And my question brought nothing but silence for on answer
And then I turned to the aged. Wherever there was a gray head I paused and put once more my question. Wherever I could find a man of experience, of achievement, of earthly wisdom, of renowned skill, of acknowledged genius, there I propounded my interrogation, ever receiving the same disappointing reply. And when I had travelled round the world and could find nowhere any man or woman, high or low, rich or poor, great or humble, mighty or feeble, who could give me what I sought, all at once I remembered that Christmas is the one celebration of all the jubilees known in human history which cannot be carried on without the presence of children. I began to reflect upon the fact that Christmas is the one holiday which cannot be separated from the brightness of a child’s eyes or the music of a child’s laughter.
I fell to pondering the fact that when old folks think of Christmas they think of the days when they were young. When their children are grown and have gone far away from home, the parents refresh their hearts by thinking of the time when there was a Christmas tree in the nursery and the glad shout of children exulting over their treasures filled all the house. And I remembered also that husbands and wives who have no children find their hearts going out toward other people’s children at Christmas time. And when I saw in my mind’s eye the whole world gathered together for the celebration of Christmas and beheld a little child in the centre, I began to think of the day when in Capernaum Jesus set a child in the midst of twelve men, saying: “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.” And when this all flashed upon me I started out at once in search of a child. “To him undoubtedly,” I said, “has God committed the secret of Christmas. He can tell me where the Christmas builders can be found.”
I went, I asked, and great was my reward. Through a child’s eyes I looked into the child heart, and there standing radiant and beautiful were seven angels,—the angels which are the builders of Christmas. These are their names: Wonder, Humility, Trust, Simplicity, Purity, Joy, and Affection. By these the first Christmas was constructed, and without these no genuine Christmas can be built. These are strong angels, they dig deep and they mount high. They can build a Christmas covering the year.
Christmas is glorious because it is the creation of a child. Man is not the architect of it. It is not a creation of human ingenuity or wisdom. It was built in the first place by a baby, and the glitter of it was simply the reflection of the light of a baby’s eyes. The kings of the earth have often taken council together, but they have never conceived anything so beautiful as Christmas. For a marvel so stupendous God fell back upon a child. Children are the magicians of the earth. Their wizardry surpasses that of magic. The scope and power of their necromancy, who can measure?
There was nothing in the world like Christmas till Jesus came. On the day of his birth God called the nations together and set a little child in their midst. From the beginning a full-grown man had stood at the centre, but the circle gathered round him had never been joyous. Sometimes the central man had been a general and sometimes a king, occasionally he had been a scholar and frequently a saint; but no matter who he was the circle was not enchanted and the heart refused to sing. But as soon as a child was placed at the centre, humanity began to organize itself in unprecedented ways and to move forward along original lines. It began to sing a new song. The world had for ages been despondent and hopeless, and no potentate or miracle-worker, however mighty, had been able to lift it out of its dark mood. But when God took a child and set him in the midst, then was the world’s mouth filled with laughter, and all things became new.
This is the difference then between the ancient world and the modern, the first had an adult at the centre, the latter has a child. Out of the child heart—and the child heart is the Christ heart—are coming the forces for the rebuilding of the world. The problem of existence is the task of keeping the child in us alive, the heart that wonders, trusts and loves.
Christmas is not a day, it is a mood. It is independent of days. We celebrate it on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, any day of the week. Christmas is indifferent to days. It has nothing to do with the almanac. It has nothing to do with place. It is as independent of geography as it is of chronology. It has no relation to human government or even to race or blood. It is an institution which can be set up on any soil and under the folds of any flag. Christmas is a spiritual creation and belongs to the kingdom of the heart. It is constructed by the angels of the heart of a child. If it then be a mood, it can be extended over a week, a month, a year, a lifetime. It can be built upon time, upon eternity. If you confine it to a day, you miss the meaning of it. If you try to cram it into twenty-four hours, you crush it and lose the essence of it. The Christmas spirit is the only spirit by which men and women really live. The Saviour of the world has said: You cannot enter the kingdom of heaven—and that is his name for Christmas—except you become
“As a Little Child.”