Ten Christmas ‘Facts’ About Jesus That Probably Aren’t True
- Guest Writer
- 10 hours ago
- 6 min read
Every December, two great Christmas traditions return like clockwork.
The first is the nativity scene, complete with its fresh straw, smiling donkeys, three politely kneeling kings, and Mary looking suspiciously serene for someone who has just given birth without pain relief.
The second tradition is the annual round of newspaper headlines, TV documentaries, and Medium articles announcing, with tremendous seriousness, that everything you think you know about Christmas is wrong.
“Jesus wasn’t born in a stable.”“The wise men weren’t kings.”“Mary didn’t ride a donkey.”
I think they expect the nation to drop everything in shock at these revelations.
The worst bit? Every year, people begin tying themselves in knots trying to defend or debunk these details, often with a level of scientific precision Luke was never aiming for.
I find myself thinking the same thing: It really doesn’t matter. Not in the way we might fear.
Because the Christmas story was never meant to be a forensic report. It’s theology told through history, not history dressed up as theology. The Gospel writers weren’t trying to satisfy twenty-first-century sceptics; they were trying to proclaim that God had stepped into the world, and that news changes everything, donkey or no donkey.
So, just for a bit of seasonal fun, here are ten things we often assume are true about the nativity… but probably aren’t, and, crucially, why none of them weaken the story even slightly.
1. Mary rode a donkey to Bethlehem
This is the most beloved non-detail in the entire Bible. The Gospels never mention a donkey. Not one.
Mary and Joseph most likely just walked. I know, that’s not nearly as romantic, and donkeys are cute, and all that, but it is practical.
Why this doesn’t matter: Luke isn’t interested in modes of transport. His story is about faithfulness, courage, and unrelenting trust in God’s unfolding plan, whether on foot or four legs.
2. Jesus was born the moment they arrived: the dramatic “no room at the inn” rush
Again, this is the nativity-play version. Luke simply says, “While they were there, the time came for her to give birth.”
“While they were there” could mean days, even weeks. Sadly, there was probably no frantic doorstep emergency with Mary doubled over while Joseph begged someone for a bed.
Why this doesn’t matter: The point is not speed but incarnation. God arrives in the ordinary rhythms of life, not in a last-minute dramatic dash.
3. The birth happened in a wooden stable
Sorry, I know it sounds rustically charming, but there’s really no stable mentioned at all.
Most likely, they were staying in a family home, where the animals were brought into the lower room at night. The manger was simply a feeding trough close at hand.
Why this doesn’t matter: The humility of the scene is unchanged. If anything, it makes the story even more human. God was born not in loneliness but in the midst of a crowded household.
4. The “inn” was like a first-century Travelodge
What reinforces this is that the word Luke uses, kataluma, means “guest room,” not “hotel.” A family home, not a commercial business.
Why this doesn’t matter: Once again, the point of the message is hospitality, not rejection. Jesus is born not because the world shut its doors, but because life was already full and overflowing.
5. The star hovered over the stable like a spotlight
Matthew’s star is symbolic as well as astronomical, the kind of celestial sign ancient readers associated with kingship, destiny, and divine action.
Some people get caught up trying to prove it was Halley’s Comet. But hovering over the stable? That’s a stretch. The wise men didn’t follow a celestial sat-nav; they followed prophecy and meaning.
Why this doesn’t matter: Matthew isn’t giving a lesson in astrophysics. He’s announcing that heaven rejoices when God comes close. It’s symbolism, and beautiful at that.
6. The shepherds and wise men arrived together
Christmas cards have lied to us for generations. Luke has shepherds. Matthew has Magi. Spoiler: they never meet, although if they did, I’d imagine it would be awkward.
Oh, and the Magi probably arrived months, possibly even years, later. Yes, that does make Jesus a toddler. Yes, he probably bolted off as they walked in, as toddlers do.
Why this doesn't matter: Each Gospel writer is emphasising something different:
Luke highlights the poor and overlooked.
Matthew highlights the outsiders and seekers.
Together they reveal the wideness of God’s welcome.
7. There were three wise men
Matthew never says three. We simply assume it because of the three gifts. Fair enough, but I’m fairly sure one wise man could hold more than one present.
Why this doesn’t matter: The number isn’t the point. Their worship is. These strangers recognise what many locals fail to see: that God is doing something world-changing in that… room (not stable, remember).
8. The wise men were kings
That’s later Christian tradition. In the text, they’re Magi, which means they are astrologers, scholars and star-readers.
Why this doesn’t matter: Matthew includes them because his audience would recognise echoes of Israel’s Scriptures: nations streaming to the light, offering gifts to God’s chosen king.
Crucially, he’s telling us who Jesus is, not writing a Wikipedia biography of the Magi. They are a side-plot, a brilliant one, but still a side-plot. Can you tell I was once a king in the school nativity play?!
9. Jesus was born on 25 December
This trump card is brought out every December, as if it should reduce the faithful to pre-Christmas wrecks and force them to ditch their nativity sets.
Clearly, it’s highly unlikely. To start with, shepherds don’t tend sheep outdoors at night in the coldest months.
Early Christians may have chosen the date deliberately or symbolically to mark hope in darkness, or perhaps to supplant a pagan holiday.
Why this doesn’t matter: The meaning of Christmas has never depended on the calendar. The point is that Christ is born and light breaks into the world.
10. The first Christmas was peaceful and silent
We’ve all sung Silent Night enough times to imagine childbirth was a serene, candle-lit affair. It annoys me more than it should, as a father of three.
In reality: noise, sweat, panic, relief — the whole earthy reality of bringing a baby into the world.
Why this doesn’t matter: It might be the most glorious detail of all. God enters our world not clean and neat, but messy and embodied — just like the rest of us.
So, Why Do Matthew and Luke Tell the Story This Way?
This is where things get properly interesting. The differences between the Gospel accounts aren’t mistakes; they’re emphases. Each writer has a theological agenda, not in a manipulative sense, but in a pastoral sense.
Luke’s purpose
Luke writes for outsiders: people on the margins, Gentiles, those unsure if they belong.
So he places the story among the humble, the poor, the unspectacular. His Jesus is good news for the lowly. His birth narrative echoes Mary’s song:
“He has lifted up the humble.”
Matthew’s purpose
Matthew writes for a community wrestling with identity, Scripture, and fulfilment.
His Jesus is the long-promised Messiah, the new Moses, the new David.
So, he includes the Magi, the star, the royal symbolism, and the echoes of prophecy.
Two perspectives, one truth
God has come into the world. God is doing something new.
God is drawing people in, the shepherd boy and the scholar, the faithful Jew and the foreign traveller.
Neither writer is trying to satisfy modern scientific scrutiny nor write a textbook. They are preaching, proclaiming, and revealing.
Why Debunking These Myths Doesn’t Weaken the Story, It Strengthens It
This is the part people often overlook.
Some Christians panic when the details are questioned, as if the whole thing might collapse like my wonky Christmas tree.
Others become obsessed with proving that every detail must be historically perfect, as though the incarnation depends on winning a debate on BBC Radio 4.
But the Gospel writers were not aiming for laboratory precision. They were telling a theological truth:
God has stepped into human history.
God has become vulnerable.
God has drawn near.
And that truth stands whether:
Mary walked or rode
Jesus was born in a stable or a downstairs family room
The Magi came in three or thirty
The date was December or April
The incarnation is not fragile. It doesn’t fall apart when we ask questions. In fact, it becomes clearer, deeper, and more astonishing.
Because when you strip away the traditions we’ve added, the donkeys, the shining stars and the tidy stable, what you’re left with is a story more grounded than any Christmas card:
A teenage mother.
A labouring couple far from home.
A crowded house.
A feeding trough.
Ordinary people, ordinary chaos, extraordinary grace.
God choosing the weakness of the world as the place to begin again.
That, in the end, is the real miracle, one that no amount of myth-busting can diminish.
If this reflection stirred something in you, I write daily pieces like this in my Sacred & Secular newsletter at www.sacredandsecular.co.uk— a quiet space for slowing down, listening, and paying attention to the God who still speaks.
Article first published in Sacred & Secular in Medium.
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