To my English mind the scene on the edge of Ulaanbaatar is quintessentially Christmas. The ground is snow-covered while the sky, a vault of brilliant blue, shines all the way to the horizon. Fondant-like frosting covers naked branches, roofs and fence posts. A close neighbour, clothed from head to toe in fur, ambles along the pavement on his old horse. Stopping for a moment he mentions that the lamas are forecasting a harsh winter.

Officially Mongolia doesn’t celebrate Christmas and yet the shops are tempting shoppers to buy artificial pines, baubles and other gaudy frippery to decorate their homes. It’s true the New Year celebrations are growing in popularity and perhaps, one of these years, Mongolia will adopt Christmas as an official holiday. However at this point it’s only the church that marks the true meaning of the season with the coming of Emmanuel.

On the smoggy streets, close to the ger districts, hawkers stack sacks of firewood and coal and tout for business. Beyond the city limits a solitary woman stands on a lone corner selling pine nuts. With a pile of banana boxes for her counter she stamps her feet on the icy pavement. Day in and day out she’s there, rolled up in a thick deel, like a pig in a blanket, waiting and hoping for a sale.

Red and orange down-coated children make their way to school, carrying on their backs rucksacks that are nearly as big as them. With shrieks of delight they slip and slide along the pavement. Filled with grand ideas of being astronauts or inventors, dancers or artists they hope for a better future.  

At the weekend a glut of battered cars appears in the bus stops heading out of city. The drivers erect a row of brightly-coloured sledges and, huddled in their cars, wait for parents, driving gleaming four-wheel vehicles, to stop and buy a sledge for their children. In juxtaposition the poor and rich exist together, each struggling for a better life. It’s Christmas, I want to shout, the time when we celebrate the true, living God’s son’s birth on earth.

The sun is incandescent with beauty — although I cannot look at it directly. With my eyes closed its warmth fools me into the thinking the cold is less cruel than it is. But, constantly nipping at my extremities and seeping iciness into my shoes, it steals away my warmth. Relentlessly, the wind whistles down this valley, laughing as it rips through layers of clothes to reach my heart, pulling heat from the very core of my being.

In nature only one thing removes coldness. Likewise, ultimately, there’s only one thing that can remove the eternal cold loneliness of our soul: the love of God. We were far from God but, taking great trouble, He came close, looked at us and loved us. In fact He loved us before the world ever began and had a plan to draw us into His love and take away the cold sin at the core of our beings. Filled with His love our unspoken ideals become a reality. He came to free us to love Him and that’s why we celebrate Christmas.