MUSIC AND RELIGION Christmas Curiosities

The Christmas season carries with it a rich musical heritage. There is of course the long tradition of liturgical music and hymns associated with the religious festivals, along with more modern takes on the increasingly commercialized ethos of what we now know as the "holidays." In fact, to the consternation of some, "Christmas music" has become ever harder to avoid from at least late October to late December as it is ubiquitously broadcast on radio, television, online, and in-store sound platforms. 

It should come as no surprise that pop and rock musicians would get in on the Christmas act. Many performers have covered both traditional and non-traditional Christmas standards, from "O Holy Night" to "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." Some of these are admittedly tongue-in-cheek, while others are more earnest attempts. Occasionally, they border on the surreal and have involved some rather unlikely musical pairings. After all, who ever thought to put Bowie and Bing in a room together for a holiday duet of "The Little Drummer Boy"? On paper, it shouldn't work, but for better or worse, the results are modern a Christmas classic (as is Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly's hilariously deadpan parody).

Or, as I recently discovered through some digital archaeology, members of Thin Lizzy and the Sex Pistols once performed under the name "Greedies" a (rather rocking) medley of Christmas classics live of British television. See it for yourself!

As for original Christmas compositions, some of the greatest songwriters of all time have made attempts, including both Lennon and McCartney, with mixed and sometimes annoying results. In other cases the results have been downright peculiar. The recently deceased proto-progger Greg Lake, of ELP and King Crimson, wrote what essentially amounts to an anti-Christmas song called "I Believe in Father Christmas."

They sold me a dream of Christmas
They sold me a silent night
And they told me a fairy story
'Till I believed in the Israelite
And I believed in father Christmas
And I looked to the sky with excited eyes
'Till I woke with a yawn in the first light of dawn
And I saw him and through his disguise

Whereas others, such as the ever enigmatic Chris De Burgh, delve into somewhat speculative territory with "A Spaceman Came Travelling," which re-imagines the nativity as...um...an alien visitation.

A spaceman came travelling on his ship from afar,
'Twas light years of time since his mission did start,
And over a village he halted his craft,
And it hung in the sky like a star, just like a star

Not to be outdone, even punk, that most anarchic and anti-traditional of musical movements, has gotten into the Christmas spirit. Who better than the Ramones to add "Merry Christmas (I don't wanna fight tonight)" to the yuletide playlist.

The excessive '80s heard Wham's now classic "Last Christmas" as well as Band Aid's increasingly odd sounding "Do They Know it's Christmas," released as a fund raiser for Ethiopian famine. Then, of course, there was Run DMC's "Christmas in Hollis."

As for the 1990s, well, they brought us this...

If God came down on Christmas Day
I know exactly what He'd say
He'd say "Oi to the punks and Oi to the skins-
But Oi to the world and everybody wins!"

All of these efforts result in some rather curious additions to the holiday songbook. Still, they reveal the on-going intersection between the sacred and the secular in new, interesting, if not always pleasing, ways. One can only imagine what future ear-worms will emerge from the Christmas musical catalogue.  

A NEW CONSTANTINE?

I imagine there are some Christian supporters of Trump who see him as a new Constantine. They probably envision him as a champion of their particular brand of American Christianity, an apostle of the so-called “prosperity gospel,” and a hammer against heretics and infidels. In the apocalyptic delirium of many Evangelicals and conservative Catholics, he must seem like a political saviour. Someone who will bring to an end the “Great Persecution” in which they currently cast themselves as victims. Forced as they are by their demonic government to sell wedding cakes to same-sex couples and share bathrooms with transgender people. Not since the bloody days of Diocletian has the Christian cause been so under threat…or so they tell themselves.

Unlike Trump, Constantine was a military man. Trained from a young age to ascend the ranks of Roman governance and eventually take his place as a member of the Tetrarchy, a complex system of co-emperorship established by Diocletian in the late 3^rd century CE. Yet, Diocletian’s reforms eventually unravelled into persecution and social chaos. Christians were scapegoated for society’s ills and a campaign for their eradication was instigated in 303 CE. In the midst of this violent upheaval, Constantine successfully manoeuvered himself to pre-eminence by plugging himself into the Christian cause, embodied by his famous vision of the cross at the Milvian Bridge—in hoc signo. Eventually, a series of edicts reversing anti-Christian policies created the conditions for an alliance between Church and State. Constantine for his part saw Christianity as a unifying force for a fractured empire, while Christian bishops saw the soldier-emperor as a vehicle to advance their cause. Was he really a Christian? It’s hard to know for sure, although he and his Christian supporters certainly found their arrangement mutually beneficial. Early on, peace and co-existence between Christians and believers in the old gods were officially promoted, but by the end of the century religious practices were being banned, temples were being closed, and "pagans" were being invited to choose between the Bible or the sword.

Not all Christians were on board with this political alliance. The wealth and opulence of the new Christian elite was sometimes criticized (Jerome, Life of Paul of Thebes 17), as was the sycophantic fawning of the clergy who now populated the imperial court (Sulpicius Severus, Life of Martin of Tours 20). In fact, part of what may have motivated the first monks to head out into the desert was a repudiation and protest against the “new normal” of Imperial Christianity. Christ, once depicted in popular iconography as a shepherd, was now cast as a Roman soldier.

If there’s one thing that the history of the church makes clear, it’s that some Christians will do almost anything to claim the sword of Caesar. No teaching of Jesus is deemed too essential to be sacrificed on the alter of imperium. Yet rarely is this sentiment universal throughout the church. There will always be those that cling to the original vision of a saviour who was not a champion, but rather a victim of empire.

The 4^th century CE church historian Eusebius of Caesarea recorded a troubled impression of this new order. One that is read with great ambiguity. Reflecting on the celebrations around the twentieth year of Constantine’s reign, the church father recalled:

Not one of the bishops was wanting at the imperial banquet, the circumstances of which were splendid beyond description. Detachments of the bodyguard and other troops surrounded the entrance of the palace with drawn swords, and through the midst of these the men of God proceeded without fear into the innermost of the imperial apartments, in which some were the emperor's own companions at table, while others reclined on couches arranged on either side. One might have thought that a picture of Christ's kingdom was thus shadowed forth, and a dream rather than reality (Eusebius, Life of Constantine 15).

The image of bishops processing through the ranks of imperial storm troopers is certainly an incongruous one. As is the thought of them reclining with a man who murdered members of his own family. Kingdom of Christ to some, disturbing dream to others.

One thing is clear. In the wake of Trump, Christians of all denominations have a lot of soul-searching to do. Will some finally and definitively walk away from the gospel in favor of a narrow desire to impose uniformity of sexual norms, expelling foreigners, and limiting the rights of their neighbours? In that case a new American religion will have been created. Call it what you want, but don’t call it Christianity. Or will others finally, perhaps for the first time, start taking the gospel seriously? Christians are often caricatured as literalists, at least when it suits their social agenda. But rarely do they take the words of Jesus himself at face value.

Perhaps it’s time for the Christians of America to ask themselves: “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” (Mt 25:44).

A lot depends upon the answer.