An alternative Christmas message: rest is the reason for the season

As the King delivers his Christmas message this afternoon, let’s press pause on the pomp and circumstance to consider a quieter, older narrative for this day, one rooted not in the tinsel-draped construct of consumerism but in the cycles of nature, rest, and reconnection.

For all the “Christmas magic” we’re told to summon, it’s no surprise this time of year feels heavy for many. The climate crisis looms, political divides widen, and the forced gaiety of the season can leave us feeling anything but merry. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) and the winter blues are not signs of failure, they’re reminders that the natural world is resting and so should we.

But how did we get here, to this festival of busyness, brimming with baubles, brandy, and barely concealed burnout? For that, we need to rewind to a time before Christmas, to its pagan roots.

Stolen traditions: the Pagan origins of Christmas

As you gather around the tree or light your fairy-lit windows tonight, know this: many of the “Christmas” traditions we cherish weren’t Christian to begin with. They were borrowed, ok let’s not soften that, outright stolen from ancient Pagan celebrations which marked the Winter Solstice. The solstice, the longest night of the year, symbolised death and rebirth, inviting people to pause and honour nature’s rhythms.

Let’s take a stroll through some of today’s most beloved traditions and their original Pagan roots:

• The Christmas tree: Before it became the star of your living room, the evergreen tree was a pagan symbol of eternal life. Ancient cultures brought branches inside to honour nature’s resilience during the dark days of winter.
• Holly and ivy: Once tools of magic, these plants were used to ward off evil spirits. Today, they’re more likely to be decking your halls (and Instagram feeds).
• Gift-giving: Forget Santa; Pagans exchanged gifts to honour the gods or mark the turning of the year. The commercialisation came much later. And if you wanna deep dive into why Santa is problematic, you can dive into more chat about that here.
• Yule logs: Lighting a large log to burn throughout the solstice night was meant to banish darkness and invite warmth and honour the return of the sun. Now it’s either a chocolate roulade or a Netflix fireplace loop.
• Feasting: Pagans celebrated with feasts to share their harvest, express gratitude, and survive the dark months ahead. It wasn’t about overindulging in turkey and regretting it by Boxing Day.

The forgotten wisdom of the season

Today’s hyper-commercialised Christmas has lost sight of its original reason for the season. The honouring of Winter Solstice was never about forced fun or perfect table settings; it was about aligning with nature’s call to slow down and honour the return of the light. Winter whispers a truth we often resist: this is the season of hibernation. It’s ok to rest.

But resting feels radical in a world that glorifies productivity, even during the darkest days of the year. No wonder depression and SAD spike in December, our inner rhythms are out of sync with the Earth. The antidote isn’t about more and more, but the simple act of rewilding our connection to nature and ourselves. I stopped celebrating Christmas in 2022. Since I’ve done that, slowed into the season, lit candles in the dark nights and connected more deeply with nature, all of the feelings of dread and overwhelm have left. It is utterly liberating and it is now the most surreal time of year to live in the UK, with the mainstream narrative getting whipped up into a frenzy.

A call to come home

This Christmas, as we face challenges like the climate crisis and deepening social divides, perhaps the most powerful act of rebellion is not to buy into the chaos but to opt out. Embrace the sacred pause. Watch the winter sky. Light a candle and honour the darkness, not as something to fear but as a space to nurture your inner light.

The original Christmas, was never about Christ or MASs produced stuff you don’t need. It was [and still can be if you choose] a season for reflection and recalibration, not frantic shopping sprees or exhausting social calendars. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to tune into the return of the light and come home to that wisdom.

So, as you sip your mulled wine (or Pagan-inspired wassail – google it!!) and dodge another family board game, consider this: what if the greatest gift we could give ourselves and the planet is to rest, reconnect, and realign with the natural world?

May your season be slow, soulful, and filled with the quiet magic of coming home, to yourself and to the rhythms of nature.