We come to Christmas drenched in the commercial insistence that perfection is obtainable. Such is the dominance of the marketing of Christmas that it creates unrealistic, even cruel expectations, depending on people’s circumstances. The poet Paul Durcan, who died earlier this year, suggested that for some it is “the Feast of St Loneliness.”
The materialism of Christmas is no modern creation; on this day in 1925, The Irish Times reported that “shopping activity in Dublin yesterday became intense. In the more popular shops it was virtually impossible to make headway.” In this era, we are as likely to throng the internet space to secure the Christmas bounty. But attention was also drawn in 1925 to “the Christmas spirit of charity”, and the St Vincent de Paul’s Dublin night shelter that had admitted 35,000 people during that year.
Along with charitable donations, other Christmas practices of a century ago endure, including carols and house visiting, while others such as the costumed mummers and the hunting of the wren, are now rarer.
The barer, religious rituals and sentiments associated with Irish Christmases past are captured in Máiritín Ó Direáin’s 1942 poem Cionnle ar Lasadh (‘Candle Lighting’) and Máire Mhac an tSaoi’s Oíche Nollaig in 1956:
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“luífidh Mac Dé ins an tigh seo anocht” (‘the Son of God will rest in this house tonight’).
There will be plenty of candles lighting in Ireland tonight, but the flickers for many are no longer directed at heavenly visitors. According to our last census in 2022, the number of people with no religion increased by 63 per cent since the previous census in 2016 to 736,210, representing over 14 per cent of the population. Other categories with large numbers included Muslims, at 81,930, while the number of Hindus more than doubled from 13,729 to 33,043. Celebration of Christmas is no longer all enveloping in a more diverse republic.
Irish writers have long embraced Christmas as fertile for stories, not all of them happy. James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, published in 1916, reminds us of the danger of mixing festive feasts with politics, as Mr Dedalus and Dante find themselves at loggerheads, prompting an exasperated Mrs Dedalus to exclaim “For pity sake…let us have no political discussion on this day of all days of the year”. Patrick Kavanagh opted for a more serene and warm scene in his poem A Christmas Childhood:
“My father played the melodeon
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east
And they danced to his music.”
Some will experience updated versions of these tensions and tender moments, as is the case every Christmas, but overall, the coming together of so many remains uplifting and can reinforce the ties that bind us.
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Christmas is also a time to take stock. We can be grateful that, amid international turbulence and political coarseness, Ireland remains a stable, democratic entity with a strong community spirit. This year, we elected our tenth president, and whatever about the ugliness of some aspects of the election campaign, and the worrying number of spoiled votes, there was also mobilisation and focus on what makes us distinctive, including the Irish language.
We have economic growth that outpaces most European countries, but warnings have abounded about the need to invest for long-term societal welfare, given international economic uncertainty and doubts about the reliability of continued corporate tax returns.
Christmas also brings reminders of the failures of the social contract. It is shameful that the number of children homeless and living in emergency accommodation exceeded 5,000 for the first time this year. Our housing crisis is hugely detrimental to the social fabric. There have been deplorable incidents of violent racism against those seeking refuge in Ireland; and this in a country from which, historically, millions left to seek refuge elsewhere. As our population ages, the contribution of immigrants is vital to national well being.
Ireland’s stance on the plight of Gaza has underlined the continuing relevance of the promotion of humanitarian values in our foreign policy, but the scale of global antisemitism is also casting worrying shadows.
At this time of year, we also need to remain hopeful amidst darkness and draw from our deep well of tradition and custom to find our anchor.
The Irish writer Katharine Tynan included this comforting verse in a Christmas card a century ago, and its sentiments should still resonate:
“Come in, dear hearts and rest
Ere this good hour be flown,
Hand to hand, breast to breast
Beloveds every one”.
