8/12- Winter- Sun Or Son?

Non-fiction

Oh! History! I love this one! So... diverse and magnificent! But this his-story (see what I did there?) won't be your cut-and-dry textbook. For today only, I have hired Sir Chrystamasasaurus (don't laugh at his name! He's sensitive!) to show you how Christmas came to be.

And remember! Don't laugh at his name...

"Sir Chrystamasasaurus. Good to meet you. I'm not here to dilly-dally, so I'll do your introduction for you." He takes your hand, shaking it quickly and firmly, but you're not sure if you're not sure if your hand is still attached afterwards. His head feels miles above yours, and he twirls his moustache.

"For today, you are Cadet 25. We have a busy schedule, so I hope you can keep up. If not, take the bus," he laughs hoarsely.

Did I forget to mention he's an army chief? Well, good luck!

"Don't get lost. Time is fragile." He lowers each of his fingers as he crosses items off his list called 'things to do and not do if we're on a trip', "If you do, blow the whistle and drop casually gently to the floor."

Huh? You think, but don't say. he chucks you the whistle, and you scramble to catch it, before gripping it tightly.

"We've got the time machine for the day." Sir Chrystamasasaurus presents it to you, just out of your reach, the small shiny object, well, shining.

"And off we go!" Buttons are pressed, and cogs whir as you shut your eyes to resist the urge to be sick.

When you open them again, you're in a busy city with tall stone architecture and people hurrying to complete unknown tasks.

"274 AD. The first Nies Vatalis Solis Invicti festival. Or, in other words, the festival of the unconquered sun." Sir Chrystamasasaurus announces.

"Sun or son?"

"Pardon?" He turns around, staring you in the soul.

"Sun, like the giant ball of gas, or son, like you have a child?"

"Sun, like the giant ball of gas," he huffs.

"Ok. So what does the giant ball of gas have to do with the child of God?" you keep pestering.

"Nothing yet. First, we have to see what came before the Son, as in the child of God, so that we can fully understand--"

"So where...?"

"Quiet, Cadet 25!" he shouts, causing people to look. "I will tell you all if you just be quiet." You nod in response, slightly shaken.

"We are in the Roman times, under the rule of Emperor Aurelian. He is the one who established this festival to celebrate the days becoming longer again. Before this time, there were a variety of solstice festivals, don't be mistaken." He leads you towards a grand field with long lengths of tables. The pair of you make quite a scene, since you dress and act completely differently from the people living their regular lives.

"There were many festivals in winter. There still are—all souls', all saints, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, etc. People get miserable in the winter, so they jam a bunch of holidays into a few months to boost morale."

"It works." You peer at the slightly odd food. It's all... slimy. Looks good, but slimy.

"Yes, I guess it does." Sir Chrystamasasaurus adds thoughtfully. "So it may just be a coincidence that in our modern, Georgian calendar, today is December 25th."

"I'm pretty sure it is just a coincidence. Jesus was born on December 25th. It could be part of the whole symbolism that he was born during the solstice." You wave your hand at your new theory.

"Actually, no one knows when Jesus was born."

"So why December 25th?"

"It could be, like I said, that people are sad in winter. Or, the fact that Romans believed that great men would die on the date of their conception. Nine months after March 25th (when people used to believe he died that day, but you know what the Easter dates are like) is December 25th. Or...." He pulls out the time machine. "That people wanted to Christianise traditions that already existed."

As a Roman guard approaches you and Sir Chrystamasasaurus, he calls, "Let us continue, Cadet 25!" and you're whisked away.

This time, you keep your eyes open, and you fly through the darkness before landing in a place equally dark, excluding the massive star before you. It hangs in the sky, above a small town.

"5AD. Jesus' birth." He tells you, though you could have guessed that based on the massive star.

"Wait. 5AD?"

"Yeah, the original people who celebrated Christmas and did the calendar system miscalculated."

"What are we doing here then? I know the story of Jesus," you tell Sir Chrystamasasaurus. Almost everyone does. You're taught it as soon as you can understand stuff, and then you get reminded every year for the next decade.

"So you know of the King looking for Jesus and trying to kill him, so that he'll be the only King?"

You nod.

"Well, there were other people who didn't accept him." You're walking again, towards a stable, and past it. Was that Jesus' stable?

This time, instead of you changing time, time changes for you, morphing between the laughter, ignorance and anger of people. All of which Sir Chrystamasasaurus explains. Most people you forget instantly, because they're not significant historical names.

"And there's your neighbour." They're sitting at the kitchen table, frowning. You circle them, but they don't react; you're invisible.

"They are having doubts about Him. 'How's God real? Why is my aunt still sick? What was the point of showering a baby with gifts? He was just a baby, even if he was 'super important'.' All valid questions. There are millions -- maybe even billions -- of people who, across history, have doubted."

"But... aren't I meant to be learning about winter?" you ask, because you did click here to read about the season.

"Yes. This is winter. All the darkest nights of life, all the forgotten celebrations. Jesus, the Son, and the burning ball of gas sun are reborn together and switch the direction of life every 25th of December. We re-evaluate and try again. That is winter: change."

"Are we going back now?"

Sir Chrystamasasaurs grins. "One last thing. I need you to help me with something."

"Sure." You shrug.

"Help me decide if it was right to overshadow so many celebrations in favour of Jesus? The Norse celebration for surviving winter. The Roman gift-giving festival."

"They're not overshadowed," you laugh. "They're all combined within Christmas. People give gifts, get ready for the new year, and celebrate that they survived the chaotic build-up to Christmas." And then he's gone. Not even a goodbye. The whistle still sits in your hand.

Did you have a nice trip?

Thank you for reading. I hope you got a little Christmas joy from this story. Here, for anyone who wants it, is the maintenance.

If you enjoyed this story, please, please, please (I can add a cherry if necessary) like, comment, rate and share. It really helps me out and allows others to see these (hopefully decent) stories. Thank you, and Merry Christmas.