.

Christmas is, and will remain, a time when most of us down tools and try to close the door upon the world. The decision to move it into midwinter makes that more or less inevitable, particularly in northern climes. But that does not change the fact that the story, which still provides the contours of the season, challenges us to take questions of social alienation, political oppression and economic injustice very seriously indeed.

Nick Spencer is Research Director at Theos. "The Politics of Christmas" can be downloaded here.

Nick Spencer is director of studies at the think-tank Theos. His book Freedom and Order: History, Politics and the English Bible is published by Hodder & Stoughton

Steve Garry
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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism