NOEL. my most favourite christmas carol that isn’t a christmas carol.

Grim was the world and grey last night:

The moon and stars were fled,

The hall was dark without song or light,

The fires were fallen dead.

The wind in the trees was like to the sea,

And over the mountains’ teeth

It whistled bitter-cold and free,

As a sword leapt from its sheath.

The lord of snows upreared his head;

His mantle long and pale

Upon the bitter blast was spread

And hung o’er hill and dale.

The world was blind,

the boughs were bent,

All ways and paths were wild:

Then the veil of cloud apart was rent,

And here was born a Child.

The ancient dome of heaven sheer

Was pricked with distant light;

A star came shining white and clear

Alone above the night.

In the dale of dark in that hour of birth

One voice on a sudden sang:

Then all the bells in Heaven and Earth

Together at midnight rang.

Mary sang in this world below:

They heard her song arise

O’er mist and over mountain snow

To the walls of Paradise,

And the tongue of many bells was stirred

in Heaven’s towers to ring

When the voice of mortal maid was heard,

That was mother of Heaven’s King.

Glad is the world and fair this night

With stars about its head,

And the hall is filled with laughter and light,

And fires are burning red.

The bells of Paradise now ring

With bells of Christendom,

And Gloria, Gloria we will sing

That God on earth is come.

I’m a Tolkien nerd. I love almost everything he’s written except the length of Biblo’s Birthday party and the existence of Tom Bombadil.

Hot take. Sorry, keep reading.

Noel is a tiny yet radiant star in the vast night sky of Tolkien’s creative genius. Short, sharp, and shining, its a little unlike Tolkien’s weightier works however, in true Tolkien fashion, it isn’t merely the inside of a Christmas Card but a micro-journey into the heart of creation’s story—a journey from grimness to glory, from grey skies to golden light, from despair to a hearth-warming hope.

“Grim was the world and gray last night”

Let’s admit it—Tolkien doesn’t sugarcoat the opening. This world is grim, grey, and downright dreary not unlike ours at times.

This is not your Hallmark Christmas Eve scene with snowflakes and jingling sleigh bells.

Tolkien’s stage is stark and shadowed, a place where hope feels like a distant dream. If we squint, we might recognise echoes of Advent here—a season of waiting, longing, and feeling the weight of the world’s brokenness.

Tolkien’s description is not just poetic melancholy; it’s a statement.

A theological statement even.

The world before Christ was incomplete, a painting with frayed edges and missing colours. Creation groaned for something—someone—to mend it.

'For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance.' Romans 8:20-25 https://www.bible.com/bible/114/ROM.8.20-25

The “grim and gray” resonates with a Tolkien-esque theme found throughout his stories: the long defeat. Humanity struggles against a tide of darkness, yearning for a light.

But Tolkien doesn’t let us linger too long in the shadows—after all, this is Noel, not Mordor.

“But here is a star come out of the east”

The Star enters the chat: Tolkien’s star is not just a celestial christmas ornament; it’s the herald of something earth-shattering (and heaven-bringing). Like the Star of Bethlehem that led the Magi, this light is a signal flare from the divine, proclaiming that God is up to something extraordinary. The Fires of Gondor are lit.

For Tolkien, stars are not just stars.

They’re imbued with meaning, wonder, and a touch of the divine.

In The Silmarillion, we see how the stars are the first lights created by the Valar, a sign of beauty and hope in a darkened world. Here in Noel, the star represents revelation: the unveiling of a divine plan that has been quietly unfolding since the beginning of time.

'The heavens declare the glory of God; And the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, And night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language Where their voice is not heard. Their line has gone out through all the earth, And their words to the end of the world. In them He has set a tabernacle for the sun, Which is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, And rejoices like a strong man to run its race.' Psalms 19:1-5 https://www.bible.com/bible/114/PSA.19.1-5

Theologically, the star also reminds us that God works through creation. The heavens declare the glory of God, and in this moment, a single star becomes a sacramental sign—a small, visible thing pointing to an infinite, invisible yet beautiful reality.

“A thousand fires and hearths shall burn”

Tolkien is a master at weaving the cosmic into the intimate, and this line is where the poem get hot—literally! For many of us the closest we get to a hearth is a Youtube video playing on the TV. The light of the star doesn’t stay distant in the heavens; it touches the earth, igniting fires in a thousand fireplaces (or TV’s). The hearth, the heart of the home, becomes a symbol of Christ’s transformative power.

There’s something profoundly ordinary about this line, and that’s what makes it extraordinary. The Incarnation is God stepping into the mundane: eating bread, drinking water, sleeping in a manger (wildly itchy), and—let’s face it—getting his nappy changed.

The divine light doesn’t just shine in palaces or temples; it reaches hearths, where families gather and lives are lived.

Tolkien’s fires are also communal. It’s not one hearth that burns; it’s a thousand. The Incarnation spreads joy like wildfire, igniting hearts and homes across the world. This is Tolkien’s vision of grace - not confined,

not static,

but contagious and creative.

“For joy at the birth of Christ their King”

And here it is: the climax of the poem and the heart of Christmas.

The King has arrived!

This isn’t a king in velvet robes or golden armor;

this is a baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in a feeding trough. Tolkien, of course, loved a paradox, and Christ’s kingship is the ultimate one.

The King in Noel is the fulfilment of centuries of longing, yet he arrives in the humblest way imaginable.

This is a kingship not marked by domination but by self-giving love.

For Tolkien, this image of kingship was deeply personal. Christ as the King of creation, the Lord of time, and yet also the suffering servant who wears a crown of thorns.

Tolkien’s use of the word “joy” here is crucial. Joy, for him, is not mere happiness; it is the profound and piercing gladness that comes when heaven and earth meet. It’s the “eucatastrophe,” the sudden and miraculous turn in the story when all is made right. The eagles in the dying moments of Mount Doom’s destruction.

The Invitation of Wonder

At its heart, Noel is a hymn to wonder. It’s a Christmas Carol or short story inviting our imagination to soar.

Tolkien doesn’t bog us down with theology lectures or over-explained symbolism. Instead, he gives us a star, a fire, and a King—and invites us to marvel, and to fill in the space.

For Tolkien, wonder is not an escape from reality but a deeper invitation to it. The Incarnation is the ultimate wonder: the Creator becoming a creature, the infinite entering the finite, the eternal Word speaking as a baby who cannot yet do anything but coo, babble and cry.

This sense of wonder permeates all of Tolkien’s work. Whether it’s Frodo marvelling at the beauty of Lothlórien or Sam gazing at a single star in Mordor (Hello!),Tolkien’s characters are constantly drawn to moments of awe.

In Noel, that awe is directed toward the greatest miracle of all: God with us.

Noel doesn’t just leave us staring at the star; it draws us into its light.

The fires in a thousand hearths suggest that the Incarnation is not just something to admire—it’s something to live. Tolkien’s poem reminds us that Christmas is not about nostalgia or sentimentality; it’s about transformation. The light of Christ is meant to illuminate our lives, turning our hearts into hearths that burn with love, hope, and joy.

Ultimately, Noel is a gift. Like the star it describes, the poem points beyond itself to the true gift of Christmas: the Word made flesh - Jesus. In Tolkien’s view, the Incarnation is the greatest eucatastrophe—the turning point of history when all of creation is redeemed. It’s the moment when the grimness of the world is pierced by a light that will never be extinguished.

As we read Noel, we are invited to pause, to wonder, and to let its light warm our own hearts. Tolkien, ever the storyteller, leaves us with a tale worth retelling.

A tale we must retell—a tale of grim beginnings, radiant stars, and the greatest joy the world has ever known.