Good Morning, ‘Hark!’ ‘Do you hear what I hear?’ ‘They said there’d be snow this Christmas; they said there’d be peace on earth’ ‘Do they know it’s Christmas?’ ‘I pray God it’s our last!’ Throughout the land the lyrics of Christmas songs are being piped in shopping centres and pubs and, loved or loathed, we sing along. This year’s official Christmas No1 will be decided on Friday. Current favourite is Kylie, with oldies from George Michael and Slade chasing hard. As Slade’s Noddy Holder sings; ‘Does your granny always tell ya that the old songs are the best.’ Then, in a tradition begun by Lennon and taken up by Rage Against The Machine, there are the Christmas protest songs. This year’s from Brian Eno and Peter Gabriel with ‘Lullaby’, a song for Gaza, and Billy Bragg’s ‘Put Christ Back Into Christmas’, with Bragg asking us ‘to stand with those who need the most’ and reminding us that Christmas celebrates the birth of a refugee. It seems very British to me that we are free to mix protest in with sentimentality and silliness. The Christmas story is spacious enough to contain all our hopes and fears, our joy and praise, our rage and indifference. Even our scrooge-iest revulsion. For I contend that the birth of Christ is itself a kind of cosmic protest song. The original Christmas No.1 was after all sung by angels to people at the margins of society: the young Mary and Shepherds, those far from the corridors of power and status; a startling song that announces a change to the status quo, a tune sweeter and louder than the prevailing mood music of despair, the monotonous dirge of violence and oppressive power, of one bad thing after another: ‘Do not be afraid’ it declares. ‘There will be peace on earth.’ It’s arguable that we might never have heard this story had the message not been sung to people who were immediately in tune with it, and able to sing back in words of astonished wonder and praise: ‘he has scattered the proud, put down the mighty, exalted those of lowly degree.’ Or ‘My eyes have seen your salvation.’ Once you’ve ‘hailed the incarnate deity’; or seen the Godhead veiled in flesh, the chances are you’re going to sing about it. Christmas invites the world to sing a different tune. I’d even suggest that part of the reason we still sing about it – even if we stray into sentiment - is that its core melody is like a pop tune or great carol you can’t help but sing along with. ‘No. I can’t get you out of my head; because God and sinners are reconciled; because mild he lays his glory by; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee; And so this is Christmas.’

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