The True Meaning of the Christmas Tree

As a child I loved everything about our Christmas tree. I loved picking it out with my father on a cold winter day. I loved bringing it into the home a few days before Christmas to let it warm up so the branches could thaw out. I loved the smell. I loved helping with the lights and then adding ornaments and perhaps tinsel and strings of popcorn.

You can imagine my disappointment when I was told that Christmas trees were an adaptation of a pagan custom. Likewise, you can imagine my delight when I read recently that the “pagan custom” story was in fact a myth. As Emily McGowan writes:

Though many in the modern period have sought to trace the Christmas tree back to pre-Christian paganism, historians now acknowledge this is a myth. Others have attempted to link it to legends about Saint Boniface or Martin Luther, but these stories have no basis in history either. Our best historians think the Christmas tree tradition developed in the medieval period. During that time most people couldn’t read or write, so plays were put on to teach biblical stories. One feature of such plays was a paradise tree representing the tree of knowledge (Genesis 2:9 ). In the play, the tree symbolized both the fallenness of humankind and the cross, the “tree” that brought us salvation. They decorated the paradise tree with apples for the fall and round pastry wafers for the Eucharist—the body of Christ that saves us. Interestingly, the Feast of Adam and Eve fell on December 24, so the public display of the paradise tree coincided with the day before the start of Christmas.*

The Bible Project podcast on trees confirms this. Trees in Scripture are not just interesting botanically as we encounter oak, cedar, juniper, and many other kinds. They are important as symbols of humanity and of our relationship with God.

Psalm 1 famously compares a righteous, flourishing human to a tree by water that abounds in fruit. The wood from trees elsewhere plays important roles in salvation. The ark that saved Noah and his family was made of wood. Sacrifices were often burned with wood.

So to bring a tree into our homes and celebrate it is no pagan holdover but a reminder of our salvation.

For as Emily McGowin reminds us, while humanity was banished from the garden so that we would be cut off from the tree of life, because of Christ we now have full and free access to the new tree of life—the cross.

*Emily Hunter McGowin, Christmas (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2023), p. 74.

Image by 🌸♡💙♡🌸 Julita 🌸♡💙♡🌸 from Pixabay

The Other Christmas Story

We all love the Christmas story in Matthew’s gospel. Mary and Joseph are pledged to be married. An angel appears to her. When Joseph finds out she’s already pregnant, he decides to divorce her quietly. But an angel tells him no. Her son will be the savior. After Jesus is born in Bethlehem, the Magi bring their gifts. Joseph then takes his family to Egypt to avoid Herod’s threats (Matthew 1:18 –2:18).

What we seldom notice, however, is that there is another Christmas story in Matthew, another version of how Jesus was born to Mary and Joseph. This overlooked account is squeezed between a list of Jesus’ ancestors and the familiar story. Here it is:

And Jacob [was] the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary, and Mary was the mother of Jesus who is called the Messiah. (Matthew 1:16)

The first seventeen verse of Matthew contain a genealogy of Jesus, tracing his roots from Abraham to David, then through the exile in Babylon, culminating in Jesus. In verse 17 Matthew emphasizes these four touch points in Israel’s story.*

The promises to Israel of land, of being a great nation, and of blessing all nations (Abraham)
Israel’s royal history (David)
Israel’s failure to keep the covenant (exile in Babylon)
The culmination of Israel’s history (Jesus)

All the promises to Abraham and all the restoration Israel needs for her sins, Matthew is saying, are fulfilled in Jesus, Israel’s royal son of David.

Matthew’s grand, sweeping overview before the intimate portrait of Mary and Joseph is like a movie that begins with the whole universe in view. Then the camera moves faster than the speed of light through billions of galaxies to pause momentarily on the Milky Way before finding our solar system, racing past Saturn and Jupiter to Earth, then the Middle East, and zeroing in on a room in a Palestinian hovel.

Yes, in those first 17 verses Matthew is saying, Jesus came to save us as individuals, but he also came to fulfill God’s entire plan for Israel and all creation through King Jesus.

We should notice at least one other important feature of Matthew’s list. Remarkably for a patriarchal culture, he lists four women—Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Mary. Why are they included? What they have in common is a clue.

To begin, the first three are gentiles. God promised to Abraham in Genesis 12 that Israel would be a blessing to all nations, a role it often forgot. Jesus’ own genealogy (yes, his genes) already showed how all those outside Israel were also included in the promise.

Second, while all four women had suspect sexual backgrounds, that is not Matthew’s emphasis. They are all honored for their fidelity to the line of the Messiah. Each of these women played a critical role when the line of promise was threatened.

Tamar rescued Judah’s line from ending (Genesis 38:1-30). Rahab protected Israel’s spies in Jericho, preserving Israel so it could enter the land God promised Abraham (Joshua 2:1-21). Ruth’s deceased husband was from the line of Judah; by her faithful tenacity, she found a new husband from that tribe and became the great grandmother of David (Ruth 1-4, especially 4:16-22). As Chris Bruno and others said,

These three Gentile women are not only the ancestors of the Messiah, but also point forward to him in their work of preserving God’s covenant line and rescuing his people from imminent destruction. In other words, they are themselves saviours of Israel. (p. 21)

The familiar Christmas story offers so much to love. Through Matthew’s other story of Christmas, we have even more.

*Chris Bruno, Jared Compton, and Kevin McFadden, Biblical Theology According to the Apostles, NSBT (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2020), pp. 11-22.

Nativity image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Galaxy image by ENES KOÇ from Pixabay

A Flawed, Swaggering Book

I love big, bold books that offer a sweeping view of history. Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel is a stellar example. Yuval Noah Harari’s Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind is not.

Harari does cover (as promised) the last 70,000 years of human history from the first proto-homo sapiens to the possibilities of future human genetic and bionic engineering. Yet his swaggering, blustering style (while entertaining) blocks the light he might otherwise shed on a variety of important topics.

His overall structure has merit. He begins with what he calls the cognitive revolution of perhaps 40,000 years ago. Sapiens expanded their inventions, art, and language far beyond any other animal. This allowed for cooperation that made up for deficiencies in size, strength, and speed.

The next major shift was the agricultural revolution of about 12,000 years ago which allowed sapiens to shift from roving hunter-gatherers to settled farmers. Harari’s controversial view is a thoroughly negative take on what most see as the foundation of cities and civilizations. He claims it was a poor trade in nutrition, safety, happiness, and justice.

The third transformation is the scientific revolution of 500 years ago. While most civilizations were previously based on received knowledge from the past, science celebrated ignorance which could motivate the search for knowledge. Europeans became supremely curious about the world, went exploring, and promptly conquered those who were not interested in new ideas, new tools, new weapons, or new discoveries.

Many reviewers have noted his slapdash treatments. The Guardian points out, for example, that his interpretation of the 1827 battle of Navarino in the war for Greek independence is wildly distorted, as even Wikipedia will attest. Marcus Paul also says, “He gives the (imagined) example of a thirteenth-century peasant asking a priest about spiders and being rebuffed because such knowledge was not in the Bible. It’s hard to know where to begin in saying how wrong a concept this is.” Instead, monks, friars, and abbeys “were central to the learning of the universities.”

The biggest problem in the book is introduced early, in chapter 2. According to Harari, every idea is a fiction, a social construct—nations, corporations, gods, values. None exist except in our imaginations. Ok, but . . .

On what basis, then, does he later claim that the slaughter of billions of domesticated animals since the advent of industrial agriculture may be the greatest crime in history? According to his own way of thinking, crimes (notions of justice) must also be fictions. After all, we (including Harari) only make up such rules. They don’t actually exist. But we use them to punish people, justify conquest, or write books claiming we are the ones who can offer an objective, dispassionate view when everyone else is wallowing in subjectivity.

Harari’s problem is that by his reckoning neither the subjective (which he denigrates) nor the objective (a perspective he subjectively values) exist since both are ideas. His own assumptions undo his many, overconfident historical, scientific, and moral judgments. All his self-assured pronouncements about religion, politics, and ethics must themselves be fictions. They become just as imaginary as his own supposed objectivity.

Sapiens has value. But it is so difficult separating the wheat from the chaff that it’s probably not worth the time.

A Classic Adventure Tale

I almost never read a book more than once. Yet I thoroughly enjoyed my fifth journey through Watership Down with my neighborhood book club. As I mentioned earlier, this classic adventure tale of friendship, loyalty, perseverance, and courage is so compelling you forget it is a 400-page book about rabbits!

Some of my favorite aspects of the book include:

♦ The wonderful cast of diverse characters we grow to love—the big, gruff, good-hearted Bigwig; the often-misunderstood Fiver; the raucous and faithful Kehar; the encouraging storyteller Dandelion; the clever Blackberry; the “court jester” Bluebell; the young and earnest Pipkin; and more—all of whose gifts are bound together by the wounded leader Hazel.

♦ Hazel’s courage and generosity of spirit seen especially when he goes alone to their archenemy Woundwort, not just to offer a truce but a visionary, constructive way forward that would benefit all.

♦ The beautiful arc of the plot from early crisis to major climax to final resolution. (Even the very first and the last sentences are parallel!)

♦ How the main storyline is paralleled throughout by stories of rabbit lore and mythology—with the two finally intersecting so touchingly on the last page.

♦ Favorite Moment: Bigwig’s dramatic announcement to his enemies that he is not his warren’s chief rabbit, leading them to imagine that some other larger, even more fearsome leader must be nearby.

♦ Favorite Line: When Woundwort fails to defeat Bigwig and then tries to bribe him, Bigwig tells him, “Silflay hraka”! (p. 448)

What did you love about the book?

The Bible on Its Own Terms

Some use the Bible as a grab bag of advice. Just pluck its timeless truths at will from the page and paste them on to our lives. Though there is much wisdom in the Scriptures, we are misguided to approach the Bible as a handbook or a user’s manual for life. Why? Because that’s not how it was originally written.

That may seem rather obvious for Biblical narratives where the point of a story may not be transparent. But it can even be true of a book like Proverbs, which seems on the surface to be just that—a collection of unconnected bits of practical instruction.

Consider these back-to-back verses in which we are told we should not answer a fool and that we should answer a fool. Here they are:

Do not answer a fool according to his folly,
or you yourself will be just like him.
Answer a fool according to his folly,
or he will be wise in his own eyes. (Proverbs 26:4-5)

What the heck is going on? Can’t the writer make up his mind?

It’s similar when it comes to money. We are told on the one hand to be very determined to work hard and avoid poverty (Proverbs 6:9-11; 10:4) and on the other hand to make sure we don’t trust in money (Proverbs 11:28; 23:4). So which is it—don’t focus on money or focus a lot on money?

Proverbs falls into an ancient genre called wisdom literature. Such writings offer insights for successful living—but in that genre such insights are not presented as hard-and-fast rules. They are often true, generally true, but not always true. They can’t be because they can’t anticipate every single possible situation.

Wisdom literature wants to get us to think. It encourages us to mediate long and hard on its sometimes opposing principles, under the guidance of the Spirit. The purpose of such meditation is to discern how to apply them in the particular situation we are in.

When confronting a fool, one size does not fit all. When dealing with money, sometimes we need to be conscientious earn it and sometimes be free to give it away. Which is it? It depends. Maybe it’s both. We can discern which approach to take with input from our community and from the Spirit. That’s the point of wisdom literature—to encourage us to depend on God, to fear the Lord.

In an age of intense relativism, of so many uncertainties in life, we yearn for assurance, for someone to tell us with absolute authority that one way is totally right and that another way is totally wrong. But the writers of the Bible knew that life is complex. God expects us to deal with gray areas as people who will grow in maturity and in wise decision making that will ultimately reflect his character.

Image of Till Eulenspiegel (Mölln) by Wälz from Pixabay

A True-to-Life Allegory

What would happen if Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress met Kreeft’s imaginative world-view dialogue Between Heaven and Hell? I think we’d get Richter’s provocative and entertaining Christopher’s Journey.

We follow our protagonist on an allegorical journey to the Mountain of God encountering questions of good and evil, right and wrong, hope and despair, the spiritual and the material.

On his trek, Christopher is joined by a colorful collection of characters who each carry a distinct lens through which to view the world. Timothy values rationality, the life of the mind, and what science can prove. Chanter sees beyond good and evil to a singular existence that puts him at peace. Dwayne is full of youthful idealism and energy. Martin is a salt-of-the-earth companion packed with humor and good sense. On their path they meet thieves and brigands, desert heat and an impassable bridge.

Christopher (“Christ carrier”) also brings with him a stone which he has seen used powerfully by his mentor in performing miracles. Yet somehow it remains inert in Christopher’s hands. This produces doubts and uncertainties that Christopher cannot shake and which drive him on his pilgrimage.

As we might expect from an allegory subtitled “A Theodicy” (an attempt to explain the goodness of God in the face of evil), we do not find the fluid plot or fully developed personalities of a modern novel. But we do meet unexpected twists in the tale and encounter characters who are more than one-dimensional.

This is not a book of easy solutions. A good deal is left ambiguous and unresolved which some may find unsatisfying. Yet while there is truth in life, having much that is unanswered is also true to life. We as readers are left to struggle through these questions ourselves, which in any case we all must do.

Kent Richter is a writer and friend who is a retired professor of philosophy. He gave me this book. My opinions are my own.

Book Club Options

It’s my turn to choose the next book for our book club. Here are the options I came up with. What suggestions do you have?

Fiction
Watership Down by Richard Adams. A classic adventure tale of friendship, loyalty, perseverance, and courage. So compelling you’ll forget that it is a 300-page book about rabbits!

I Cheerfully Refuse by Leif Engers. Perhaps the most endearing post-apocalyptic novel you will ever read, set on the shores and the waters of Lake Superior.

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (the author of The Martian). Interstellar kidnapping, crossing alien cultures, a protagonist with attitude, saving the galaxy. What more could you want?

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch. A very human sci-fi thriller set in Chicago that makes you care about the characters.

History
Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand (author of Unbroken). A broken horse, a broken jockey, a broken owner, a broken trainer—who somehow all heal each other in the underdog story of the century.

April 1865 by Jay Winik. An historian and diplomat who saw first-hand how civil wars around the world often ended badly—either in the genocide of the losing side or in an interminable guerrilla insurgency—tells why neither happened in the United States.

Shantung Compound by Langdon Gilkey. In this minor classic, Gilkey offers remarkably astute observations about human nature under pressure as he and hundreds of Westerners endured a Japanese prisoner of war camp in China during World War II—a camp that included my 96-year-old friend Ruth!

Symphony for the City of the Dead by M. T. Anderson. The dramatic story of how Shostakovich wrote a symphony during the siege of Leningrad and smuggled it out to be played around the world when the Nazi’s seemed invincible. Even more amazingly, the symphony was performed in Leningrad itself in August 1942, with the city surrounded.

Non-Fiction
How to Know a Person by David Brooks. In a day of hyper reactions and extreme tribalism, a book of stories and practical wisdom on reviving the lost art of conversation and making friends.

Educated by Tara Westover. The astounding memoir of how the daughter of a mega-dysfunctional, survivalist family in Idaho, lacking any formal education, ended up at Cambridge.

Factfulness by Hans Rosling. The subtitle says it all—Ten Reasons We’re Wrong About the World – and Why Things Are Better Than You Think, from a Swedish researcher and advisor to the UN. Mind blown.

Complaining to God

In the book of Numbers the people of Israel are judged for moaning and groaning about not having enough food. Then why are there so many Psalms of lament, suggesting that complaining to God is okay?

The answer to this question, that I raised here, begins with understanding the book of Numbers. Though Israel starts with obedience as it prepares for its march into the wilderness (Num 1–10), it quickly slides into rebellion, disobedience, and criticizing God (Num 11–25). The story changes abruptly once the original generation after the Exodus dies in the wilderness (Num 26:63-65). The account of the second generation is then characterized by life and hope (Num 26–36).*

As always, in understanding Scripture, context is foundational. The complaints to God in the book of Numbers were not disconnected incidents which we can treat in isolation. They were part of a pattern, a whole posture of rebellion by the first generation, which God punished them for.

Psalms is a different book with a different context—one aspect of which is that of bringing all our emotions, concerns, praise, frustrations, thanksgiving, and sorrows to God in worship. In fact, more than a third of all psalms are laments, more than any other type of psalm.

The book of Psalms suggests that God wants us to engage him fully and honestly as individuals and as a community, with our whole beings—including our griefs and our joys. In this way we are encouraged to hold on tightly to God in the midst our pain and anger rather than to push him away.

Back to the original question. Given what we find in Numbers and the Psalms, is it okay to complain to God? The answer is yes and no. It depends. Is our complaining part of a basic attitude toward God of angry rejection? Or is it part of our pattern of wrestling with God, engaging him deeply and fully?

Our context is crucial as is the context of any given Bible passage. That’s why we can’t treat the Bible as a handbook of quick and easy answers to the complications of life. The Bible was never intended to be a grab bag of independent timeless truths which we can pull out willy-nilly at our whim. We must ponder each episode and comment the way God gave it to us–in the context of the whole.

When two parts of the Bible seem to say opposite things, that doesn’t mean we throw up our hands in despair and conclude that the Bible is not trustworthy. Rather it calls for us to stop, slow down, and meditate on the book as a whole, on the Bible as a whole, and on our life as a whole.

Sometimes complaining will be wrong, Scripture says, and sometimes it won’t. Sometimes it will be hard to tell. In any case God calls us to take the time to ask the Spirit to guide us to discern which is which.

*See Dennis T. Olson, “Book of Numbers,” Dictionary of the Old Testament Pentateuch, eds. T. Desmond Alexander and David W. Baker (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2003), pp. 611-18, which summarizes much of what is found in his larger work: Dennis T. Olson, Numbers (IBC; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1996).

Image by AndrésC from Pixabay

Books We Disagree With

“You’re reading a book by him???”

I have friends who don’t tolerate books by people they disagree with. They won’t read them and if they do, they will sharply criticize every aspect. They won’t admit there is anything of value.

This is true of my conservative friends and my liberal friends.

Somehow I am the odd one who likes books I often disagree with. I like books that challenge me and make me think in new ways. I don’t end up agreeing with everything, but I do end up learning something.

I may not think that a Jungian or Marxist or Capitalist framework is the way to view the world as a whole. But when I read books of such persuasions, I am intrigued. Even if I don’t buy it all, I see something that could help as I try to make my way through the world. And I believe it is good for me to nurture empathy for others who have had different experiences.

I try to remember that I don’t know everything, and that the world is big and complex and full of wonder.

Recently I mentioned to a friend a book written by someone whose political ideas she thought were completely wrong. How could I think something like that was a good book? Even though the book itself had nothing to do with politics, she wouldn’t even consider it.

I suggested that liberals can write good books and bad books. Conservatives can also write good books and bad books. I think she understood what I was saying, but I suspect she was still pretty skeptical.

The book I was talking about was interesting, creative, well-written, well-organized, intelligent, and honest. It gave windows of insight into certain aspects of the world I was not previously familiar with. That, I think, is a good book.

Maybe part of the reason I enjoy reading books I disagree with is that I like learning. I find the world endlessly fascinating—whether it be science or history or human nature or an individual’s story. Even if it’s only learning how other people think in ways that I disagree with, it’s still stimulating. I love being a lifelong learner.

It just makes life more interesting.

Image by GrumpyBeere from Pixabay

The Most Bewildering Parable

Perhaps Jesus’ all-time most bewildering parable is that of the unjust steward (Luke 16:1-9). Is Jesus really saying it’s okay to misuse other people’s money?

The story is this. A rich guy (let’s call him Elon) has heard that his manager (let’s call him Andy) is wasting his money, maybe skimming some off the top. So Elon tells the manager to turn in the books. He’s fired.

Andy is desperate about how to survive. He is too proud to beg and too weak to dig ditches. So he cooks up a scheme. Before word gets out that he’s fired, Andy goes to people who owe Elon money–lots of money. Andy has each of them do the paperwork needed to reduce their debts by huge amounts. This way, Andy figures they’ll help him when he is out of a job. One favor will deserve another.

When Elon finds out what Andy has done, is he furious that Andy has lost even more of Elon’s money? Does he throw him in jail? Does he bust his kneecaps? No. Jesus says that Elon praises Andy for being so shrewd.

If we assume that the rich guy is God and the manager is all of us . . . ok, I’m still really confused. God wants us to be dishonest?

Jesus goes on, however, and concludes with this, “For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.” That’s supposed to help? What the heck does it mean?

Tim Mackie and Jon Collins remind us in a Bible Project podcast that indeed we are all stewards of what God has given us. Everything we have comes from him. Whatever we have (health, connections, property, abilities, money) isn’t really ours. It all belongs to God. And we are to steward all this, to manage it for his purposes.

How is the unjust steward wise? He realizes money isn’t an end in itself. It is to be used for other, greater purposes. For the steward, that greater purpose is to gain a cushy life for himself.

We can be wise similarly by also realizing that money should be used for greater purposes. The difference lies in what that purpose is. The point for us is not to accumulate money or possessions for their own sake (or for our own sake) but for the sake of God’s kingdom.

Money is not about the money, Jesus is saying. It’s about justice, generosity, and the fruit of the Spirit. Righteousness meant doing right by others in Jesus’ day. It does today too.