The Fourth Christmas: When Heaven Pulled Back the Veil by Jeff Callaway

The Fourth Christmas: When Heaven Pulled Back the Veil

By Jeff Callaway

Texas Outlaw Poet

You know the Christmas stories. Matthew told you about wise men and a murderous king. Luke gave you shepherds and angels singing over Bethlehem's hills. John showed you the Word becoming flesh, the eternal breaking into time. Three tellings of one night. Three witnesses to the moment God wrapped Himself in human skin.

But there is a fourth Christmas in Scripture, and it is nothing like the others.

This fourth telling does not happen in Bethlehem. There is no manger, no swaddling clothes, no innkeeper turning away a desperate couple. There are no wise men bearing gifts, no shepherds keeping watch, no angels singing peace to men of goodwill. This Christmas happens in heaven itself, and it is told in the Book of Revelation, chapter twelve. It is raw, violent, cosmic. It is Christmas as warfare.

The beloved apostle John, exiled on Patmos for preaching Christ, received this vision and wrote it down for the Church. While Matthew, Mark, and Luke gave us history seen through human eyes, Revelation gives us history as heaven sees it. This is not the nativity from the manger's perspective. This is the nativity from the throne room of God.

And what John saw should shake every comfortable Christmas we have ever celebrated.

The Woman Clothed with the Sun

The vision opens with glory: "A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars. She was with child and cried out in her pangs of birth, in anguish for delivery."

Who is this woman? The Church has pondered this question for two thousand years, and the answer is not simple. She is not one thing. She is many things at once, layered like the mysteries of faith themselves.

She is Mary, the Virgin Mother of God. This is the most immediate reading and the one the faithful have treasured since the earliest days. She is pregnant. She gives birth. Her child is the Messiah. The identity is unmistakable. The crown of twelve stars echoes Joseph's dream in Genesis, where the sun, moon, and eleven stars bowed to him, representing the twelve tribes of Israel. Mary wears this crown because she is the Daughter of Zion, the fulfillment of all that Israel hoped for. She embodies in her own flesh the waiting of God's people through centuries of exile, oppression, and longing.

But she is also Israel herself, the corporate people of God who carried the promise of the Messiah through generations. From Abraham to David to the prophets, Israel bore the weight of the coming salvation. The twelve stars are the twelve tribes. The woman is the nation that brought forth the Christ.

And she is the Church, the Bride of Christ, who continues to bring forth Christ mystically in every generation. She labors still, crying out in birth pangs as she brings souls to life in baptism, as she nourishes the faithful with the Eucharist, as she proclaims the Gospel to the ends of the earth. The rest of her offspring, Revelation tells us, are those who keep the commandments of God and bear testimony to Jesus. That is us. That is every faithful Christian.

Catholic theology does not choose one meaning and discard the others. It holds all three together because Scripture itself layers meaning upon meaning. Mary embodies Israel. Mary embodies the Church. The personal, the corporate, and the mystical are woven together in this single image. To separate them is to tear the fabric of revelation itself.

The Dragon Waiting to Devour

But the woman is not alone. The vision continues with horror: "Then another sign appeared in heaven: behold, a great red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns, and seven diadems upon his heads. His tail swept down a third of the stars of heaven and cast them to the earth. And the dragon stood before the woman who was about to give birth, that he might devour her child when she brought it forth."

John does not leave us guessing about the dragon's identity. Later in the chapter, he names him plainly: "And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world."

This is the serpent from Eden. This is the adversary who tempted Eve, who brought death into God's good creation, who has prowled through history seeking whom he may devour. And now, at the moment of Christ's birth, he is revealed in his true form: not a cunning tempter whispering lies, but a monstrous beast poised to destroy the Savior the instant He enters the world.

Matthew told us about Herod and the slaughter of the innocents. Luke hinted at the sword that would pierce Mary's heart. But Revelation tears away the veil and shows us the truth: Herod was not the real enemy. Rome was not the real enemy. The real enemy was Satan himself, and he knew exactly what was happening in Bethlehem that night.

Think about that. The inn was full because Caesar Augustus ordered a census. Joseph and Mary had to travel because of Roman occupation. The child was born in a stable because there was no room anywhere else. Luke presents these as human circumstances, frustrating but mundane. Revelation shows us the spiritual reality: Satan was orchestrating every obstacle, every closed door, every hardship. He was positioning himself to devour the child.

And when he could not kill the infant in Bethlehem, he drove Herod to murder every male child under two years old. The blood of the innocents was not random cruelty. It was a calculated strike by the dragon, desperate to destroy the one who would crush his head.

This reframes Christmas entirely. Christmas is not God slipping quietly into the world, unnoticed by the powers of darkness. Christmas is God stepping onto a battlefield. The angels did not sing because everything was peaceful. They sang because war had been declared, and the outcome was already certain.

The Child Destined to Rule

At the center of this cosmic war is a child: "She gave birth to a male child, one who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron, but her child was caught up to God and to his throne."

The phrase "rule all the nations with a rod of iron" comes directly from Psalm 2, a messianic psalm that every Jew knew spoke of the coming King. The psalm declares that God has installed His King on Zion, and that this King will be given the nations as His inheritance. The rod of iron is not a symbol of tyranny. It is a symbol of absolute, unbreakable authority. When Christ rules, nothing can resist Him. His enemies will be shattered like pottery. His kingdom will stand forever.

But notice what Revelation does here. It compresses Christ's entire life into a single sentence: "her child was caught up to God and to his throne." Birth, death, resurrection, ascension—all collapsed into one movement. Why?

Because Revelation is not telling the story chronologically. It is telling the story theologically. From heaven's perspective, Christ's victory was complete the moment He was born. The Incarnation itself was the beginning of Satan's defeat. The dragon could wound the heel, but the head was already crushed. The cross would make it manifest. The empty tomb would seal it. The ascension would proclaim it to every power and principality in the heavens. But the decisive blow was struck when the Word became flesh.

This is the scandal of Christmas: God did not wait until He was strong to fight Satan. He came as an infant. Helpless. Vulnerable. Dependent on a teenage girl to nurse Him and keep Him warm. And in that utter weakness, He shattered the foundations of hell.

The War Against the Church

After the child is caught up to God's throne, the dragon's fury turns on the woman: "Then the dragon was angry with the woman, and went off to make war on the rest of her offspring, on those who keep the commandments of God and bear testimony to Jesus."

This is where the Christmas story becomes our story. The dragon could not destroy Christ. He tried for thirty-three years and failed. So now he wages war against the Church. He attacks us because we bear the name of Christ. He seeks to devour us because we are united to the One he hates.

Every persecution the Church has endured, from Nero to Diocletian to the Soviet gulags to the Islamic State, is an echo of this war. Every heresy that seeks to corrupt the Gospel is a strike from the dragon's tail. Every temptation to abandon the faith, every pressure to conform to a godless culture, every accusation that we are bigots and fools for holding to the teachings of Christ—these are the dragon's weapons.

But the war is already lost for him. Revelation makes this clear. The woman is given wings to flee into the wilderness, where she is protected. The earth opens up and swallows the flood the dragon spews at her. God Himself fights for His Church. We are not left defenseless. We are not abandoned. The same God who protected the infant Jesus in Egypt protects us now.

And our weapon is simple: "They have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death." The martyrs win by dying. The confessors win by speaking truth even when it costs them everything. We win not by our strength but by our union with the Lamb who was slain.

Why This Christmas Story Is Rarely Preached

You will not hear Revelation 12 read in most churches at Christmas. The lectionary avoids it. Preachers shy away from it. Why?

Because it is dangerous.

Revelation 12 does not allow for sentimental Christianity. You cannot reduce this to a cozy nativity scene with soft-focus lighting and children in bathrobes playing angels. You cannot domesticate this Jesus into a harmless guru who just wants everyone to be nice. You cannot turn this faith into a private spiritual hobby that never challenges your comfort or threatens your security.

Revelation 12 tells you plainly that you are in a war. There is a dragon. He is real. He hates you. He wants to destroy your soul, shipwreck your faith, drag you down to hell with him. And the only reason you are still standing is because Christ has already won the victory, and you are hidden in Him.

This is not the Christmas we market to the world. This is not the Christmas we put on greeting cards. But this is the Christmas that the Church believed for two thousand years before we decided to sanitize it. This is the Christmas that sent missionaries to the ends of the earth, knowing they would die. This is the Christmas that sustained martyrs in the Colosseum. This is the Christmas that made Augustine weep with joy and compelled Francis to embrace lepers and drove Teresa of Avila to reform her entire order.

This Christmas demands everything. It offers everything. And it will not be tamed.

The Threefold Meaning of the Birth Pangs

One objection is often raised against identifying the woman as Mary: the text says she cried out in labor pains, but Catholic tradition teaches that Mary, conceived without original sin, did not experience the pain of childbirth that Genesis 3 decreed as part of the curse. How do we reconcile this?

The answer lies in understanding that Scripture often uses birth pangs as a metaphor for suffering and waiting. Isaiah speaks of Israel's longing for the Messiah as birth pangs. Paul writes of all creation groaning in labor pains, waiting for the redemption of the sons of God. The pain is real, but it is not always physical.

Mary's birth pangs can be understood in three ways, all true at once.

First, they represent the suffering of Israel as a nation, waiting through centuries of exile and oppression for the promised Messiah to come. Mary, as a daughter of Israel, shared in that collective suffering, that national longing. Her yes to the angel was the culmination of Israel's wait. Her womb became the place where all the promises converged.

Second, they represent the spiritual anguish Mary experienced throughout her life as the Mother of Sorrows. Simeon told her a sword would pierce her heart. She watched her son be rejected by His own people. She stood at the foot of the cross and watched Him die. These were birth pangs of a different kind—the labor of bringing forth not just one child, but the Church itself. At the cross, Jesus said to her, "Woman, behold your son," and to John, "Behold your mother." In that moment, she became the mother of all believers. That was a painful birth.

Third, they represent the pain of the Church in every age, laboring to bring forth Christ in the hearts of the faithful. The woman in Revelation 12 is not only Mary personally. She is the Church mystically. And the Church labors constantly, groaning and straining to give birth to Christ in souls that resist Him, in cultures that hate Him, in hearts hardened by sin. This labor is real. It is painful. And it will continue until Christ returns.

So the birth pangs do not contradict Mary's sinlessness or the Church's teaching about her painless birth. They deepen it. They show us that Mary's suffering was not physical alone but spiritual, mystical, cosmic. She participated not just in the joy of the Incarnation but in the pain of redemption.

The Proto-evangelium Fulfilled

To fully understand Revelation 12, we must go back to the beginning, to Genesis 3:15, the verse Catholic tradition calls the proto-evangelium, the first Gospel. After Adam and Eve sinned, God pronounced judgment on the serpent: "I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will strike your head, and you will strike his heel."

This was the first promise of redemption. In the midst of the curse, God declared war. The serpent would not have the final victory. A seed of the woman would come who would crush the serpent's head, though it would cost Him a wound to the heel.

For thousands of years, this promise waited. Abraham believed it. David hoped in it. The prophets proclaimed it. And then, in Bethlehem, in a stable, in the womb of a virgin, it became flesh.

Revelation 12 is the fulfillment of Genesis 3:15 playing out in cosmic dimensions. The serpent is revealed as the dragon. The woman is revealed as Mary and the Church. The seed is revealed as Jesus Christ. And the promise is kept: Christ's heel is struck—He dies on the cross. But the serpent's head is crushed—Satan is defeated forever.

This is why Revelation 12 matters. It ties together the entire story of Scripture from Genesis to Revelation. It shows us that Christmas was not an afterthought, not a backup plan when everything went wrong in Eden. Christmas was the plan from the beginning. The moment the serpent whispered his lie in the garden, God was already preparing the virgin who would say yes. The moment Adam and Eve fell, God was already preparing the cross that would redeem them. The war was declared in Genesis 3. The victory was won in Luke 2. The triumph was revealed in Revelation 12.

What Heaven Sees When We Celebrate Christmas

Every December, we put up nativity scenes. We sing carols. We light candles in darkened churches. We tell the story one more time, the way Luke told it, the way Matthew told it. And that is good. That is right. The Church should never stop telling the story of the incarnation in its gentleness and humility.

But we must also remember what heaven sees.

Heaven sees a dragon, poised to strike. Heaven sees a woman in agony, bringing forth the one who will crush the ancient serpent. Heaven sees angels not singing but fighting, casting Satan out of heaven, throwing him down to earth where his time is short. Heaven sees a child caught up to God's throne, and from that throne, the Lamb's eyes blazing with fire, the rod of iron in His hand, the nations His inheritance, the ends of the earth His possession.

Heaven sees Christmas as victory. Heaven sees Christmas as warfare. Heaven sees Christmas as the hinge of history, the moment when God invaded a rebel world and planted His flag in enemy territory and declared that the kingdom of darkness is finished.

We can celebrate the quiet manger. But we must not forget the cosmic battle. We can sing lullabies to the infant Jesus. But we must not forget that this infant is the Lion of Judah, and He was born to make war on every power that defies His Father.

The fourth Christmas is not sentimental. It is not safe. It is not tame. It is glorious and terrible and true. It tells us that every Christmas, we are not just remembering a past event. We are standing on a battlefield. The war is real. The enemy is real. And the victory is real.

The Assumption and the Coronation

Catholic teaching holds that Mary was assumed body and soul into heaven at the end of her earthly life. This doctrine, defined by Pope Pius XII in 1950, is not a medieval invention. It is rooted in the earliest traditions of the Church and finds strong biblical support in Revelation 12.

The woman John sees is in heaven. She is clothed with the sun, crowned with stars, standing on the moon. This is queenly imagery, royal glory. She is not a disembodied soul waiting for resurrection. She is present in heaven in the fullness of her being, body and soul, glorified and exalted.

This is Mary as she is now, after her assumption. The Church does not claim to know the exact details of how or when she was assumed. The Church simply affirms that God did not allow the body that bore His Son to see corruption. Just as Christ was raised from the dead, so Mary, by a singular grace, was taken up to be with Him. She is the first fruits of the Church, the forerunner of what all the faithful will experience at the resurrection.

And she is crowned as queen. Not queen over God—Christ alone is King of Kings. But queen as His mother, as the Mother of the Church, as the one who shares intimately in His victory over Satan. In Revelation 12, she is given wings to escape the dragon. She is protected. She is exalted. She reigns with her Son, not in her own power, but by participation in His triumph.

This is not idolatry. This is honoring the one whom God honored first. This is recognizing that the humble maiden of Nazareth, who said yes when the angel came, is now glorified in heaven as the Mother of God and the Queen of Heaven and Earth. And far from diminishing Christ's glory, her exaltation magnifies it. She points always to Him. Her crown is His gift. Her throne is His mercy. Her glory is His reflection.

The Woman's Other Children

Revelation 12 does not end with the child being caught up to God's throne. It ends with the dragon waging war against the rest of the woman's offspring. This is us. This is the Church. This is every baptized Christian who keeps the commandments of God and bears testimony to Jesus.

We are Mary's children in a spiritual sense. At the cross, Jesus gave her to John, and John to her. He made her the mother of all believers. So when the dragon attacks the rest of her offspring, he is attacking us. We are caught up in the same war that raged over the manger in Bethlehem.

But we are not defenseless. We have the blood of the Lamb. We have the word of our testimony. We have the sacraments. We have the Church. We have the saints who have gone before us, a great cloud of witnesses cheering us on. We have Mary herself, our mother, interceding for us, protecting us, guiding us to her Son.

The war is real. The casualties are real. Satan seeks to devour us through temptation, through deception, through persecution. He accuses us day and night before the throne of God. He whispers that we are too sinful to be saved, too weak to persevere, too insignificant to matter. He floods the world with lies and filth and despair, hoping to drown us.

But the earth opens up and swallows the flood. God protects His own. We are hidden in Christ. We are sealed with the Holy Spirit. We are guarded by angels. We are nourished with the Body and Blood of the Lamb. We will not be defeated. We cannot be defeated. Because the victory is already won.

Christmas as Apocalypse

The word apocalypse does not mean destruction. It means unveiling. It means revelation. Apocalyptic literature pulls back the curtain on reality and shows us what is really happening behind the veil of ordinary life.

Matthew, Luke, and John gave us the incarnation as it appeared to human eyes: a baby, a stable, shepherds, wise men. These are true. These happened. But they are not the whole truth. Revelation 12 gives us the apocalypse of Christmas. It unveils what was really happening behind the scenes, in the heavenly realms, in the spiritual war that rages around every soul.

Christmas is apocalypse. It is the unveiling of God's plan, hidden from the foundation of the world, now made manifest in the flesh. It is the unveiling of Satan's defeat, though he fought with every weapon in his arsenal. It is the unveiling of Mary's glory, the humble handmaid exalted as the Mother of God. It is the unveiling of the Church's mission, to wage war against the dragon by the power of the Lamb.

Every Mass is apocalyptic. Every time we celebrate the Eucharist, heaven touches earth. The veil is torn. We stand on Mount Zion with the angels and saints, worshiping the Lamb who was slain. We eat His flesh and drink His blood, the same flesh and blood that the dragon tried to devour and failed. We proclaim His death until He comes again, and that proclamation is an act of warfare against every power that opposes Him.

Every rosary is apocalyptic. When we meditate on the mysteries of Christ's life through the eyes of His mother, we are entering into the battle. The rosary is a weapon. Satan fears it. Mary wields it. The Church prays it. And the dragon's head is crushed, again and again, with every Hail Mary.

Every act of obedience to God's commands is apocalyptic. When we refuse to bow to the idols of this age, when we speak truth in a world of lies, when we love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, we are living out Revelation 12. We are the rest of the woman's offspring, keeping the commandments of God and bearing testimony to Jesus. We are the Church at war. We are the seed of the woman. We are the ones Satan cannot devour.

The Hope of the Fourth Christmas

Revelation 12 is not ultimately a vision of defeat. It is a vision of triumph. Yes, the dragon wages war. Yes, the faithful suffer. Yes, the Church is persecuted. But the outcome is never in doubt.

The dragon is thrown down from heaven. He has no place there anymore. He is cast to the earth, knowing his time is short. He rages because he is already defeated. The cross sealed his fate. The empty tomb proclaimed his ruin. The ascension enthroned the One who will judge him. And at the end of history, he will be thrown into the lake of fire, where he will be tormented forever and ever.

This is the hope of the fourth Christmas. We celebrate not just a birth but a victory. We remember not just a baby but a King. We worship not just the infant in the manger but the Lamb on the throne, the One who was and is and is to come, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.

And we know that no matter how dark the world becomes, no matter how fierce the dragon's attacks, no matter how weak we feel in ourselves, the war is already won. Christ has conquered. The serpent's head is crushed. The kingdom is His. And we, by grace, share in His victory.

So this Christmas, do not settle for sentimentality. Do not reduce the incarnation to a feel-good story about goodwill and family togetherness. Remember the fourth Christmas. Remember the woman clothed with the sun, the dragon poised to devour, the child caught up to God's throne. Remember that Christmas is apocalypse, the unveiling of God's victory, the declaration of war on every power of darkness.

Remember that you are the woman's offspring, and the dragon is at war with you. But remember also that you have the blood of the Lamb, and you will overcome. Remember that Mary is your mother, and she is praying for you, protecting you, leading you to her Son. Remember that the Church is the Bride of Christ, and He will never abandon her. Remember that the cross is your weapon, the sacraments your armor, the truth your sword.

And when you kneel before the nativity scene this year, remember what heaven sees. Remember the cosmic battle. Remember the dragon's defeat. Remember the child who came to crush the serpent's head. Remember the fourth Christmas.

Because this is the Christmas that will sustain you when the dragon comes for you. This is the Christmas that will give you courage when you face persecution. This is the Christmas that will anchor you when the world goes mad and calls good evil and evil good. This is the Christmas that will carry you through death itself and bring you home to the throne of the Lamb, where the woman clothed with the sun waits to welcome you, where the child reigns forever, where the dragon is no more.

This is the Christmas we must never forget.

~ Jeff Callaway

Texas Outlaw Poet

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The Fourth Christmas: When Heaven Pulled Back the Veil