Seeing a Sermon

Our search for a good Yuletide fix led us yesterday to the sanctuary of the First United Methodist Church in downtown Huntsville for their annual performance of The Boar’s Head and Yule Log Festival. Being both a medieval aficionado and a lover of pomp and circumstance, this is one that I simply don’t miss. I mean where else can an old Latin geek like me belt out lyrics like these at the top of his lungs?

Caput apri defero

Reddens laudes Domino!

That phrase is from “The Boar’s Head Carol” and translates roughly to “Lo, behold the head I bring, giving praise to God we sing!” So what’s up with a boar’s head?

Like many Christmas celebrations, the roots of The Boar’s Head Festival predate Christianity and reach back into pagan belief which held that the boar was the sovereign of the forest, representative of evil and danger and therefore hunted as a “public enemy.” As the church “Christianized” pagan customs, the presentation of a boar’s head at Christmas came to symbolize the triumph of the Christ child over sin.

The festival was first performed in 1340 at Queens College, Oxford, England and may be the oldest continuing festival of the Christmas season. By 1607, an expansive ceremony was performed at St. John’s College in Cambridge and had evolved to include lords, ladies, kings, pages, sprites, knights, Good King Wenceslas, St. Nicholas, wise men and shepherds, all of whom bowed before the Christ candle, representative of the King of Kings.

Besides singing in Latin, one of my favorite parts that leaves me all aglow are these lines from from the story of Good King Wenceslas as he and his page regard the poor man “gath’ring winter fuel”:

“Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither:Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither.”

Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together;Through the rude wind’s wild lament and the bitter weather.

“Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger;Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.”

“Mark my footsteps, my good page. Tread thou in them boldly:Thou shalt find the winter’s rage freeze thy blood less coldly.”

In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted;Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed.

Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.

Is there a better antidote for the crass commercialization of Christmas?

As I watched yesterday’s ceremony, I tried to imagine myself as an impoverished and poor-in-spirit medieval peasant who couldn’t read or who had a short attention span and difficulty understanding a typical sermon. Honestly, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. I felt a flicker of hope, not unlike the Christ candle lighting the sanctuary, that, yes, this story of Word made flesh, of God incarnate come down from heaven to live, die and live again among us, is ultimately true and will impact my life for the good.

I can’t always say that I feel that way after listening to a typical sermon. I guess, like a friend of mine is fond of saying, I would rather see a sermon than hear one. I guess what it all boils down to is, once again, incarnation–taking the story and living it out in our bodies for all the world to see. Somehow, that seems appropriate this time of year.