You hit the nail on the head. Ironically, in juxtaposition to this trend, at Mass this Sat evening, we sang the fourth verse to “We Three Kings.”

Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume
Breaths a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding dying,
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.

I can’t say I recall ever having sung that verse, which one must admit most folks in the Western world would find eerie during the Christmas season, but is a strong reminder of why Christ came into the world.

The last verse finishes the Christology.

Glorious now behold Him arise,
King and God and Sacrifice.
Alleluia, Alleluia
Sounds through the earth and skies.

No, we don’t sing “Away in a Manger” or “Silent Night” as part of our worship services in my church. And no, I don’t think they would be the best choices for worship music. We sing “Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” “O Come All Ye Faithful,” “Joy to the World” and “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”

To be frank, I hadn’t really thought about which songs we sing in church worship, and why– but I think you have articulated the reasons very well. I think all I would have said, before this conversation, was that “Hark the Herald Angels” was more of a worship song than “Away in a Manger.” You have helped me be more articulate about this issue, which I appreciate.

We do sing “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” at Family Christmas Music night, which is a time of fellowship. I would be sad if we did away with that special event, or with the singing of these songs at home around the tree. I’m glad to know you are not opposed to this. “Away in a Manger” has an especially dear place in my heart, because my mother (who is now deceased) used to sing it to me as a child. My feelings about that song are tied up in my love for her and for the simple faith she showed me long ago– more than mere “sentimentality,” you see. But I recognize that there are better songs to sing in worship, yes.

Anyway, to all of you who joined this conversation– thank you. And Happy New Year!

There is a significance of all of those narratives that goes beyond that actual event itself. For example, the significance of the birth narrative is (in large part) that God has broken into creation and become man. I think our Christmas songs, then, ought to reflect that significance.

But even if the whole physical universe we live in is brought under God’s rule, even should the Maryknollers bring social justice to the remotest galaxies or the Franciscans demonstrate God’s love convincingly to the tiniest virus particle, it will die. That is physical fact. The second law of thermodynamics teaches us that everything we accomplish is bought by an even greater loss of energy from somewhere else, until all is cold and dark. The new heaven and new earth we hope for cannot be bound by that law, yet the very processes that make life possible in this world depend on it.

The Christmas story is about God become man — as a baby.

The Visitation story is about God become man — as a first-trimester fetus.

The Annunciation story is about God become man — as a zygote.

The Finding in the Temple story (Lk 2:41–51) is about God become man — as a boy on the verge of adolescence.