Next time, let’s put the true Christ back into Christmas

How was your Christmas? I had a lovely day walking the dog and recording a video of the amount of colourful trash “decorating” some of the trees here in Indonesia. We are in a majority Muslim country, which happily celebrates Christmas. That might be something to tell any grumpy neighbours who fear a Muslim “invasion” of where you live. Maybe they told you it’s time to put Christ back into Christmas, exhibiting a new religiosity with few prior symptoms (such as care for the poor or foreign). Reflecting on such declarations of the need to remember Jesus, this year I decided they have a point. Here’s why… 

Every December, as the tills jingle and the Christmas songs play, we are invited to celebrate the birth of a man who asked us to stop worshipping money and start paying attention to what was going on inside our own hearts. Naturally, we mark this by maxing out our credit cards as we imagine what random stuff might pass as thoughtful presents. But if we are to be serious about “putting Christ back into Christmas,” we could begin by putting the actual Christ back into view.

First, there’s the money. Jesus was not subtle on this point. “You cannot serve God and Mammon,” he said (Matthew 6:24), Mammon being the ancient Aramaic term for wealth and accumulation. When a rich man asked how to inherit eternal life, Jesus replied: “Sell what you own, and give the money to the poor” (Matthew 19:21). That’s not a line of scripture found embroidered on festive stockings. It might even be considered blasphemy amongst followers of “prosperity Christianity” and their profit-happy pastors. 

Second, there’s care for the meek. Jesus’s concern for the poor was not a decorative flourish; it was the point. He identifies himself not with the powerful but with the vulnerable: “I was hungry and you gave me food… just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:35–40). Supporting charity, mutual aid, and genuine care for those at the sharp end of economic systems is not a weak interpretation of Christianity; it is the spine of it. So if we put the true Christ back into Christmas, we’d be sharing ideas of how to help the poor and disadvantaged, not where to go for a slap-up dinner on Boxing Day. 

The third way we could get some Christ back into the celebration of his birth could involve a laugh about those who want to regulate the way we mark this holiday. Jesus showed little interest in government or the machinery of power. When questioned by Pilate, he stated plainly: “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36). And when asked about paying taxes, he refused to be drafted into partisan alignment: “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:21). This was not quietism; it was a refusal to confuse spiritual authority with coercive power. Jesus was executed by the state, not elected to run it. And following his teachings and example should never be tinged with revenge, or insecurity, through enforcing one’s beliefs on others.

Then there is the small matter of what Jesus looked like. The historical Jesus was a homeless first-century Jew from Roman-occupied Palestine. So he would have had dark hair, brown skin, and features typical of the eastern Mediterranean. He was not pale, blue-eyed, or in need of a Scandinavian skincare routine. The centuries-long tradition of depicting Jesus as white says far more about European power than about the historical figure. Restoring the true Christ to Christmas would mean restoring his true image. And if it is unsettling for some that the ‘Son of God’ might not look like them, then, err, um… let’s remember to forgive them.

All of this makes the annual culture war over Christmas particularly ironic. The man whose birth we mark rejected wealth, distrusted status, identified with the poor, and kept his distance from political power. Yet in recent years he is wheeled out to bless white nationalism, consumer excess, and some repackaged pagan rituals. One suspects he would again reach for the whip — not at a secular holiday party, but at the market stalls people have set up in his name.

So what might it really involve to put Christ back into Christmas? It would be to remember and reflect on his own teachings. Perhaps it would be to aspire to more ‘Christ consciousness’ — of universal unconditional love — within each others’ lives? For Jesus did not promise ‘salvation’ via a donation to a church or support for a political party. He said that “the kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). Scholars debate whether the Greek means “within you” or “among you,” but either way it rules out Amazon Prime as the delivery mechanism. And it undermines any authoritarian politics based on a blatantly biased and selectively ‘motivated literalism’ towards Biblical text. Instead we can confidently explain our appreciation of Jesus’ teaching is that it was experiential and immediate: transformation of the heart here and now, not performative piety or political hostility. 

Putting that true Christ back into my Christmas was why I looked into the meaning of the Christian chant ‘Kyrie Eleison’ and included it in the song circles I co-led over the festive period. But re-centering the Jesus we learn about from his own teachings in the Gospels could involve deeper reflection and action. It could involve less spending and more giving, less excess and more recess, less outrage and more introspection, fewer slogans and more compassion. It could mean redoubling our efforts to see peace and justice in the land of that incredible carpenter from Palestine. The fact that so many Christian Nationalists’ seem to care little about any of that is an indicator that theirs’ is a project of distraction from the ongoing greed of elites. 

But you knew all of this without me writing about it here… I just think it’s time we spoke out more against the nonsense being sent our way by the lackeys of the transnational capitalist class. If this is a topic you are interested in, then I recommend a brilliant new video on the subject by “Jimmy the Giant.’

Reclaiming “Kyrie Eleison” this Christmas

by chiyo hiraoka

From a plea for pardon to an invitation to heal within a universe of unconditional love. 

Across centuries of liturgy, the solemn chant “Kyrie Eleison”, often translated as “Lord, have mercy,” has echoed through churches and cathedrals. It is one of the most recited phrases by congregations of Christians around the world, and can convey the idea that believers are penitent persons before an omnipotent judge. I heard it regularly during my childhood, in Anglican, Catholic and Evangelical contexts. After I stopped going to church, for decades I didn’t think about the meaning of the phrase. Not until I was in a field in Thailand, with two hundred people from different faiths, as we sang and moved in prayer. That set me on a journey into the meaning of the phrase “Kyrie Eleison”, and a discovery about the loss of Jesus’s original message, as quoted in the Gospels. This realisation is opening up the possibility to reconnect with my roots in a new way, through a Christianity more mystical than the institutions of religion convey. 

To understand the true meaning of the phrase “Kyrie Eleison”, it helps to journey back before the Gospels. It had been a common Greek plea, where “Kyrie” invoked a divine power. They had many to consider, from Asclepius to Zeus. The word “eleison” had a poetic meaning, because it was not only the verb “to forgive”. Our dance leader in Thailand explained it sounded similar to ‘elaion’, which meant oil. In ancient Greece, as in modern times, oils were used for various forms of healing, including wounds and aches. Thus, “eleison” meant something other than a cry for forgiveness from a sinning or guilty person. Instead, it was a plea, or an invitation, to “anoint me, soothe me, and heal me.” It is important to remember that the worldview at the time, across many cultures, regarded illness as a symptom of spiritual or relational disorder, rather than a random physical misfortune. To cry out “Kyrie Eleison” was to ask the divine to restore a person’s wholeness.  

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Let’s not become attached to collapse

There are moments when life confronts us with such undeniable pain that our hearts split open. For many people I know, that moment came with the realisation that our civilization is unravelling – that the seas are rising, the forests are dying, and the systems built to sustain our comfort are breaking. In that shock, there can be a strange grace. For a time, we awaken from the trance of consumption, routine and ambition. We see more clearly the suffering of the Earth and of each other. That often inspires compassion, and a yearning to live differently. It is a process I’ve often described in my past writings. It is why I encourage people to talk about societal collapse more openly, including our desires to reduce harm. Which is why, when I founded the Deep Adaptation Forum in 2019, I proposed that its ethos would be to “embody and enable loving responses to our predicament, so that we reduce suffering while saving more of society and the natural world.” Over the years I have witnessed people of all races, creeds, and economic classes, find their own ways to pursue that noble goal. It’s something I celebrate in the newly released video of Chapter 12 from my book. However, I have had to accept that something quite different can happen when we awaken to collapse, which might suppress presence, service and creativity. I wonder if that happened in me and others who participate in communities formed around an awareness or acceptance of collapse. If you are in such a community, I hope the following reflections on not becoming attached to narratives about collapse will be useful. 

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Heartfullness: The Way of Contemplation

In a time of metacrisis, disruption and collapse, many of us yearn for deeper spiritual meaning but aren’t attracted to institutional religion. We also sense that growing recognition of humanity’s predicament could prompt a spiritual awakening, at least for some. This means many of us aren’t sure where to turn to find either advice or community, or to invite others together for that. That has been my situation. Personally, I have benefitted from Buddhist and Daoist philosophy and practice, nature-based Indigenous wisdom, and mystic strands of Christianity, as I shared in a ‘Buddha At The Gas Pump’ interview and now integrate into my music. I now want to go deeper and further with others. In the New Year, we launch the Metacrisis Mentors programme, where we will draw upon a variety of wisdom traditions to explore, in challenging times: what is mine to do and how am I to be? 

In January, we will announce more about the programme, which will be open to all members of the Metacrisis Meetings initiative. One of the key texts will be Heartfullness: The Way of Contemplation by Reverend Stephen G. Wright. A former palliative nurse, academic, and ordained inter-faith minister, Dr. Wright has cultivated decades of wisdom at the intersection of caregiving, contemplation, and mystical inquiry. His voice is deeply rooted in the lived experience of guiding seekers and spiritual nomads — those who feel estranged from dogma but still feel the call of the sacred.

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Christianity and Hope – when the Pope does hopium, what do the mystics do?

For anyone who has grown up in a Christian country, the past week can be a time for reflection on values and purpose. It can be a moment where we find calm away from the rush of our normal lives and re-assess. Any religious festival can provide us with that opportunity, if we are open to that. On religious occasions like Christmas and Easter, people exposed to Western media will read or hear about what The Pope says about the world. So that’s why I heard the Pope’s new message on hope in difficult times. My discomfort about his message meant I shared some thoughts on social media, which generated feedback and dialogue. Rather than repeating myself in comments on those threads, I thought I’d write a post about ‘Christianity and Hope’ on my blog… so here goes.

The Pope’s message seemed to be asking us all to have hope in a better tomorrow. But he went much further than that, when claiming that hope for a materially better situation in the world is a requirement and concomitant with being loving towards others. He wrote:

“Those who love, even if they find themselves in uncertain situations, always view the world with a gentle gaze of hope.”

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Not Sweating on Others Waking Up – thoughts after a Temazcal

The analysis and message of Breaking Together has been resonating with some people who work closely with indigenous leaders across Latin America. That is one reason we published it in Spanish as Cayendo Juntos. Due to their work with indigenous elders, my hosts organised a Temazcal, or spiritual sweat lodge, for my birthday. It was led by Don Alvaro, a cofounder of the Elders of Teotihuacan. That’s the area where he and his ancestors have lived, which is famous for its Aztec Pyramids. My experience that day helped me to realise I still have a long way to go in ‘letting go’ of attachment to the impact of my efforts, and the importance of such letting go for my future in this era of collapse.

Don Alvaro’s comments before we entered the sweat lodge may have been influenced by the fact it was October 12th, the day when Columbus first stepped foot in the Americas in 1492. Some call it ‘Invasion Day’. Don Alvaro explained some of the basic ideas of his culture that have been suppressed in the 500 years since then. Such as the obvious fact that we are part of nature and not in charge of it. Plus, the reality that the natural world is itself sacred, rather than just parts of it, or those aspects that we imagine to be separate from nature. 

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Dancing for Peace in an Era of Collapse

There are many ways of living with ‘collapse acceptance’. My own approach doesn’t represent the best one. To acknowledge the diversity, and help us all learn from that, once in a while I ask a colleague or friend to share some thoughts on how they are responding. Katie Carr was a founding member of the Deep Adaptation Forum and teaches the ‘Leading Through Collapse’ course with me (online twice a year and for one time only in the States this October). I asked her to share why a dance camp is one of her most restorative activities of the year. I hope it inspires. Thx, Jem

By Katie Carr

I recently returned from rural Oxfordshire in the UK, where I joined around 300 people from across the country to dance in a circle while chanting songs and mantras from many different spiritual traditions. Sacred Arts Camp is an annual week-long community event, where we camp in small circles, sharing cooking, care, and connection. Every time I attend, I am reminded of the importance of this kind of embodied and joyful ritual, especially as the world and our day-to-day lives seem to become more precarious. I also remember how much my heart longs for the experience of community and belonging that are so difficult to imagine, let alone co-create, in the midst of industrialised consumer societies.

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Stubborn optimism in an era of collapse

The weak but well-funded arguments for techno-optimism in the face of climate chaos have kept on coming. The latest were a series of articles in mainstream press about a book that claims renewable energy will sustain societies while stabilising the global climate. Brazilian researcher Claudia Gasparovic, offered a rapid debunking of the book’s arguments, in a post on LinkedIn. Similar arguments were put to the book’s author by journalist Rachel Donald for Mongabay. The weakness of techno-optimism on climate change was something I explored in my book Breaking Together. If you read Chapter 3, you will know that the idea modern societies can maintain current consumption patterns by switching to entirely renewable energy is one founded upon blindness to material dimensions of energy generation and storage. If you read Chapter 4, you will know that energy and carbon dioxide are two issues within a far broader problem of the ecological overshoot by modern societies. If you read Chapter 5, you will know that the momentum of change in our oceans and atmosphere, coupled with the dramatic loss of cooling aerosols and cloud-seeding forest cover, means we are already within a scary situation with climate. 

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Towards a 5th R in the Deep Adaptation Framework?

In the last few years a few people have suggested additional “Rs” for the 4 questions that comprise the Deep Adaptation framework for reflection and dialogue within an expectation or situation of societal disruption and collapse. As the idea of DA is used with groups around the world, various new ideas on what it means and what personal and group practices are relevant are emerging. One new R that I learned about recently is “Reverence.” That is what Reverend Lauren Van Ham adds to the framework as she uses it for the past couple of years with seminarians and faith-based communities. In my recent Q&A I asked her what a question might be that relates to Reverence, as I think DA involves inquiry, rather than simple answers. That is because societies and people are diverse, and an environmental breakdown affects all of it and, ultimately, everyone, thereby making generalised recommendations somewhat problematic!

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Reverend Stephen G Wright on Spirituality and #DeepAdaptation

Reverend Stephen G Wright is Spiritual Director and trustee for the Sacred Space Foundation and the the founder of the St. Kentigern School for Contemplatives. Recently he was elected as a member of the Holding Group of the Deep Adaptation Forum.

In this #DeepAdaptation Q&A hosted by Katie Carr, Reverend Wright explores spirituality and the role of the mystic-contemplative in deep adaptation. It includes “the spiritual life as a fierce de-addiction programme”, “Learning to keep your heart open in hell” (#RamDass), and Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There is?”

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