Christmas

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie. Largely because of the big concrete wall that divides you from Jerusalem, and prevents Islamists from Hebron from blowing up Jewish civilians in the holy city. Such are the facts on the ground, and such is the world in which we live, and the chasm between religious aspirations and political realities. I was reminded of these facts on Saturday night when, as I flailed through the chords at our neighborhood carol-singing party, Phillips Brooks’s lyric of 1868 shot past my eyes. Now, some Jews complain about Christmas.

According to corporate retailers, Christmas begins sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving. From the day after Turkey Day, it’s full-bore shopping until that last lonely evergreen leaves the Boy Scout lot on Christmas Eve.Staunton, the small Virginia town where I write, is no exception to this feature of life in our great commercial republic. Shopping trumps every other reason for the season. The churches push back, but they’ve only got one day a week to do it, and that isn’t enough when you’re up against Wal-Mart and Amazon. Even so, we retain one civic observance in our age of commercial supremacy and militant multiculturalism.

The Midwest loves Christmas. Loves it with all the ingenuity in its mind and vigor in its limbs. Loves it with all the passion in its soul. All you need is a staple gun, a thousand feet of twinkly lights and, hey presto: a house roof bright enough to illuminate the season. Or guide a spacecraft down from Mars. Only Halloween can rival Christmas in the small cities, and rival is too strong a word. Better to say that Halloween is the only other holiday for which Midwesterners are willing to bring out their staple guns and inflatable lawn ornaments. But the effort is almost half-hearted, compared to Christmas.