What Christmas Means to Me as a Muslim
Even if you are not Christian, the holiday is a reminder that we can and must go on, especially in times of darkness.
I have a piece in this Sunday Christmas edition of the Boston Globe. It’s a meditation on what Christmas means to me, a journey through Christmas’s literary origins, and a reflection on this year’s Christmas that is happening in the darkness in Palestine—including for the Christians of Bethlehem. Celebrating the birth of the prince of peace occurs at a moment of significant bloodshed and violence in the very land where Yeshua/Jesus/Isa would have walked. The war goes on. It can seem like there is no hope in this darkness.
And yet—the very spirit of this holiday counsels hope. It can feel impossible, even naive. But capitulating on hope is giving up on a better world.
I hope everyone has a good Christmas and holiday season. I hope everyone is able to see friends and family. May those who have perished be in our memories, and may we repair and heal our broken world for the next generation.
Boston Globe
December 24, 2023
There’s a certain spirit to Christmas that has always delighted me. Snow falls over quiet streets. Time comes to a standstill. Amid the darkness, the lights sparkle to life in houses where families have withdrawn together. In this slowdown, Christmas can be a time of revelation.
I have always loved Christmas, though the holiday is not without its trials. My family is Muslim, and we did not celebrate Christmas in our home, though we would watch “The 10 Commandments” or a film about Jesus together. My father was secular and wanted to celebrate the Christian festival; my mother, a devout Muslim, thought it was a pagan ritual and pointed out that many Jews also refrained and that we had our own holidays. If there really is a war over Christmas, it seemed to exist in our home.
Growing up, I loved going to school during Christmas season, singing Christmas carols, dressing up. I even believed in Santa Claus, and wondered, during the quiet of many a Christmas Eve, whether Santa came to Muslim homes. Back at school, the kids would talk about what presents they received over Christmas and I would feel the slightest sting of shame.
When I became an adult, I learned the truth about Christmas — and the Islamic Jesus. This came with many surprises. The first was that Jesus — called Isa in Arabic — was a deeply revered prophet in Islam. He is referred to as the Messiah and the Christ who brought the Gospels. The details of the crucifixion story differ, but the son of Mary (or Maryam) is mentioned more times in the Qur’an than even the Prophet Muhammad. Jesus’ story is one of a dissident put to death by the authorities for blasphemy. His message — that all are equal in the eyes of God — was a radical one then and now.
Indeed, the early Puritans banned Christmas celebrations, considering them a superstitious borrowing that had no place in Christian ritual. In 1659, the Massachusetts Bay Colony enacted the law called the Penalty for Keeping Christmas, making it a criminal offense to celebrate or feast on this day. The Puritans disliked Christmas because early celebrations involved an upturning of the social order, with the poor eating in the homes of the rich and refashioning themselves as rulers. Christmas had been banned in England a decade prior. With its roots in the Roman holiday of Saturnalia, which was about inverting the social hierarchy (and drinking), there was always a mischievous, rabble-rousing quality to Christmas. The holiday fell into disfavor.
It was only in the 1800s that Christmas was reinvented, thanks largely to Washington Irving. In 1815, the American writer traveled to England, where he witnessed the idyllic rural Christmastimes — families gathered around fireplaces, singing and decorations and good cheer. Irving asked himself if this stirring of the affections was not the true essence of Christmas. In the depth of winter, as shields of snow covered the horizon, people turned to moral sources for their renewal. “It is, indeed, the season of regenerated feeling,” Irving wrote, “the season for kindling not merely the fire of hospitality in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the heart.”
Irving’s book “The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.” became a hit in America. Its most famous story was “Sleepy Hollow,” but the legends of old English Christmases brought the holiday back to life. Then, from the cold streets of London, with its squalor and industrial smoke, Charles Dickens penned “A Christmas Carol” — and the American public went wild. Dickens’s story elevated the ideas of charity, forgiveness, and emotional growth in the holiday. Massachusetts made Christmas a public holiday a decade later in 1856.
In America, Christmas was largely a literary invention. And yet who could deny there is something magical about Christmas?
As an adult, I celebrate Christmas in my own secular, nonsectarian way. The principles of charity and empathy for the less fortunate are foundational. One thinks of the hungry, the homeless, the stateless. Our gaze turns inward, to the light that exists in us all and connects us to one another. Many people have lost loved ones through the year and Christmas is a somber time. Many others are still mourning loved ones lost during the pandemic and there is an empty seat at the Christmas table, one where memories reside. Christmas is a time to remember, to grieve, especially among those innocent souls praying and wondering if God hears them or not.
During this Christmas season, the Christians of Gaza are huddled in their churches, bombed in the darkness. Palestinian children, lost in the rubble, wonder where their mothers and fathers went after the blast from above and if they’ll ever be coming back. Israeli families wonder whether their family members will be returned from captivity. Tens of thousands of Palestinian women, men, and children gather in refugee camps not knowing if this night will be their last. Many others perish, quietly, afraid and alone, in hospitals or tents. And for the Christians of Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, there will be no Christmas this year. The Lutheran Church in Bethlehem has instead lit a single candle to symbolize that even in darkness, the last flame of hope can never be extinguished.
Even if you, like me, are not Christian, Christmas reminds us we can and must go on, especially in times of darkness. Christmas is a moment to rededicate ourselves to the moral commandment that all life is precious and that every child, whether born in Boston or in Bethlehem, has the right to grow up free of fear and violence. My Christmas is a prayer that people of all faiths will put our collective humanity first and begin the difficult work of building a better future. I know I am not the only one who believes we are on the precipice of something unspeakable and now is the time to save future generations.
The Christmas spirit counsels hope in this moment of distress and persistence when we feel like giving up. There is no other choice. The darkness may spread, but as the winter solstice arrives, there is also a rebirth of light. May it shine across every heart and help heal our broken world.
I’m Omer Aziz, the author of Brown Boy: A Memoir, recent Radcliffe Fellow at Harvard, Contributing Writer at the Boston Globe, and Publisher of Notes From The Margins. This publication is fueled by passion and supported by readers! You can subscribe below. Thanks for reading.