Every Day is Christmas: Finding Grace in the Midst of War

It’s become fashionable in historical circles to revise or even doubt the 1914 “Christmas Truce,” but the evidence for it happening is overwhelming. The First World War was five months old and would become much more brutal and cost millions of lives. Yet on this day, more than a century ago at Christmas, there was a spontaneous ceasefire along parts of the Western Front, and German and British soldiers met between the trenches in no man’s land to sing carols, bury their dead, and even give their enemies gifts. Then, the following day, they returned to slaughtering one another. It wasn’t repeated, some of the troops involved were moved to other parts of the line, and senior officers and politicians weren’t at all pleased. But for one brief moment, humanity broke through the macabre dance of death and destruction. Alfred Anderson was the last survivor of that miracle, only dying in 2005. As a very old man, he once said, “I’ll give Christmas Day 1914 a brief thought, as I do every year. And I’ll think about all my friends who never made it home. But it’s too sad to think too much about it. Far too sad.”

It is, as the great man had it, far too sad. Tragic, in fact, that the Christmas of 1914 could not have become the norm, and smashed the grip of violence that would leave such devastation, agony, and loss. But while violence at Christmas is particularly jarring, there is, in reality, nothing uniquely pacific about it. War is always contrary to the Gospel message, and that’s vital to remember as we prepare for and enter Lent. Nobody can argue that after the entry into the world of God made man, we suddenly enjoyed peace and harmony. But then nobody can argue that we’ve genuinely and authentically lived according to the teachings of that messiah. As British author GK Chesterton said, “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.” He wrote that in a book entitled What’s Wrong with the World, and the question is as pertinent today as it was when the book was published in 1910.

There’s nothing typical about the teachings of Jesus, nothing normal, and certainly nothing comfortable. If we live them properly, they make the opinions of political radicals appear banal. Gospel values aren’t political; however, they’re much more profound and permanent. Changes of government might, or might not, make some subtle improvements to the body politic, but to live as a Christian, to regard others as just as important as ourselves, to believe in a supreme equality of personhood that transcends race, class, sexuality, or anything else, is truly a vocation that can change the world.

Back to the Christmas truce. I grew up with someone who, when he left high school, joined the British armed forces, something he’s always wanted to do. He must have been good at what he did because he was regularly promoted, joined a more elite regiment, and served in Northern Ireland, the Falklands, and goodness knows where else. Then he seemed to disappear from the lives of all of us who knew him. Nobody had any news of him, and emails and letters went unanswered. Then one day, in a rough street in an unfashionable town that I was merely passing through, I saw him. I shouted his name, assuming he’d look away or ignore me. Instead, a smile and open arms. I asked him why, what, and when?

“I was in the business of death, really,” he said. “And the more of it that I saw, the more I realized the need for life, for a life fulfilled and one with meaning and purpose. I was abroad serving, it was Christmas, and I thought about that truce in 1914. Nothing like that here; we used Christmas Day as the time to engage the enemy. We won, I lost. Or at least it felt so.”

He told me he’d left the army, found a Christian faith, had no computer or permanent home address, and simply travelled around the country working with people on the street, the hungry, the addicted. “You wouldn’t believe how many of them are former military,” he said, looking sad for the first time in our conversation. I asked him if he was happy. “Are you kidding? It’s like every day is Christmas.”

I’ve not seen him again, but I hear his voice every time I sit down to pray. “Every day is Christmas”. It could be. No trees, gifts, or family dinners, but a world distended with joy, soaked in grace, where we regard everyone we see as precious and unique. The roaring into the world of the beatitudes, the perfect song that was the Sermon on the Mount. That’s something to consider on the journey towards Easter. Be blessed this Lent, be full of grace, and be part of the great truce of God.