Authors: Inc. Barbour Publishing
With so many edits and alterations made to please different sides, the hymn ought to have fallen into obscurity long ago. Of course, God planned it differently. He wanted us to hear that long-ago monk’s message: that Christ was “true man, yet very God,” that He would flower brightest in the winter of our need, and that He will lead us to the “bright courts of heaven and to the endless day.”
Then we will all be in full bloom.
And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots
.
Isaiah 11:1
O come, O come, Emmanuel
,
And ransom captive Israel
,
That mourns in lowly exile here
Until the Son of God appear
.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel!
T
he nation of Israel had never known a worse time. Its leaders were “guests” of a foreign power, and its people, all bar those needed to work the land and pay the tributes, had been exiled from their homeland, scattered as slaves throughout the Babylonian Empire.
What a fall this must have been for a people who thought themselves the favorites of the one God. Under David, a God-fearing king, Israel had been the local superpower. Now their nation barely existed. Where had it all gone wrong?
Well, the Old Testament prophets weren’t slow in telling them. They had been proud, neglecting their Lord and worshipping other gods. He had turned away from them.
“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel!” is sung from the point of view of the exiles, longing for God to be with them again. It’s a nineteenth-century translation by John Mason Neal of the twelfth-century Latin text
“Veni, Veni, Emmanuel.”
But it’s not for nothing people say that God’s mercy endures forever. Even in the depths of his disappointment with the Israelites, He sent word through His prophets that better times were to come. A Savior, the “Rod of Jesse” (in other words, a descendant of King David), would come to set them free.
The mournful longing in “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel!” doubtless arises from the absolute assurance that their people would be redeemed—but not quickly. There was a lesson to be learned first!
Even today the faithful can fall, wrong turns can be taken, and it might seem as if God has looked away in annoyance. But the wonder of His love means He will always come back if we ask Him to. The timing will be
His
to decide—but it will be perfect.
Emmanuel means “God with us.” If we ask Him to, God will
always
be with us!
Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel
.
I
SAIAH
7:14
Our Savior, the Dayspring from on high, has visited us, and we who were in darkness and shadows have found truth!
B
YZANTINE
P
RAYER
Once in royal David’s city
Stood a lowly cattle shed
,
Where a mother laid her Baby
In a manger for His bed
.
Mary was that mother mild–
Jesus Christ, her little Child
.
T
he city in this carol isn’t mighty Jerusalem where King David ruled so wisely for so long. It’s the smaller but no less significant Bethlehem, where both David and Jesus were born.
Cecil Frances Humphreys, the daughter of a British army major based in Dublin, first told this story in her third book,
Hymns for Little Children
, which was published in 1848. As well as “Once in Royal David’s City,” the book contained two other works by Humphreys that would go on to wider acclaim: “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and “There Is a Green Hill Far Away.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, the book was reprinted sixty-nine times in the next fifty-two years.
Humphreys married Rev. William Alexander two years after the publication of
Hymns for Little Children
. The reverend, also a poet, would go on to become the bishop of Derry in Northern Ireland.
As Mrs. Alexander, she dedicated her life to supporting her husband, writing hymns and poetry, and performing charitable work. Ironically, the beautiful hymns she wrote helped children who would never hear them. Proceeds from the sales of her earlier publications helped found a school for deaf and mute children. The sales of
Hymns for Little Children
would help maintain it.
“Once in Royal David’s City” has traveled far from its beginning in Ireland and is now a firm favorite all around the world. Classifying it as a children’s carol should not deter any adult from enjoying its pleasures. It’s true that the author focuses on the town where David and Jesus were children and she uses the infant Christ as an example of how all good Christian children should behave. But she would have known that Jesus wanted us to come to Him as children and in the presence of the Father—well, what else would we want to be?
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord
.
L
UKE
2:11
As with gladness men of old
Did the guiding star behold
,
As with joy they hailed its light–
Leading onward, beaming bright
,
So, most gracious Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee
.
W
illiam Chatterton Dix came from an educated, literary English family—but that didn’t mean they could provide a life of leisure for their children. As soon as he was old enough, Dix took employment in a Glasgow-based marine insurance company, hardly the most creative of environments.
Perhaps the monotonous nature of his work contributed to the periods of illness and depression he suffered. But amazingly, these times seemed to be his most creative—and what energies he had went into writing hymns, including “As with Gladness Men of Old” and “What Child Is This?” Aged only twenty-four, he published
Hymns of Love and Joy
.
In the midst of his own emotional and physical darkness, sick in bed on the day of the Epiphany, Dix recalled a dark night in a world without hope. He imagined the joy of those “men of old,” the magi, as they realized who was about to be born and what it meant for humankind.
Just as they gladly followed the star, Dix wrote, so should we in these modern times. Even as they humbly bent the knee and gave of their most precious possessions, so still should we.
The carol ends with a plea to “keep us in the narrow way” until we reach the place where Christ outshines the brightest star and we can sing our alleluias to Him in person.
Almost nineteen hundred years after the birth of Christ, Dix reminded his contemporaries that the gift of a Messiah was no less wondrous than when it happened. It was a gift that shone through the centuries, shone through Dix’s illness, and continues to shine today.
More than a century after William Dix’s death, we have no less reason to be glad than did those “men of old”—and they were very glad indeed!
When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy
.
M
ATTHEW
2:9–10
Hark how the bells,
sweet silver bells,
all seem to say,
throw cares away
.
Christmas is here,
bringing good cheer,
to young and old,
meek and the bold
.
C
arol of the Bells” is proof that it isn’t only people who can be born again. Starting as a pagan chant, it has now become synonymous with Christmas, going through several transformations on the way.
Ukrainian music teacher and composer Mykola Leontovich took the original chant—the structure of which may have dated from prehistoric times—and used it to create the choral piece
Shchedryk
, or “Bountiful.”
The lyrics initially had nothing to do with Christmas.
Shchedryk
was a New Year song in a country where the New Year was traditionally celebrated in April. It told of a swallow flying into a home and darting from room to room, excitedly telling the family of bountiful times to come.
This promise of a brighter future may have struck a popular nationalist note for Ukrainians during a short-lived period of independence from the USSR.
Premiered in 1916,
Shchedryk
was first heard in the United States in 1921 when the Ukrainian National Chorus performed at Carnegie Hall. One listener, for whom the song must have had a special resonance, was Peter Wilhousky, a Ukrainian-American choral director.
Inspired by the “pealing” tones of the vocals, Wilhousky wrote new lyrics for the tune. Focusing on images of bells and carolers, Wilhousky turned
Shchedryk
into “Carol of the Bells,” a full-fledged Christmas carol.
That might seem an unusual journey for a musical piece, but it would be a familiar experience for many individuals and even cultures. For a long time, it was pagan—until a messenger came with news of freedom and the promise of better times to come. With just a little more tweaking—the sparrow with its happy news became Jesus’ birth at Christmastime—it came into the fold, becoming Christian through and through.
What could be more Christmas-like than a carol redeemed and reborn?
And she coming in that instant gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem
.
L
UKE
2:38
Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella!
Bring a torch, to Bethlehem come!
Christ is born. Tell the folk of the village
Mary has laid him in a manger
.
Ah! Ah! beautiful is the mother!
Ah! Ah! beautiful is her Son!
B
ring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella,” is a whimsy! It is wishful thinking—but the wish behind it has to be one of the best ever. “Ah, that we had realized on that first night who had come among us!”
Jeanette and Isabella, according to the carol, were milkmaids who found an amazing sight in their master’s stables: a newborn child they knew immediately to be Jesus, the Christ. They ran out to spread the word to the rest of the village and came back bearing torches so everyone could see.
Even amid the excitement they shushed everyone, lest they disturb the child’s blessed dreams.
“Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella,” was not originally a Christmas carol. It began life as a fourteenth-century dance tune. The French nobility liked to indulge in a lively
ritournelle
, and it was for this that the unusually upbeat tune (for a carol) was composed. The lyrics are believed to have come from either Anjou or Burgundy, and the two were first paired in print in a private publication,
Songs of the First Advent of Jesus Christ
, in 1553. Three hundred years later it crossed the sea to England and eventually became a firm favorite in America.
Back in France, in Provence, children still dress up as shepherds and milkmaids to sing the carol on their way to Christmas Eve services.
How might the story have turned out if two such wise young women
had
alerted everyone to the miracle they found in a barn? Of course, a world in which Christ was worshipped from the beginning probably would have had no need for a Savior in the first place. We know that’s not real life—but we can wish and wonder all the same.
And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child
.
L
UKE
2:16–17
Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green;
Here we come a-wand’ring
So fair to be seen
.
Love and joy come to you
,
And to you your wassail too;
And God bless you and send
you a happy New Year
,
And God send you a happy New Year
.
T
he custom of wassailing at Christmas, or midwinter, is a long and sometimes gory one! It was an old tradition among the Saxon people before they crossed the North Sea to Britain.
Sometime in the fifth century, the Saxon princess Rowena presented British king Vortigern with the skull of an enemy. The skull was full of wine, and she offered the trophy with the salutation, “Lord King,
wass-heil
!”
“Wass-heil” means “good health,” and while it might not have done much for the health of the poor fellow who donated the skull, it worked wonders for Vortigern and Rowena, who married shortly afterward.
In (slightly) more civilized times, Vortigern and Rowena’s descendants in the southeast of England would descend upon their fruit orchards on the twelfth night of Christmas. Fueled by home-grown cider, either they would threaten their trees with the ax if they didn’t produce a good crop the following year, or they would bless them with whatever cider hadn’t already been drunk.
As the tradition moved away from the countryside into the city, it was taken up by waifs and orphan children who would go from house to house singing blessings for “donations.” Older carolers would take bowls of mulled wine, beer, or cider and cinnamon and sell drinks along with their blessings.
The resultant drunken revelry often got out of hand. During the Puritan period, when Christmas was canceled, many people who might have had their houses invaded by wassailers probably breathed a sigh of relief.