Thursday and Christmas Eve Day. No, I was not raised in a barn, but my Savior was born in one.

I realize that not everyone who reads this blog believes that Jesus Christ is the Son of God who will one day return to judge the living and the dead. I appreciate your patronage in spite of that.

I’m guessing that Christmas for you is more a seasonal celebration marked by the annual traditions of trees, lights, gifts and being in the company of family. Some of you might even go to church on Christmas Eve as one of those customs you enjoy because of the unified community you experience during the service celebrating something bigger than yourself.

Over the last few years, and especially in 2020, we’ve seen much of our history here in the U.S. begin buckling under tremendous pressure as rioters have torn down statues, fascists have told us our founding is more appropriately measured in terms of the slave trade in the year 1619, we’re shamed into saying, “Happy Holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas” to avoid offending someone who believes something different, and the Satanic Temple places dioramas like the Biblical scene of an angel falling into a pit of fire in response to Nativity scenes in state capitols all over the country.

All of this is part and parcel of what is clearly a cultural movement to destroy the historic foundations of the United States. It’s a dangerous project, because Left and Right clearly don’t share a common understanding of our nation, including our founding ideals, which ripens us for fracturing faster and more violently. That’s why I’m suggesting a short exercise to all of us today—all of those who believe in Jesus as “the reason for the season” and all of those who don’t—as a small act of defiantly good cheer in preserving our national heritage.

On December 23, 1823, “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (largely known now as “The Night Before Christmas”) appeared in New York’s Troy Sentinel without attribution. It wasn’t until 1837 that the author was identified as Clement Clarke Moore (left), who had written the “trifle” (as he called it) for his children in 1822. The poem has been one of thousands of cultural strands binding us together as Americans for nearly 200 years.

Since tonight is the night before Christmas, I encourage you to read the poem. Relax with someone you love, and read it all without hurry. If you have it in book form, especially an illustrated edition, use that. Imagine a time when literature was entertainment (no radio, television, electronic games, computers or digital devices), electric lights were still nearly 60 years in the future, and a father might gather his family ’round him at the hearth and read this for the little ones on Christmas Eve.

Doing so won’t magically restore our heritage, of course, but it’s something, and it does strengthen the “mystic chords of memory” (Lincoln’s beautiful phrase). Perhaps if we do so we’ll appreciate our past for a moment and we can encourage others to try it. Maybe if enough of us do it, remembering the poem will catch on again, along with other classics that have largely been forgotten. Worth a shot? Definitely. It’s reproduced in its entirety below.

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
by Clement C. Moore (public domain)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!

[Image credits: Manuscript: New-York Historical Society. ‘A Visit From St. Nicholas’ handwritten Manuscript gifted by author Clement C. Moore. Wikimedia Commons. Clement C. Moore image: “circa 1840 from an engraving of a life portrait painted for his children”; linked to image at Seth Kaller, Inc.]