Source : the age
I don’t believe I’m being overly dramatic when I tell you that around this time last year, I suffered an existential crisis. I was hosting two other families for Christmas lunch – dear friends who I’ve broken bread with many times – but this time it was to be my house, at my table, on a day that means different things for them than me. They are church-attending Christians and I’m an atheist.
Delivering a religious grace before our meal could be seen as insincere. Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto
How was I to honour my friends and their beliefs while feeling like a fraud for my own endearment to Christmas – a day that celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ, the son of God? I’ve sung along to Christmas carols, sent cards with nativity scenes and still buy advent calendars for my adult children, but a belief in an almighty eludes me.
Concern as to my hypocrisy at celebrating Christmas was one thing, but doubling down by delivering a religious grace before our meal was hitting red on the insincerity scale. I needed to explore what Christmas means for atheists like me and deliver a welcome that defined where our beliefs intersected.
Fortunately for me, some years back I had read Religion for Atheists by Alain de Botton, a book that relieves atheists from the guilt of borrowing from the religious playbook things that help humans live well. De Botton argues that “much of what is best about Christmas is entirely unrelated to the story of the birth of Christ. It revolves around themes of community, festivity and renewal which pre-date the context in which they were cast over the centuries by Christianity.”
With that in mind I focused on friendship and sharing, and the good fortune we have in being together to celebrate a day that makes us stop and be thankful for many things. I would deliver a grace that was true to my own beliefs without disrespecting theirs.
As they all sat around their laden plates, I stood. Straight out of the gates, I acknowledged that by virtue of the day being called Christmas, I didn’t believe anyone who celebrates December 25 is unaware its tradition is steeped in religion. This is true, even for an atheist. I went on to explain that there are many, like our family, for whom Christmas is more of a cultural tradition, with a tendency to draw upon the mysteries of Santa Claus and pop culture iconography to anchor us to the day. Also true, but was this enough for me to gate-crash the sacred birth of a boy, the son of a deity whom I don’t believe exists?
It is not just Christianity we appropriate our Christmas traditions from, either. We take themes from the northern hemisphere by sending cards with wintry scenes, stand in sweltering kitchens cooking roasts, and sing songs about dashing through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh – the latter normally whilst walking through an air-conditioned shopping centre wearing shorts.
Then there is the commercial side of Christmas which boosts economies when our spending inhibitions are loosened with tinsel and merriment. This is a commonality to believers and non-believers along with threatening kids that they need to be good or Santa won’t bring gifts, which has been in every parent’s arsenal for as long as I remember.
Still, explaining this hijacking of a sacrosanct day by those of us non-believers required a little more than a childhood fascination with a fat guy in a red suit and the joys of eating one’s body weight in pudding. So I drew upon some pop-culture influences of a less consumerist nature.
It was Cindy Lou Who in Dr Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas who said, “I came to see you, no one should be alone on Christmas.” In the movie Love Actually, the character Billy Mack, a washed-up rock star, leaves Elton John’s party to spend the evening with his manager, telling him, “I realised that Christmas is the time to be with the people you love.”
Although not steeped in 2000 years of tradition, the celebration in our home last Christmas did bring love, hope and joy. No matter how my reasons to celebrate differed from my guests, overwhelming it was being together and sharing our collective humanity, that was the commonality that made it an incredibly special day.
Sharing a meal with friends with philosophical differences, on the very day that highlights those differences, does confirm what de Botton was getting at in his book. We can all benefit from religious teachings of kindness, tolerance and the acceptance of our differences. That is true friendship.
And with that, I concluded my grace. Please raise your glasses to a mash-up from two iconic Christmas movies, Die Hard and Home Alone.
Yippee-ki-yay, ya filthy animals. And merry Christmas.
Jo Pybus is a writer and host of the Alex the Seal podcast.
