The New Song of Christmas: Puer natus in Bethlehem
Aurelio Porfiri
During the Christmas season, beyond the “classics” like Adeste Fideles, Silent Night, In notte placida, and others, there is another chant that has become a classic in its own right among many choirs: Puer natus in Bethlehem.
This hymn recounts the story of the Nativity with simple yet heartfelt accents, expressing an affection and warmth that feel truly “popular.”
It is possible that the text, of late medieval origin, draws inspiration from the liturgical Introit Puer natus est nobis, on which Saint John Paul II reflected in his Urbi et Orbi message for Christmas 1979:
“Behold, we meet on the day of the Birth. The Child is born. The Son is born. He is born of the Mother. For nine months, like every newborn, He was bound to her breast. He is born of the Mother in time and according to the human laws of birth. From the Father, He is born eternally. He is the Son of God. He is the Word. He brings into the world all the Father’s love for humanity. He is the revelation of divine ‘philanthropy.’ In Him, the Father gives Himself to every man; in Him, the eternal inheritance of humanity in God is confirmed. In Him, the future of humanity is fully revealed. He speaks of the meaning and purpose of human life, regardless of the suffering or handicap that might burden this life in its earthly dimensions. All of this He will proclaim through His Gospel and ultimately through His Cross and Resurrection. And all of this He announces even now with His Birth.”
In His birth, His divine destiny is already prefigured. The Mother who laughs will become the Mother who weeps; the gifts of the Magi will become the burial ointments; the wood of the cradle will become the wood of the Cross. Gregorianist Fulvio Rampi, commenting on the aforementioned Gregorian Introit, observed:
“Once again, Isaiah 9 provides the text for this Introit, where the prophet announces the birth of a ‘child’—a correct translation of the term puer, which immediately resonates with strength but requires an enriched interpretation. The Messianic imprint of that puer invites us to broaden our understanding beyond a simple Nativity scene atmosphere. This same ‘child’ is immediately understood as the ‘servant,’ called to fulfill the salvific plan of the Father and upon whose shoulders, as the second phrase of the Introit notes, all authority has been placed.”
At Christmas, we already foreshadow Easter.
From the very first verse, our hymn with its refrain immerses us in this sacred story: a child is born in Bethlehem, and Jerusalem rejoices. What happens in the small resonates in the great; what begins in Bethlehem will resound in the Jerusalem of its apparent earthly fulfillment.
The number of stanzas in the text, likely of Germanic origin, varies depending on the version. The refrain prepares us for the mystery of the Incarnation and the novelty of Christianity: with joy in our hearts, we adore Christ born with a new song. This joy is not the superficial cheerfulness often imposed in many liturgical “ditties” exploiting the Dionysian effects of certain harmonies but rather the joy derived from the Apollonian composure of liturgical music—a composure we will explore further as we discuss this chant.
The stanzas emphasize the connection to the flesh: assumpsit, concepit, processit, iacet... As Vittorio Messori aptly noted in his Ipotesi su Maria:
“Without the root of flesh, which is the body of that Woman, the entire mystery of the Incarnation risks losing its indispensable materiality, becoming evanescent spiritualism, moralistic sermonizing, or worse, dangerous ideology.”
This observation is significant because Mary, the tota pulchra, sine macula (all beautiful, without stain), is precisely the one who binds us to our destiny in the flesh. The risk of “evanescent spiritualism,” particularly in our time dominated by materialism, seems like an unhinged reaction—a pathology not absent within the Catholic Church itself. But in reality, our chant calls all creation to be present at the mystery of the Incarnation: cognovit bos et asinus quod Puer erat Dominus. Even the ox and donkey—those animals, according to pious tradition, that warmed the newborn in the grotto—also submitted to the divinity of the Child. Following the reasoning of the hymn’s anonymous composer, even animal instinct perceives the glimmers of divinity.
He becomes like us in the flesh, yet unlike us in sin, the hymn continues, but through His Incarnation, He has made us like God. Saint Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer aids us in understanding this point:
“The life of prayer and penance, and the awareness of our divine filiation, transform us into Christians of deep piety, like children before God. Piety is the virtue of the children, and for a child to entrust himself to his father’s arms, he must be and feel small, in need of everything. I have often meditated on the life of spiritual childhood: it does not conflict with strength; on the contrary, it requires a strong will, a well-tempered maturity, and a firm and open character. Childlike piety, then, but not ignorance, because everyone must strive, within their means, for serious and scientific study of the faith: theology is precisely this. Childlike piety, I repeat, and the sound doctrine of theologians. The desire to acquire theological knowledge—the good and sound Christian doctrine—is motivated, first of all, by the need to know and love God. At the same time, it is also the consequence of a faithful soul’s concern to uncover the profound meaning of this world, the work of the Creator. With recurring monotony, some seek to revive an alleged incompatibility between faith and science, between human intelligence and divine Revelation. This incompatibility appears, but only seemingly, when the real terms of the problem are not understood.”
Thus, this filiation saves us from the arrogance of humanity seeking to become divine without God.
The melody unfolds within the realm of the first Gregorian mode, which we call Protus. It is interesting to note that in the stanzas—syllabic in style, like the refrain—the notes D and F predominate. These are significant degrees of the scale but lean more toward the second mode than the first, a tendency toward descent that perhaps reminds us of the descent of God becoming man. While the Protus mode may sound like a minor mode to us, it is not mournful but austere. This is the essence of Christian joy—not chaotic and reckless, but virile and austere. Yet this austerity knows moments of joyful exultation: in the refrain, at the words “in cordis iubilo,” the melody rises, climbing as if this joy cannot find rest. Rest is finally found on the note C, the highest pitch reached in this melody, fully affirming the first mode after the downward tendencies of the stanzas and concluding with a beautiful perfect fifth consonance: “Christum natum adoremus cum novo cantico!”
In short, a beautiful chant for meditating deeply on the mystery of Christmas.
If you are in Rome on December 26th, don’t miss the Christmas concert by the Romaeterna Cantores, conducted by Maestro Aurelio Porfiri. The concert, offered by Urbi et Orbi Communications, will take place in the majestic Basilica of San Crisogono at 7:00 PM. Free admission.
