When I was little I loved to lay under my christmas tree. It was beautiful, seeing the lights through glass bulbs, and the colors of the ornaments, from inside the tree. I felt safe and warm and giddy, with the velvet skirt under my head. I used to imagine what it would be like to be a gift; I'm not sure now what that would even imply, but I remember having thought about it.
Recently I learned a little about the myth of Yggdrasil. For the Norse, winters were long and harsh, so much so that their end times myth centered around the idea of a winter without end for three years straight, bad enough that the forces of the universe, their gods, would begin to freeze to death, and eat each other, and other crazy, confusing things. In the midst of this, there is a tree called the tree of life, named Yggdrasil. Its a huge ash, with three roots, that go through the three worlds. Yggdrasil will last through the end times, and within it two peope, the last man and the last woman, will be safely hidden, until the new world comes out of the sea, bright and new.
The idea of an evergreen being the only survivor through the winter from hell makes sense; the green reminds us that not everything is dead in the middle of January. In comes the ritual of the yule log, and bringing evergreen trees into the house during the winter months. Interestingly, some scholars believe that this is where the Germans got the tradition of burying the dead in pine caskets; they hoped that their loved ones would be hidden from death in the heart of the trees.
In Nordic mythology, one of their greatest gods, Odin, hung from Yggdrasil for nine days, "sacraficing himself to himself", with a spear wound, in order to obtain reason for the world. My Jesus hung from a cross for six hours, sacraficing himself to his father, with whom he was and is one, and then was wounded with a spear in his side, in order to redeem the world.
Christains lament the pagan roots of the Christmas tree tradition every December, but I think that is silly. Ancient longings that were fufilled in Jesus, like the need of a tree where you can hide from death, just prove that we were made for a relationship with Jesus.
I can't wait for my nephew, Liam, to start growing up. We'll lay together under our Christmas tree, and choose our favourite ornament, and talk about all the presents we want, and I'll whisper stories about a baby boy who would take on the sins of the world. Until then, you might find me under there by myself, thinking about what it means to be hidden with Christ in God, and looking forward to the things that happen in Revelation, when we will stand together and defy death as we sing.
