There are some questions that shape the world. There are others that shape the soul. The question at the heart of this carol does both. What Child is this is not poetic curiosity. It’s the very inquiry every man and woman must eventually answer. The shepherds asked it. The wise men asked it. Herod asked it with a sneer. Angels didn’t need to. They knew.
Ironically, this profound question came from the pen of a man who never planned on becoming a hymn writer. William Chatterton Dix worked as a manager at a marine insurance company in Glasgow. Not exactly the environment you imagine birthing timeless worship. Yet in 1865, in the thick of a severe illness that left him bedridden for months, Dix found himself in a valley of depression and isolation. It was there, in weakness, that the Spirit stirred his heart toward Scripture and reflection. Out of that season came several poems and eventually one of the most beloved carols in the English-speaking world.
The melody is even older. The tune “Greensleeves” had been circulating since the 1500s. It carried its own myths and legends, including the rumor that Henry VIII composed it to woo Anne Boleyn. Historians have been very clear on this one. He didn’t. But the tune endured, and when Dix’s poem was paired with this haunting melody, something sacred took shape.
What makes this carol so striking is that it refuses to let us sentimentalize the manger. Its lyrics won’t allow us to drift into a warm, candlelit nostalgia. Right in the middle of the gentle imagery, Dix weaves in a line that jars our senses. Nails, spear shall pierce Him through. At first glance, it feels out of place. A cross in a cradle. A shadow over a lullaby. Yet this is exactly the point. The Child lying in Mary’s lap came for more than a peaceful night. He came for a violent cross.
The greatest mystery of Bethlehem has always been this one. The King of Glory arrived without ceremony. No palace. No trumpet. No royal decree. He came wrapped not in velvet but in rags. Fully divine. Fully human. Eternity cradled in the arms of a teenage girl. And the world walked past Him without a second glance. It’s astonishing how easily humanity can overlook what heaven cannot ignore. The shepherds didn’t overlook Him though. The angels made sure of that. While most of Bethlehem slept, a handful of blue-collar men stood trembling under the weight of glory as the sky erupted in praise. The Child the world dismissed was the Child heaven celebrated. And they hurried to see Him. That’s the heart of this carol. Haste, haste to bring Him laud. Worship is never something to get around to later. It’s the right now response to the revelation of Christ.
Today, that question still stands. What Child is this? To some, He remains a moral teacher, a cultural figure, or an inspiring story. But for those with humble hearts, He is the Christ, the King, the Savior who stepped into our brokenness so He could lift us out of it. The cradle and the cross are never far apart. Run too quickly past Bethlehem, and you miss the depth of His compassion. Run too quickly past Calvary, and you miss the strength of His love.
This Christmas, may we come with renewed urgency. May our hearts hurry to behold the Child who is no mere child. May we see Him as Dix saw Him as he recovered in that dark room. The answer to the question every soul longs to settle. The One who brings rest to the weary, forgiveness to the guilty, and hope to the discouraged. The One who lies in a manger but rules from a throne.
Let every voice confess with wonder
This, this is Christ the King.