The Nativity scene in St. Peter’s Square, created by the Diocese of Nocera Sarno, features the figure of Saint Alphonsus Maria de Liguori, author of Tu scendi dalle stelle (You Come Down from the Stars) and a symbol of a Christmas that unites theology, music, and popular devotion. This tradition is explored in the book Il Presepe. Origini, storia, significato (Cantagalli Editions, 2025) by Cettina Militello and Crispino Valenziano: a journey through the Gospels, art, liturgy, and culture, revealing how the Nativity scene remains a living mirror of the Mystery of the Incarnation. Father Vincenzo La Mendola, CSsR., reflects on these themes in his review.
C. Militello – C. Valenziano, The Nativity Scene. Origins, History, and Meaning, Cantagalli and Frate Indovino Editions, Siena-Perugia 2025, pp. 207.
The inauguration of the Nativity scene, created by the Diocese of Nocera Sarno in St. Peter’s Square, has refocused the attention of the media and thousands of visitors from around the world on the figure of Saint Alphonsus Maria de Liguori, depicted composing the famous hymn ” Tu scendi dalle stelle” (You Come Down from the Stars). The music and lyrics, universally known and sung by all, connect the Doctor of the Church to the Mystery of the Incarnation, which forms the focus of much of his theological and spiritual work, and to his popular narrative. So much so that Saint Alphonsus is now considered—like St. Francis—one of the Christmas saints.
But the focus on the production of theological and devotional works, linked to the mystery of Christmas and its popular narrative, in music and poetry, doesn’t stop at visual representations. It extends to more specific literature. This is the case with the recent contribution by theologians Cettina Militello and Crispino Valenziano, available in bookstores today. It presents itself as a useful and educational text, in many ways, for preparing for Advent and the Christmas season.
The volume, enriched by a preface by Piero Marini and an afterword by Vittorio Francesco Viola, offers an extraordinary narrative journey, starting from the places that, in different ways, preserve the memory of the Nativity scene, and then moving on to the pages of the canonical and apocryphal Gospels; the reflections of the Fathers; the Franciscan tradition; the contemplation of the Liturgy; the liveliness of popular narrative; the intuition of the mystery that is proper to poetry; and the music that has been the soundtrack of the event, ever since the angels performed in the silence of the Bethlehem night in an unexpected concert for a few bewildered shepherds . Not a simple, chronological, and nostalgic revisitation of the Nativity scene, but a successful attempt to capture the dynamic capacity for reacquiring and understanding the mystery (Afterword, 193). An interesting historical-theological-anthropological, spiritual, liturgical, and literary excursus that traces the Christian tradition of representing – across the board – the Mystery of Christmas, expertly orchestrated into three major thematic groups: 1. Visual Traditions; 2. Literary Traditions; 3. God Becomes Man So That Man May Become God. It is further enriched by valuable references and bibliographical notes and a rich photographic insert.
Our attention, however, is drawn to the chapter dedicated to Popular Narratives (127-133), in which the Authors analyze an anthropological phenomenon that has a strong impact on the faith of the simple: the composition of the nativity scene is accompanied by songs that profoundly express popular participation. From the most disparate titles that the Christmas repertoire offers, two songs are chosen: the first, less known in its more courtly form, is one with the Neapolitan popular tradition. The second, instead, belongs to the Sicilian popular tradition.
It is not difficult to suppose that the song in question is Quanno nascette Ninno, composed perhaps in December 1754, originally titled “For the Birth of Jesus” and published in 1816 under this title. The authors note that in the period of time separating us from the date of its composition there have been many re-editions and modifications. They point out that even in recent times, there have been different interpretations, which can be traced in the extensive literature on the subject. Before presenting the text in full, it is further specified that a sort of vernacular translation of it is the better-known “Tu scendi dalle stelle”. But the original is much more complex from a descriptive and, dare we say, theological perspective. Necessary emphasis allows us to approach the text correctly and understand it not only as a simple – albeit brilliant – poetic/musical composition, but as a small treatise of popular theology on the mystery of the Incarnation and Birth of Christ. The Authors point this out more carefully in the brief, dense commentary they offer at the end. They grasp that in the background there is the Lucan narration and the influence of other pages from the Old and New Testaments. But the song gives space above all to the interplay between darkness and light. The birth of the Baby Jesus is entirely under the sign of light. And in this framework – they observe – the whole of creation itself becomes a festive announcement/celebration of the Birth of the Lord, in a sort of what they themselves define as cosmic veneration of the Mystery, which had already characterized the nativity scene of Greccio (p. 115). Focusing attention on the metaphor of the vine – a parable of the blossoming of the whole of creation in the harshness of winter – with a theologically pregnant metaphor, Ninno is the true vine (cf. John 15), the bunch of grapes whose love sweetens the mouth and inebriates the heart.
With another theologically astute evocation, the text presents the establishment of an era of joy and peace. Against this backdrop is the famous prophecy of Isaiah 11:6-8.
The commentary focuses on the key figures of the narrative: the angels and shepherds, figures characteristic of every nativity scene, pointed out by Saint Alphonsus with overflowing affection as they caress and kiss the child, feeling a taste of paradise. Angels and shepherds, filled with uncontainable joy, begin to sing with her —Mary— so much so that the Child, lulled by their lullaby, peacefully falls asleep, offering us an evocative bucolic rural scene, typical of eighteenth-century Italy, and specifically, Southern Italy, in its vivid power. Saint Alphonsus, with his unmistakable pastoral sensitivity, also opens a window into ultimate realities in his composition, a recurring theme in his vast production, shifting attention to the only place where there is no celebration —the authors comment—that is, hell. From there comes the transition to the awareness of being sinners and therefore in need of mercy and forgiveness. The song ends with an invocation to Mary: may she support the tears of those who repent with her motherly prayer.
We deliberately avoid providing commentary on all the stanzas, but only on those that, within the overall text, are representative of the underlying theological framework. This provides a substantial sampling and leads to further personal exploration, perhaps supported by other essays on the topic and/or personal reading or commentary.
Beyond the valuable insights offered by the two Sicilian theologians, what emerges as a consolidated fact is the extraordinary ability of Saint Alphonsus to create texts, music, and performances aimed at evangelizing the masses of the remote peripheries of the deep south of Italy of his time. He evangelized not only with words or the use of classical rhetorical registers, but also by favoring a preferential path, that of emotion and religious sentiment. This is why Alphonsus’ songs retain an evident relevance and are not subject to the harmful “passing of fashions” that other genres of songs and compositions can suffer, where theology and Sacred Scripture have no implications and where the commercial target pays the price of a brief season and subsequent oblivion. Not so for Saint Alphonsus, even in his poetry and music: perennial and alive, extraordinarily timely, like the Gospel he crumbles to the abandoned poor of his time, and also of ours.
Fr. Vincenzo M. La Mendola C.Ss.R.
