Most of us have often heard that we all know December 25 is not the actual date of Jesus’ birth. But how do we know? The Bible says nothing about this date. In contrast, there is much said about the date of his death. The earliest Christians noted and celebrated the death and resurrection of Jesus but not his birth. Many different theories about when Jesus was born have been put forth. But these are all just theories with little, if anything, to support them. So how did we wind up with December 25?

The most popular idea about the origins of the Christmas date is that it was borrowed from pagan celebrations. Late December was the mid-winter Saturnalia festival of the Romans. And the barbarians of northern and western Europe kept holidays at the same time. The Roman emperor Aurelian (in 274 A.D.) established a feast to celebrate the birth of Sol Invictus – the Unconquered Sun. So the idea is that Christians picked the same date to celebrate Jesus’ birth to encourage the spread of Christianity. Pagans could more easily substitute a Christian holiday for a pagan one when making a transition after conversion.

However, Christian writers of the time never mention any tinkering with dates – they do not believe that the date was chosen by the church. On the contrary, they indicate a belief in providence providing a sign (by means of the same dates) that God had selected Jesus over false pagan gods. Christ is the true sun who outshines the fallen former sun god.

Many practices and traditions connected with Christmas do come from pagan customs. But this seems to have started only several centuries after Christ. Constantine gave impetus to the adapting and Christianizing pagan festivals. From the mid-fourth century on, this was a common practice. Pope Gregory the Great was a famous proponent of this practice. In 601 AD he recommended that local pagan temples should not be destroyed, but should be converted into churches and that pagan festivals should be celebrated as feasts of Christian martyrs.

Earliest Christians, however, were a persecuted minority. For the first few centuries after Christ, they were greatly concerned with distancing themselves from pagan religious practices and holidays. The Romans had many public games and sacrifices for their many gods. Christians wanted nothing to do with any of them. There is absolutely no evidence of Christian adaptation of pagan holidays or practices up through the third century.

On the other hand, there is quite a bit of evidence that December 25 was being celebrated as the birthday of Jesus before 312, the date of Constantine’s conversion. The Donatists (North African Christians) were apparently keeping the December date during the persecutions of Diocletian (who was pre-Constantine). A mid-fourth century (mid-300s) Roman almanac lists December 24 as the date “Christ was born in Bethlehem of Judea.”

So how did we get December 25? Around 200 AD Tertullian of Carthage reported that the 14th day of Nisan in the year Jesus died was March 25 in the Roman solar calendar. According to the gospel of John, Jesus died of the 14th day of Nisen. There was an early Christian belief that Jesus’ death and conception had taken place on the same date. (The whole of salvation was bound up together!) So, if Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit on March 25, he would have been born on December 25—9 months later.

Connecting the conception and death of Jesus in this way may seem strange to us, but it was apparently accepted by Christians down through the centuries. In the fourth century, an anonymous Christian writing identifies March 25 as “the day of the passion of the Lord and of his conception.” Augustine, writing in the early 400’s, refers to the tradition that connects the dating of these two events. In numerous later Christian paintings of the angel’s annunciation to Mary, the baby Jesus is shown coming down from heaven on or with a small cross. The conception brings with it the promise of salvation. And that’s why we celebrate December 25 as the birthday of Jesus Christ.

They left their home, the new cradle still swinging from the rafters. Night after night, the aroma of fresh-cut wood had filled the room as Joseph had patiently fashioned the tiny cradle, using the same chisel and saw he usually put down at dusk. Now Joseph wiped the tears from Mary's cheeks and shut the door behind them. “It'll be okay,” he told her, as he cinched up their belongings on the donkey.

“Joseph, can't we wait a few days? You know the baby could come at any time.” She didn't want to leave their home. Not now.

“We've waited for the baby as long as we dare.” He was ready to get on the road. “We have to leave today or I'll be arrested for not appearing in Bethlehem for the census.”

“At least bring the cradle, Joseph,” she pleaded. “I want the baby to have something nice.”

“No, it'll have to stay behind. The baby will be rocking in it soon enough.”

Joseph tugged hard at the donkey's halter several times. Grudgingly, the donkey finally responded. With one hand, Joseph led the donkey, with the other hand he steadied Mary on the steep incline, slowly enough to accommodate her ungainly progress down the winding road that led from Nazareth's height. In the house above, the cradle hung motionless.

Five days and ninety bone-weary miles later, Joseph searched the small stable where they were staying on the outskirts of crowded Bethlehem. Mary's time would be soon now. He was careful to keep his lamp from igniting the old straw. He finally settled on an ancient stone manger for the baby's bed, cut from the wall of the limestone cave which housed the animals. He reached in to scoop the last gritty bits of straw from the manger's damp bottom. “That'll have to do,” he muttered. He filled the trough with an armful of fresh dry fodder, which he covered with a folded blanket to keep the animals away.

It was well past midnight by the time Mary finished washing and wrapping her newborn baby. Now she lifted him gently into his new bed. Joseph put his arm around her shoulders as they gazed at the sleeping infant. Mary touched the tiny fingers. “That cradle you spent so much time on would be really nice right now, Joseph.” She looked up at the cave's low ceiling. “You could hang it somewhere. No baby I know has a cradle like that. It's fit for a king.”

Joseph grinned. “Not every boy has a carpenter for a dad,” he said. But he wondered. Why couldn't little Jesus be home in that cradle? Why does this special child the angel told Mary and him about have to be born in this smelly stable? A hill-country carpenter's home is bad enough. Why here? Why Bethlehem?

The answer wasn't long in coming. An older boy poked his head in the door, startling the couple from their quiet moment. "Is there a baby in here?" he mumbled apologetically. Then he saw the tiny child. Mary picked her baby up to shield the infant from his eyes. The face disappeared. Mary's eyes mirrored Joseph's concern. He strode to the cave's opening. He could hear a distant call, “Over here, Jake found him!” In the darkness, Joseph could make out a handful of forms coming toward him. He gripped his stout wooden staff and stood resolutely at the door.

As they approached the stable he could see they were shepherds. Joseph's grip on the staff tightened. The oldest one spoke hesitantly. “Can we come in? We have come to see the Christ-child.”

Joseph glanced at Mary. He could feel a tingle move down his spine. This was more than an accident. The whole fantastic course of events was far more than a coincidence. He nodded and stepped back into the stable. “Yes, come in. You are welcome.”

The shepherds shuffled into the cramped cave. The youngest pushed in alongside the donkey to get a better view. They knelt. “God be praised!” The old shepherd spoke with deepest reverence.

“It's just like the angel told us,” another whispered in wonder. ‘“Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people,’ the angel said.”

“Imagine! An angel talking to us!” the old man interjected with rising excitement. “None of the uppity-ups in this town would lower themselves to talk to us shepherds,” he added. “But an angel did. And the child is right here in a stable so we can come and see him.” Drops of tears were inching down the shepherd's weathered face.

Joseph stared at the old man. “How did you find us?” he finally asked.

The boy who had first peeked in answered. “The angel said, ‘Unto you is born ....’”

“Yes, to us!” The beaming old man couldn't contain himself.

The boy spoke deliberately, as if to remember the exact words: “Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior ...”

“That's here..Bethlehem.. David's birthplace,” the littlest boy interrupted. He thrust out his chest proudly. “King David was a shepherd, like us, you know.”

The older boy continued. “A Savior…. which is Christ the Lord.”

“The Christ, the Messiah…. He's the one!” The old man pointed to the baby.

“The angel was very specific,” the young man went on. “And this shall be a sign unto you. You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” He grinned. “How could we miss? We just ran into town and checked every stable until we found you . . . found him.” The boy paused. “How many newborns in Bethlehem do you know that have an animal manger for a cradle?”

Joseph chuckled. So that was it. The Heavenly Father Himself had provided a bed for His child. A very special cradle, it was a sure sign to these poor shepherds that God cared for them, too. Joseph squeezed Mary's hand very tightly as they both gazed lovingly upon the baby asleep in that cradle.

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