In defence of the traditional nativity play

Despite a seafood medley in the wings of some nativity plays, Yaroslav Walker still prefers the deep power of a more traditional telling.

Yaroslav Walker

Yaroslav is Vicar of Christ Church, Hampstead.

Three children dressed as orange lobsters stand sheepishly on a stage.

The nativity lobster scene, Love Actually.

“So what’s this big news, then?”

“We’ve been given our parts in the Nativity Play…[GASP]…and I’m the lobster!”

“The lobster?”

“Yeh!”

“In the Nativity Play!?”

“Yeh. First lobster.”

“There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus?”

“Duh!”

I love this little exchange from Love Actually. Emma Thompson’s mother must be expressing the surprise of parents up and down the country for the last twenty years or so. When I was at primary school there was no doubt that when December rolled around, we would do a straight-down-the-line nativity play. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that more and more schools have been experimenting: a lobster here, an octopus there, a modern re-telling with mobile phones and motorbikes, or abandoning the Gospel nativity entirely in favour of lovely (but not biblical) stories like The Elves and the Shoemaker.

I’ve not watched Love Actually in a few years, but this scene burst into my imagination as I was watching the Nativity Play of one of my local primary schools. It was the Christmas story without adulteration – Matthew and Luke would have no qualms about any of the details. Yes, there were jokes to entertain the parents, and the odd song that I doubt the people in Bethlehem were singing at the time, but overall, it was a Traditional Nativity Play in all its glory!

Stories are the preeminent vehicles of meaning, and so it stands to reason that a ‘traditional story’ has the most power in this regard.

As I sat through a delightful performance, I was struck by just how comforting it was to see a traditional telling of the Christmas story. When I got up to give a little homily after the show, I thanked the children profusely for their adherence to tradition, and explained how much it had cheered me. I was a little surprised to encounter just how many parents, as they left the church, concurred wholeheartedly with my statement. They were moved to hear that old tale told again, and moved more than they expected when they encountered those timeless themes that the nativity story encapsulates.

I’m not opposed to innovation and modernisation, but it strikes me that some traditions are sacrosanct – especially around a season like Christmas. Traditions aren’t just activities we perform semi-regularly; traditions are carriers of meaning, emotion, and memory, and traditions have a deep power we can’t always explain at the time. I’m sure most people reading this article will have Christmas traditions, and that those traditions will have a real emotional (and maybe even a spiritual) resonance. It might be a particular concert or panto that you see every year. It might be the particular menu for Christmas Day (more pigs-in-blankets and fewer sprouts). My tradition is that ever since I was a boy the family has always gone on a Boxing Day walk. I can’t quite explain why, but as soon as I take that first step on Boxing Day I’m filled with a tremendous sense of peace and joy.

Stories are the preeminent vehicles of meaning, and so it stands to reason that a ‘traditional story’ has the most power in this regard. The story of the Nativity doesn’t just give us the narrative of the birth of Christ, it gives us the psychological, emotional, and metaphorical content that the narrative carries. It’s a story, so it doesn’t seek just to tell us what happened, it seeks to makes us feel the effects of what happened. The story of the Nativity is the story of God coming into His creation. It is a story not just of a baby boy being born, but of peace and joy and hope and love and glory being born into the world – born in such a way that they can never be overcome. It is the beginning of the great love story: God so loving the world that he gave His only Son to save it.

They were moved not just because they delighted in the performance of their son or daughter, but because they were inhabiting ‘The Greatest Story Ever Told’.

You can read the nativity of Matthew and Luke once, and you might miss most or even all of this emotional and spiritual weight; but read them over and over again at the same time of year every year, and you can’t help but be changed. You’ll find, over many years, that you’re not just reading or hearing the story anymore…you’re LIVING the story. If you live the story, you feel the story – the great message of Christmas (a mystery we will never truly comprehend in this life) is something that takes over you mind and your heart, and you really are living Christmas.

Most of the parents I met that morning will not darken our doors again until next year. Maybe some of them are faithful attenders of other churches, and maybe most of them aren’t. In that moment, as their children performed the same play that children up and down this country have performed for more than a century, it didn’t matter. They were moved, many beyond expectation. They were moved not just because they delighted in the performance of their son or daughter, but because they were inhabiting ‘The Greatest Story Ever Told’. Many were moved because the themes of peace, hope, joy, love, harmony, wonder, worship, and delight – ideas that entrance even the most cynical mind – were presented again to them. Many were moved because the deep resonances of the Christmas tradition were stirred once again.

I love The Elves and the Shoemaker. I delight in the creativity of contemporary tellings of old stories. Any time a child finds the confidence to stand on a stage and perform, my heart rejoices. But…I would like to put in a little plea for the resurgence of the Traditional Nativity Play; its story, its themes, and its traditions are genuinely timeless, and a chance to remember the eternal beauty of hope, joy, and love is something we all need…especially at Christmas.

Article

Christmas culture

Culture

Hinduism

Time

30 December 2024

4 min read

Why good wishes resonate across cultures

Hmm… and where did you get that idea from?

Rahil Patel

Rahil is a former Hindu monk, and author of Found By Love. He is a Tutor and Speaker at the Oxford Centre for Christian Apologetics.

Scrabble letters read 'Happy New Year' against a red starry background.

Country house gallery Compton Verney is currently hosting a delightful exhibition by British Indian artist Chila Kumari. It’s a colorful collision of worlds: neon-bright Hindu deities paired with ice cream trucks and cakes—a nostalgic nod to her father’s business during her early years in North England. Chila has captured the balance of her East-West upbringing beautifully.

But what really stopped me in my tracks was the theme of the exhibition: “Love and Truth.” Hmm, I thought. Isn’t that a very Christian theme? Hinduism, as intricate and philosophical as it is, doesn’t traditionally frame life around “truth” or “love” the way Christianity does. And yet, it’s possible that my Hindu friends and family subconsciously desire or even pursue these ideals without fully realizing it.

Surely, on January 1st, my lovely Hindu relatives will send me cheerful WhatsApp messages: “Happy New Year! Hope it’s a good one!” Naturally, I’ll reply with warm wishes of my own. But a thought will linger: haven’t they already celebrated their New Year?

The Hindu calendar, Vikram Samvat, is lunar and runs 52 years ahead of the Gregorian calendar. For most Hindus, the New Year is ushered in during Diwali, celebrated with food, lights, and fireworks. Sikhs, too, celebrate their New Year in March according to the Nanakshahi calendar. And yet, when January 1st rolls around, I’ll find myself in a sea of “hope” and “joy” messages from friends and relatives of different faiths.

Here’s where the question emerges: where did this idea of hope and joy come from? They aren’t central concepts in Hinduism, Sikhism, Jainism, or even Buddhism—not in the way Christians understand them. A friend once told me that biblical hope is “the joyful anticipation of something good.” Author Clare Gilbert described it as being “optimistic even when the heart is broken.” Similarly, Christian joy is not tied to external circumstances. It’s a steady, enduring truth that can coexist with suffering.

And yet, these words—hope and joy—are shared freely by people whose traditions don’t teach them explicitly. Why? I’m not asking anyone to stop, of course! It’s beautiful to see these blessings exchanged. But it does make me wonder: why wish someone something that isn’t foundational in your own worldview? Could it be that these words point to a deeper, unspoken longing?

Consider this: New Delhi-based journalist Garima Garg offers a fascinating anecdote in her foreword to Anthony Stone’s, Hindu Astrology: Myths, Symbols and Reality. Dr. Stone, a Christian with a PhD in theoretical physics from Oxford, went on to study Sanskrit and astrology in India. In her foreword, Garg recalls how, on the day Queen Elizabeth II died, a “comet-like orb” streaked across the sky.

Skeptics, she writes, might dismiss this as space debris or SpaceX satellites. But for believers in astrology, timing matters. A celestial event, aligned with a moment of historical significance, sparks excitement and anticipation. It’s a moment of watchful waiting, a belief that something extraordinary is happening—or is about to happen.

Sound familiar? That feeling of anticipation, of longing for something good, mirrors what Christians call hope. It’s not tethered to what we can see but rests on the unseen. Even in astrology, in its focus on aligning stars and planets, there’s an echo of this universal yearning—a desire for the extraordinary to touch the ordinary, for the unseen to become visible.

This brings me back to the heart of my reflection. Hope and joy, as the Bible presents them, are not mere words but living truths. Hope is a confident expectation of good because of God’s promises. Joy is the assurance of His presence, even in pain. Could it be that cultures and faiths that don’t explicitly teach these concepts are still reaching for them? Could the universal desire for something extraordinary be pointing to Christ?

I wonder if this is why themes like “Love and Truth” resonate so deeply, even in a Hindu-inspired art exhibition. They’re not just abstract ideas; they’re foundational to the human heart.

To be clear, I’m not criticizing anyone for sharing hope or joy. Quite the opposite—I think it’s wonderful. What I am asking is whether this sharing hints at something unspoken. Could these lovely cultures and faiths, in their pursuit of meaning, be reaching for the very hope and joy that Christ offers?

After all, Christianity teaches that God has 'set eternity in the human heart'. If that’s true, then it makes sense that people of all cultures would yearn for love, truth, hope, and joy, even if they don’t fully understand why. These aren’t just Christian concepts—they’re universal signposts pointing us toward God.

So next time someone wishes me a “joyous New Year” or sends a message of hope, I’ll smile and reply with warmth. But I’ll also ponder, quietly: where did that idea come from? Perhaps, without realizing it, they’re expressing the deepest longing of the human heart—a longing that Christ can fulfill.

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