At Christmas, I am always struck by how the spirit of togetherness lies also at the heart of the Christmas story. A young mother and a dutiful father with their baby were joined by poor shepherds and visitors from afar. They came with their gifts to worship the Christ child.

Christmas in Bethlehem. The ancient dream: a cold, clear night made brilliant by a glorious star, the smell of incense, shepherds and wise men falling to their knees in adoration of the sweet baby, the incarnation of perfect love.

In the long run what people think about shepherds and bakers becomes more important for them than their own destinies.

The place that the shepherds found was not an academy or an abstract republic, it was not a place of myths allegorised or dissected or explained or explained away. It was a place of dreams come true.

Christmas in Bethlehem. The ancient dream: a cold clear night made brilliant by a glorious star the smell of incense shepherds and wise men falling to their knees in adoration of the sweet baby the incarnation of perfect love.