You’d think we’d be out of breath by now. Two thousand and twenty five candles.

But every December, no matter how wired or worried the world feels, it stops, takes a collective breath and wishes a peasant baby born under Roman occupation a happy birthday.

Somehow, people are still RSVPing. Millions on the guest list don’t believe in the birthday boy. Millions more of us attend out of habit or the faint echo of a childhood choir ringing in our ears. That’s the thing about birthdays: you don’t need to believe in them to celebrate them – because life, any life, is still the most astonishing thing there is.

Read on…