A Christmas Carol
by Christina Rossetti (1830-94)
(Rossetti, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets)

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter
Long ago.

Our God,
Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak midwinter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
Jesus Christ . . .

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Throng’d the air,
But only His mother In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part, –
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

This poem doesn’t really require explanation; I chose it (and was obliged to omit the third verse in order to accommodate it) because it reminds us that Christmas is a holiday to celebrate the birth of Christ, not so that we can increase the financial black hole that hovers on the edge of many of our bank accounts – and into which some of us fall at this time of year – as we make an effort to turn Christmas into the kind of extravaganza that overenthusiastic advertising tells us it should be.

Which brings me to gifts: an expensive gift bought from the internet, wrapped by strangers, delivered to the door and yet untouched by the giver, is not as thoughtful (to my mind) as a bar of soap bought by someone who sniffed every single variety in the shop in order to pick the smell they thought we’d like best. Someone just gave us half a dozen eggs from their new hens in an egg box with a bow on it. We get to eat an omelette later and think of them, while enjoying that they thought of us.

In a season when earth and water are frozen solid and the winds are howling, Jesus was born in a lowly stable. This poem (which I remember singing at school as a child) wraps up the idea of God (forgive the pun) with the birth of his son, Jesus Christ, because it was through his son that he manifested on Earth. Some imagine them as two different beings; some imagine them as one.

The archangels and angels “may” have been present, but the cherubim (who are of the second order of angels) and seraphim (who are of the highest order – but I imagine somewhere below archangels who are principal angels) were there, and denote Jesus’s birth as a biblical event. However, it is only his mother – “in her maiden bliss” because she is still a virgin – who stoops to kiss him. His vulnerability and humanity are brought home to us this way; he is still a child born of a human being.

Rossetti asks what she can give to Jesus: a shepherd might bring a lamb, a wise man might impart knowledge or imbue the boy’s future with some kind of helpful wisdom, but Rossetti must think of something else. And does: her heart. It is the most that she can give; it combines the love that we attribute to feelings of the heart, with the medical necessity of owning one because without it we would die.

To love one’s fellow man (or woman) – or even care about him (or her) a little – makes a difference. How can one man kill another – or even just mug him – if he cares about his intended victim? How can anyone act with cruelty if he feels for those who would be affected? He would be able to imagine himself more easily in those other shoes and wish to avoid the intentional infliction of pain. Love is the biggest gift one can give, yet one cannot demand it. And love given freely should not be undervalued.

Wishing you all a plentiful amount of it this Christmas.

frieda.hughes@thetimes.co.uk

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