There is only One Reason to Hate Christmas

by Robert Arvay 

Christmas is not a hate crime, but rather, the victim of one. 

Those who would suppress all mention of God from public property portray themselves as tolerant. They say that they don’t want to hurt the feelings of people who may not be Christians. Balderdash. They never raise a peep about feelings when some artist, even if at taxpayer expense, portrays Jesus in a manner that would get the artist beheaded if he portrayed Mohammed in the same manner. Their intent is not to protect anyone from anything. It is to crush any meaningful expression of Christianity. 

Why? Why do militant atheists and secularists hate Christmas? It is for the same reason that they hate Israel. They hate God. 

That is not an overstatement. Christianity opposes many of the linchpins of secular socialism, and therefore, its influence (according to militant secularists) must be reduced to insignificance in public policy if the progressives are to progress. 

Some may object to this commentary on the grounds that it politicizes Christmas. Yet, if one reads the Christmas story in the gospels, one finds that it occurred in a very political context. 

The Three Wise Men were inhabitants of Persia, a land very distant from and very mysterious to, Rome. Persia’s only previous contacts with the west had been when the Persians had invaded with brutal military force. Yet, somehow, through divine means, these three men got word that there was born a King of the Jews, and that they must bring Him gifts. 

A newborn king? Of the Jews?  Why should the Persians care about a Jewish king?  After all, the Jews were a captive people of the Roman Empire, an empire inimical to the Persians. It was not that they thought the baby Jesus would overthrow the Romans, because naively, the wise men traveled straight into Jerusalem and entered the court of King Herod, the lion’s den, so to speak. 

Herod, of course, sought to murder Jesus, but the wise men had no idea of this. The degree of naiveté they displayed would be astonishing, until one considers that they were literally on a mission from God, not questioning their marching orders. 

The story continues with Herod summoning to his court the Jewish scholars, the scribes and Pharisees, the men who more than anyone would know about this newborn King of the Jews whom the Persians sought. 

And know of Him they did. The Jewish men of wisdom opened the scripture and, sure enough, there in plain view was the information which Herod sought. Baby Jesus was to be born, not in the splendid city of Jerusalem, as the Persian wise men had apparently assumed, but rather, in the humble and innocuous town of Bethlehem. 

It is here that we find an astonishing thing, on two counts. First, why did the Jewish scholars even tell Herod where to find the Messiah? Surely, they knew of his murderous intent. And secondly, why did they not themselves proceed with all haste to the little town to find and worship their newborn king? Did they not believe in their own religion? Why were wealthy, gentile foreigners, along with impoverished, illiterate shepherds, the first to find and worship Jesus? 

The rest of the story is better known, and it is celebrated in Christmas crèches throughout Christendom— yes, the same crèches that are so hated and despised by those who hate God. 

The same hatred and jealousy which incited Herod to commit mass murder upon babies in Bethlehem is the same hatred and jealousy which motivates modern day Herods to forbid the display of crèches which portray the first Christmas. It seems no coincidence that it is they who murder millions of babies in their mothers’ wombs to this day. 

I wish for Christmases past, when the focus was on Baby Jesus in His mother’s loving arms. I wish for the peaceful season of sharing love and joy with relatives and friends, for decorating the tree, and enjoying the sight of ribbon-festooned gifts, and savoring the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen. 

I wish even more for the bitter chill of a winter’s night in a small, cramped shed where dwelt sheep and oxen, where was born the child who would become the greatest man who ever lived, and ever will. 

I wish for peace and joy, but there is one problem with that, for I hear the sound of approaching boots, and the metallic sound of swords being drawn from their scabbards. 

Robert Arvay is a Contributing Writer to The Patriot’s Notepad

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