Thought for the Day

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Tim Stanley
Good morning. This year, for the first time, I've bought a real, 6-foot Christmas tree - and I hit the shops in search of baubles and tinsel.The only problem? Fashions have changed. I want the kind of tree I remember from the 80s: a multicoloured glitter bomb that looks like a dozen boxes of quality street.Alas, things have gone posh. It's all pink and white now, or cold blue; coordinated and minimalist. As if decorating a hotel foyer. I stared for days at my naked tree, preferring that to the retail option, and wondering why I was so bothered.Well, trees clearly do still matter because people are furious that a public tree was cut down at Shotton Colliery in County Durham, a green spruce the village planted over a decade ago in remembrance of the dead from two world wars. . It reminded me of the grief that was felt when the Sycamore Gap tree was butchered in 2023.Christmas trees are far more than decoration. One legend has it, that they were introduced by Martin Luther, when he was out walking one winter night and saw the stars twinkling around the top of a fir. He put a tree hung with candles in his home, to remind onlookers that Jesus came from Heaven. This German tradition was imported to Britain by Queen Charlotte, who, in 1800, decorated the first known royal tree at Windsor - with fruits, toys, raisins and candles.It was already custom here to hang greenery indoors, probably to cheer us up while, in a colder age, the view outside the window was barren and white. To this pagan-ish spirit was added a Christian spin, the sparkling Christmas tree, like Christ, suggests light in the darkness and the promise of new life. For nature this comes with spring. For human beings, with resurrection.Faith, far from being at odds with the tangible world of nature, sacramentalises it. In psalm 96, "the trees of the forest" are ordered to "sing for joy" in praise of God. The author of the Old English poem The Dream of the Rood encounters a talking tree that provided the wood for Christ's cross, bedecked with gold and gems. This fits with my instinct that Christmas trees should be sparkly and bright, so bright that when the lights are switched on they’re visible from space.A wise friend pointed out that most Christmas decorations are not bought in one go, but accumulated over a lifetime. When they’re taken out of the attic and hung from the tree, the odds and ends are a trip down memory lane. Christmas trees invite wonder. Adults, I suspect, think of childhoods past. The tree connects us to mysteries of time and nature and promise.
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3:09
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3:09
Chief Rabbi Sir Ephraim Mirvis
15 DEC 25
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3:04
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3:04
Martin Wroe
13 DEC 25
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2:59
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2:59
John Studzinski
Over the next week or two – whatever your degree of vocal prowess or religious belief – you are likely to join in some form of communal singing. Whether it’s ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ or ‘Feliz Navidad’, you will be obeying the exhortation of Psalm 100: “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth. Serve the Lord with gladness; come into His presence with singing.”Carols and seasonal songs are so integral to this time of year that we don’t probe the reason for their presence in churches, homes and so many other shared spaces. St Augustine of Hippo, born in the fourth century, can enlighten us. He said: “Cantare amantis est.” In other words, “To sing is the act of a lover,” or, as the Pope put it at the Jubilee of Choirs in Rome last month, “Singing belongs to those who love.” When we love deeply, silence is not enough. Love, with all the trust and joy it engenders, seeks expression, and it finds expression through song.Christmas is the feast of God’s love made flesh. Our carols are songs of love to the God who comes among us. As Pope Leo reminded the singers assembled in St Peter’s Square, song can be a way of praying, lifting the soul towards the mystery we celebrate. When we sing, we join the angels who announced “Glory to the newborn king”.Of course, the spiritual power of song is not restricted to Christmas and the people who celebrate it. It was in Judaism that the Psalms first became shared prayers, and at Hanukkah – the festival of light that so often coincides with Advent or Christmas – families and congregations sing to glorify God as candles glow.In the Qawwali music of Sufi Islam, voices weave together in devotion. In Hinduism there are bhajans, in Buddhism chants, all expressing the universal impulse to give voice to love and reverence. To return to Psalm 100, our songs will ring out as we enter God’s gates with thanksgiving, and His courts with praise.In a world that is so often fractured, communal singing produces both musical and spiritual harmony. So let us sing – not because custom demands it, but because love compels it. Through the simple and affirmative act of raising our voices together in this season of joy, and as members of the human race, we both convey and embody a crucial message: that what unites us is far greater than what divides us.
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3:30
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3:30
Dr Krish Kandiah
Good morning, This time yesterday I was sitting in a cosy barn in the Chilterns, surrounded by a herd of goats and a surprisingly well-mannered donkey. A friend had kindly loaned me his farm to broadcast a live nativity to forty thousand primary school children across the country. During the broadcast, we linked up with Kakuma Refugee camp in northern Kenya. Ajok, a 17-year-old from Sudan, explained what life was like for her there. She told us that her camp houses 200,000 refugees, and that each day she walks 5 kilometres to get to school, where she learns in a class of 130 students. When she gets home, she has to beg for food so her family can eat one meal a day. Despite all the hardship she is a young woman full of hope planning to graduate and become a teacher. A friend at the UNHCR, who runs her refugee camp alongside the World Food Programme and the Kenyan Government, explained to me that, due to international aid cuts, supplies in the camp are severely limited. Ajok’s family have been categorised as “low need,” which means they now receive no food assistance. Ajok’s Christmas will, sadly, be very different from mine. Yet it is her story that echoes most clearly the grittiness of the first Christmas. Her experience of being displaced is not dissimilar from Mary and Joseph’s - who were forced from their home at the worst possible time. Her anxiety over the lack of basic necessities reflects the Holy Family’s desperate search for accommodation in Bethlehem. It is no wonder that Jesus identifies with the vulnerable and the outsider. Matthew’s gospel records him saying: “For I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.” Many of us miss this central message of hospitality to outsiders in the Christmas story. Some of us get distracted by the superficial, synthetic trappings of the festive season, others by the belief that immigrants are threatening our nation’s Christian culture. Both approaches fail to grasp the core of the Christmas story and its call to open our doors, our hearts, and our lives to those who need welcome most. Mary and Joseph welcomed precisely those others would have turned away - humble shepherds and road-weary foreigners, sent to them by God himself. Little did Mary and Joseph know at the time that they too would suddenly find themselves fleeing across the border to Egypt - refugees reliant on the kindness of strangers. This is why, in this time of Advent, it is people like Ajok —those struggling simply to get by who have much to teach us. The nearer we draw to the real Christmas story, the more we see just how the true Christ of Christmas is still breaking down walls, restoring dignity and inspiring generous hospitality.
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3:21
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3:21