A Childless Christmas

A story, truer than most, adapted and interpreted from the original as read by G A Kunzelmann on casettetape by B G A Donobauer.

Late in December in one year of grace at the end of the 19th Century. The scene: a prosperous farming estate in the eastern end of the Hungarian Austrian Double Monarchy, township Cernovits in the province of Bukovina in what today is known as northern Roumania. Midwinter, intense cold, snow abounding. Horsedrawn sleighs and torches streaming glowing particles into the winter night. The sound of a multitude of runners against cold snow as a large company are drawn to the Lutheran church. A child is born, a child will be christened. A child will be named and officially taken up into the family on both eternal and temporal rolls.

As tradition would have it each child was given names echoing past generations. This ancestor or that would pass on in memory through their name given to the newborn fledgeling and carrier of the family shield and arms. However, this was not the intention of the father of this child. Where a Johann or Ludwig or Leonhard was taken for granted the assembled next of kin and family with openmouthed amazement and bewilderment witnessed the baptism at the old font and heard the until then well kept secret name pronounced by the vicar: In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost I baptize you 'Gustav Adolf' in memory of the name of the great hero of the lutheran faith, King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. May this child be a defender of the faith of our fathers. May he be as courageous as his namesake.'

To say that there was a stir among the next of kin and friends is to be kind to the truth. Unheard of! Totally out of the order. Whisperings, heads bending to hear and repeat shocked sibillations of dismay. But the matter is settled. The newborn child 'Gustav Adolf' is transported home after this memorial event to a home ready for a christening celebration with heroic overtones.

After such a formidable enrtry into the life and awareness of the family the happily sleeping child is given the considerate attention of being placed in a cot in a side room as the tumultuous party gathers for the celebration.

Not least due to the commotion caused by the errant name-giving the company of guests swells and carriage after carriage draws up at the manor house. All available spaces fill with people and with their shed coats and furs. Wardrobes and clothstands fill and overflow. New arrivals must dump their wolf and bear furs where there is available space. Soon some find a hithertoo uncluttered side room for the deposition of their outer protections against the bitter winter cold.

Some late arrivals demand to see the little wonder. Where is the child that was born? Where is the child with such a portentous name? The proud mother leads the way to the side room. Upon entry she turns towards the cot. But where is it? Oh horror! Oh misery! Oh anguish ! No child to be seen, no cot.. and certainly no hero!

A vast pile of fur coats has been carelessly thrown over the cot in the dimly lit room. In terror and fear of the worst the mother tears the piles of fur off the cot and, discovers the almost asphyxated, already bluish babyface in the last possible moment before the end of life in the new born. Quick hands rub and pat the baby and a few sharp indrawn breaths later the face begins to regain its more natural and oxygenated pink. Oh relief, oh joy, oh tears of gratitude! The entire company is silenced by the near fatal calamity. But as such occasions go from chaos to joy equally quickly the christening party is on its way within minutes. A child is born, is named, is christened and lives. He lives!

This happened at Christmas time over one hundred years ago. Today it happens in too many places in too many homes the world over: there is a Feast for a child but without the Child. A Christmas without the Christ. The party goes on and no-one seems to notice that the child is gone from the feast.

Merry Christmas, maybe. But Christmas without Christ?